THUD!!

Lin Qing leaped off an electric scooter in a blazing hurry and pulled off her helmet.

She instantly drew every eye in the crowd.

“Do you even know how to drive?! Why are you stopped right here? What are you, parking a corpse?!”

Lin Qing — face done up in a full-on aggressive non-mainstream style — had one hand on her hip and was slapping the back of Liang Meng’s car, hollering at the top of her lungs.

The sheer intensity of Lin Qing’s hollering-in-the-street energy was so potent that it momentarily stunned the reporters and fans into silence.

The rear-end collision meant that Liang Meng had no choice but to get out of the car.

Plainclothes security guards that Jiang Han had arranged in advance immediately closed in around her, doing their best to create a barrier between her and the crowd.

“Excuse me, miss!” Liang Meng pushed down her sunglasses and crossed her arms. “You’re the one who rear-ended my car!”

“I don’t care about any of that!” Lin Qing waved a hand with unreasonable bluster. “I take this road to work every single day! It’s completely straight, free and clear! Why are you suddenly stopped in the middle of it?! Is this road your personal driveway?!”

“Miss, I’m giving you a serious heads-up right now: rear-end collision — you. are. fully. liable.“

With that, Liang Meng shot her a dismissive glance and turned to get back in the car.

Arguing with someone who is being deliberately unreasonable is like asking someone who doesn’t love you for love — not only pointless, but in the end it only makes you look worse.

Unreasonable people have their own brand of twisted logic, and they’re perfectly consistent within it.

Sure enough, Lin Qing grabbed Liang Meng by the arm.

She launched into her “I’m poor so I’m right” mode: “So what, just because you drive a fancy car you think you’re better than us people who ride electric scooters?!”

“I never said that.”

Liang Meng had no way to defend herself against this.

That was genuinely not what she had implied.

“I just couldn’t brake in time! Is that my fault? I only bought this electric scooter yesterday — how was I supposed to know the brakes would fail?! This isn’t going to be ‘your fault so you pay for everything,’ is it? Let me tell you, I’m broke. No money, just one life to give!”

Liang Meng tried desperately to shake her off, but Lin Qing’s grip was an iron lock.

“Fine. What do you want?”

Unable to break free from Lin Qing’s relentless grip, Liang Meng had no choice but to ask coldly.

“Call the police! Get the police here to settle this properly! Is it my fault for not being able to brake — or is it your fault for blocking the road?!”

Liang Meng was so exasperated she almost laughed. She looked at Lin Qing like she was watching a spectacle: “Miss, are you out of your mind? You rear-ended me, and you want to call the police? Talk about the thief crying ‘thief.’ Honestly, I was going to let it go and handle it through insurance without making you pay a thing. Now? Go right ahead.”

Zhou Zelong’s “fans” grew more cautious.

They were scared of the police getting involved.

In a surprising turn, they suddenly started backing Liang Meng — and turned on Lin Qing: “What’s your problem?!”

If the police showed up and charged them with inciting a public disturbance, they’d be the first ones dispersed.

And they hadn’t finished what they came to do — plus they were scared they wouldn’t get paid.

A sharper one among them had already caught on.

This girl on the electric scooter — wasn’t she a “soldier sent by the monkey king”?

Deliberately staging a “rear-end accident” to create an excuse to call the police.

They thought the plan was too simple!

So the crowd suddenly rallied together in united opposition against Lin Qing:

“You couldn’t brake yourself — don’t go calling the police! You’d be fully liable anyway!”

“Exactly, you couldn’t brake yourself. Just run along! That Ferrari is expensive — scraping off even a bit of paint will cost you tens of thousands to replace.”

“Yeah! Little girl, just go. The car owner isn’t even pressing charges, right?”

“Move along! Move along! We’ve got things to deal with here!”

“Go, go, go! Come on everyone, make way for her!”

But Lin Qing simply would not leave.

Not only did she refuse to leave — she threw herself down onto the ground in a full dramatic sit-down protest: “Oh, no! How is this somehow my fault?! I bought this brand-new electric scooter yesterday — it cost me three months of salary! How was I supposed to know it would have brake failure?! A new scooter! ‘Mighty Bull’ brand! Oh heaven above, this is not my fault! You all just side with whoever has money!”

