Wails of tortured stylists

"How do I look?" Li Zhiqiang asked the same question the thousandth time.

"You look very handsome. Perfect Brother. Your mere style can steal the hearts of countless women. You look more handsome than a Korean idol." Li Xun's eyes were groggy. His voice was raspy and less cheerful than he intended it to come out. God, he felt so sleepy. But there was no way he could retire before nine am.

"At least I'm not the only one suffering in this Hell." He mumbled and glanced at the Hong Kong ten best stylist standing in a line looking like they were about to cry. They were continuously wiping their sweat trying to please the impossible man.

"This is not it..." Li Zhiqiang threw away his coat.

All the stylists' faces looked like they were in great pain. But they could not even complain.

Another hour passed by as they did their best to dress up President Li. After trying more than a dozen outfits, Li Zhiqiang finally looked like he felt satisfied.