Chapter 11: Waiting for the Hare

The sun shone brightly, casting mottled shadows on the ground through the gaps in the leaves. Qing'er stood out, dressed in a leopard-print camisole, black silk stockings, and a pair of dazzling red high heels. She pushed her sunglasses up the bridge of her nose with a touch of awkwardness, pouted, and muttered under her breath, "This is too flashy. I've never dressed like this before."

Beside her, the window of a black sports car slowly rolled down, revealing Wen Wan'er’s delicate face. She was dressed in a crisp, sharp professional suit, her hands clad in pristine white gloves, looking neat and highly capable.

"Qing'er, you are a nouveau riche right now. That is how the nouveau riche of the mining industry dress—it makes people more convinced of your status," Wen Wan'er said through the window, a satisfied smile on her face.

Qing'er smiled helplessly and replied, "I hope I can pull this off without any slip-ups. Remind me of the security guard's appearance one more time; I don't want to blank out later."

Wen Wan'er repeated the description seriously: "He is thin, looks to be in his forties, has a sallow complexion, and his most distinct feature is a mole on his left eyebrow. You must remember this; make sure you don't mistake him for someone else."

Qing'er nodded. "Don't worry, I've etched that face into my mind. There's no way I'll get it wrong. I remember him." With that, she waved at Wen Wan'er, signaling her to roll up the window.

Although a hint of worry lingered in her eyes, Wen Wan'er reminded her, "Qing'er, be careful. No matter what happens, I'll be here." She rolled up the window, and the black sports car remained parked quietly by the roadside.

Qing'er continued to walk along the curb, appearing casual, but her eyes were fixed intently on the entrance of the Yun Corporation building, like a leopard stalking its prey. Amidst the bustling crowd, her gaze remained glued to the doorway.

Finally, a thin, sallow-faced middle-aged man appeared at the entrance. Qing'er immediately swayed as she walked toward him. There, clearly visible on his left eyebrow, was the mole—it was exactly the man Wen Wan'er had described.

Qing'er’s heart began to race. She took a deep breath, struggling to maintain her composure. As she approached him, she cried out, "Ah!" Her high heel wobbled, and she collapsed to the ground with a dull thud. A pained cry escaped her lips, and tears welled up instantly. Her left ankle began to swell rapidly, looking quite alarming.

The man in the security uniform was startled by the scene. He waved his hands frantically, his expression panicked. "I didn't do it! I was just passing by; I didn't even touch you!" His eyes were filled with terror and innocence. However, as his gaze fell upon the woman on the ground, he caught sight of her long legs in black silk and the glimpse of cleavage visible through her low-cut top. The man's face turned beet red, and he looked utterly at a loss.

Qing'er looked up, tears shimmering in her eyes, appearing pitiful and helpless. "It was my own fault for tripping. It has nothing to do with you," she said, her voice soft and aggrieved, designed to evoke pity.

Hearing this, the man’s tense expression finally relaxed. He crouched down, his gaze darting shiftily as he looked at Qing'er and then at the broken heel lying beside her. "With heels that high, it's no wonder you fell," he remarked, his tone a mixture of reproach and relief.