“FALL BACK! FALL BACK! FALL BACK!”

Lin Qing kept up her wailing, while internally suppressing the urge to burst out laughing, doing her best to make it look convincing.

Back in her small hometown, at every holiday, wedding, and funeral, she had witnessed countless aunties and grandmothers perform the sacred arts of the dramatic sit-down protest and the rallying cry of “Fall back! Fall back!” — living cultural heritage passed down through the generations.

This particular skill? Second nature to her.

Just then, in a moment of sudden stillness —

Everyone heard it at once: CLANG! CRASH! CLUNK! BANG! SLAM!

A chain of thunderous clatters shattered Lin Qing’s performance.

The electric scooter Lin Qing had ridden in on — from the handlebars to the headlight, the grips and the footrest — began falling off, piece by piece.

And then even the brake pad couldn’t hold on any longer. It snapped off — and flew straight into the face of the fan who had been making the most noise moments before.

Before anyone could react, Lin Qing had already sprung to her feet.

She snatched a megaphone out of the hands of a fan standing nearby and bellowed at the top of her lungs: “LORD HAVE MERCY! Someone help me make sense of this! I bought this ‘Mighty Bull’ electric scooter just yesterday — I still have the receipt in my pocket! Couldn’t brake, fine — but it barely tapped something and the whole thing just fell apart?! I’m standing here in one piece and the scooter is dead! This electric scooter manufacturer is a SCAM ARTIST!“

Lin Qing let out a battle cry, with particular emphasis bitten hard into the words “Mighty Bull.”

An odd shift came over the atmosphere.

The fans exchanged uncertain glances with each other. The reporters, cameras still raised, had clearly stopped daring to press the shutter.

“This useless piece of junk! ‘Mighty Bull’ — what bull?! I think you mean ‘Mighty Con Artist!’ Cheaper than papier-mâché!”

Lin Qing smacked the scooter seat — and it promptly tumbled off too.

Like a head rolling off at the execution ground, it bounced across the pavement several times.

Everyone stared, absolutely dumbfounded.

“UNBELIEVABLE! What have I done to deserve this?! I must have been out of my mind! I only bought it because I saw Zhou Zelong endorsing it on TV!”

Lin Qing carried on — sniffling, weeping, and performing her dramatic wailing with full dedication.

“And now look at this thing — one little tap and it completely falls apart… I haven’t lost a single hair and the scooter is destroyed… my few thousand yuan down the drain…!”

With that, Lin Qing pulled out her phone as if suddenly struck by inspiration.

“I’m calling 12315 right now to file a complaint against this scooter manufacturer! They can pay for the rear-end damage!”

Then, as if just noticing the reporters everywhere around her, Lin Qing grabbed one by the arm and shook him insistently: “You’re a reporter, right? Perfect! You saw everything that happened just now! I want to file a complaint against Zhou Zelong too! Has he ever even ridden one of these? How can he just endorse something like this?! If I’d gotten killed today, would Zhou Zelong pay with his life?“

The reporter being shaken had completely lost his bearings.

The person organizing the crowd was starting to understand.

Besides endorsing Longquan, Zhou Zelong’s longest-running endorsement deal was for Mighty Bull electric scooters.

So Liang Meng’s people were in here, exploiting a loophole.

But at this point, whether or not the whole thing was a staged performance by a “soldier sent by the monkey king” — it didn’t matter anymore.

Dog bites man isn’t news.

Man bites dog is.

The audio of Liang Meng’s remarks was already out there — clear evidence — and rehashing it for another report would bore everyone to death. Who’d want to read it?

They might as well just scroll through social media.

But exposing Mighty Bull electric scooters was a different story entirely. This was fresh, first-hand, explosive material.

A Mighty Bull rear-ends a Ferrari!

Both are vehicles. One is a scrappy everyday ride, the other the absolute pinnacle of luxury.

There are hundreds of millions of electric scooter riders in this country.

This story would be as eye-catching and irresistible as slurping a bowl of snail noodles in the middle of the Champs-Élysées.

So some of the reporters twisted their lens caps back off and started shooting again.

Whatever — fill up the camera roll first; figure out the angles later.

Even if there was no PR money coming from Longquan Group, making a tidy sum off Mighty Bull‘s PR crisis wouldn’t be bad at all.

Click. Click.

