Just when Qian Weiwei was at her wit's end, licking her wounds from failure, things went from bad to worse.
A video call from the headquarters of the organization came through, plunging her into a deep abyss, her heart sinking to the bottom.
After composing herself, Qian Weiwei dared not delay and hurriedly answered the call.
On the other side of the video was an old man with white hair; he was one of the leaders of the organization, named Hawls.
"Most merciful greetings, Ms. Qian Weiwei. Your trip is not going smoothly, complaints have surfaced. Do you consider my mercy to be worth nothing?" Hawls said with a standard ceremonial smile, his dissatisfaction notably evident.
"I dare not, merciful Lord Hawls, you know I don't have the courage for that." Qian Weiwei hurriedly defended herself, her voice full of anxiety, fearing that he might explode in anger.
"But what you've done is unsatisfactory; what do you suggest we do?" Hawls smiled.