Flashes flickered relentlessly. Zhou Zelong’s fans had all been reduced to motionless bystanders.

The humiliation stung.

Their own idol had put his face behind a pile of defective scrap metal — mentioning that out loud? Embarrassing.

If they kept causing trouble now, they’d truly look like brainless, unprincipled fans.

At this point, someone in the crowd quietly called the police.

Officers arrived within three minutes and immediately dispersed the crowd.

Liang Meng swiftly folded herself back into the red Ferrari and pulled the scissor doors shut.

In the rearview mirror, she caught a quick glance at the dishevelled, messy state of the “electric scooter girl,” then floored the accelerator and drove away from the scene.

Only after Liang Meng’s car had fully disappeared did a black Alfa Romeo, parked not far away, slowly turn around and drive off into the distance…

Liang Meng had barely stepped through the office door when Xiao Zhou — who was working her very last day, visibly pregnant — waddled in after her.

“President Liang, the office phone has been ringing nonstop from reporters wanting interviews and statements. That’s a total of 25 media outlets — here’s the list.”

“Also, Daiwei from the PR department sent several messages on the corporate WeChat asking you to write a formal statement to give the shareholders an explanation.”

“President Liang, it seems the Zhou Zelong contract termination has had a genuine impact on business. Several suppliers reached out first thing this morning to test the waters — confirming the direction of collaboration going forward. Here’s that list as well.”

Liang Meng dropped her coat, changed quickly into golf attire, and replied: “I’m not seeing anyone this morning. I’m playing golf and I don’t want to be disturbed.”

If Xiao Zhou hadn’t worked alongside Liang Meng for a year or two, she might have been just like any outsider — concluding in this moment that the Second Miss was nothing but a useless airhead running from reality.

But having come to understand Liang Meng, she couldn’t help feeling a genuine, heartfelt admiration: this woman had nerves of absolute steel.

“President Liang, one more thing. The new assistant scheduled for interview — she says she’s already here and is asking to be seen now.”

Xiao Zhou reminded her, hugging the folder to her chest.

“Isn’t the interview at three in the afternoon?” Liang Meng didn’t even look up as she pulled out a golf club. “I dislike people who are late. But I dislike uninvited early arrivals even more. I already said — I’m not seeing anyone this morning.”

“Then I’ll go tell her to wait.” Xiao Zhou turned to leave.

“Hold on.”

Liang Meng suddenly had a feeling she couldn’t quite place — something slightly off.

She propped herself up with one hand on the silver-white golf club and beckoned Xiao Zhou back over with a curl of her fingers. “Bring me the new assistant’s resume. I want to look at it again.”

Xiao Zhou opened her folder and handed it over.

One look at the crisp, blue-backed ID photo — and Liang Meng confirmed it.

Lin Qing was the “electric scooter girl.”

“Tell her to come in.”

“Right now, President Liang?” Xiao Zhou double-checked.

“Yes. Send her in. And you — start packing up your things.”

Liang Meng gave a dismissive wave.

Xiao Zhou gave one final bow, then went out to call Lin Qing.

Ten minutes later, Lin Qing had finished filling out the visitor registration form and walked into Liang Meng’s office.

With the time being as tight as it was, she had somehow still managed to change out of the “wasteland warrior” look from earlier into full “professional office style.”

A slim black blazer, a black pencil skirt, a white button-down underneath, and low-heeled black leather shoes.

Liang Meng sat behind her executive desk, looking her up and down, and said with an amused tone: “You work fast.”

On the surface it was about the outfit. In reality, it was a compliment on how quickly Lin Qing had shifted into work mode.

“You’re not afraid of doing all this for nothing?” Liang Meng threw out her first question.

Mom really was the queen of predicting exam questions.

“I haven’t confirmed I’m hiring you yet. And yet you’ve already gone this all-out?” Liang Meng continued.

In her heart, she had already been genuinely impressed by Lin Qing’s bold, resourceful performance that morning — but Lin Qing’s extraordinary composure and maturity gave her pause. She couldn’t help wondering if something calculated was hidden underneath it all.

“Hello, President Liang. Allow me to introduce myself — I’m Lin Qing. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and I look forward to working under your guidance.”

Lin Qing met Liang Meng’s eyes with steady composure and spoke with complete formality.