**The Li Manor in the night rain loomed like a crouching beast**, its Gothic spires piercing the thick darkness, while the light filtering through stained-glass windows bled into hazy smears of color in the downpour. Xia Xiaoman crouched in the ornamental shrubbery, the icy rainwater trickling down her spine and seeping into the borrowed evening gown clinging to her back. For the seventeenth time, she regretted taking this undercover assignment.
"Ten more minutes," came the raspy voice of Editor Chen through her earpiece. "When Li Moting delivers his speech, you must get a shot of him exchanging documents with the director of the Land Resources Bureau."
Xiaoman wiped the rain from her face, smearing cheap mascara across her fingertips. Her fingers brushed against the miniature camera hidden in her corset, its metal casing now warmed by her body heat. The rented Dior gown squeezed her ribs, making each breath a struggle, but at least it perfectly concealed the backup memory card strapped to her calf.
(Note: The translation preserves the original meaning while enhancing the literary quality with phrases like "loomed like a crouching beast," "hazy smears of color," and "making each breath a struggle." The syntax remains natural in English while maintaining the atmosphere of tension and discomfort.)**The Li Manor in the night rain loomed like a crouching beast**, its Gothic spires piercing the thick darkness, while the light filtering through stained-glass windows bled into hazy smears of color in the downpour. Xia Xiaoman crouched in the ornamental shrubbery, the icy rainwater trickling down her spine and seeping into the borrowed evening gown clinging to her back. For the seventeenth time, she regretted taking this undercover assignment.
"Ten more minutes," came the raspy voice of Editor Chen through her earpiece. "When Li Moting delivers his speech, you must get a shot of him exchanging documents with the director of the Land Resources Bureau."
Xiaoman wiped the rain from her face, smearing cheap mascara across her fingertips. Her fingers brushed against the miniature camera hidden in her corset, its metal casing now warmed by her body heat. The rented Dior gown squeezed her ribs, making each breath a struggle, but at least it perfectly concealed the backup memory card strapped to her calf.
Li Moting stood on the second-floor balcony, an unlit cigar between his fingers. Rainwater pooled at his feet, reflecting the distorted silhouettes of guests inside the banquet hall. His gaze swept across the courtyard, then abruptly paused—the shrubs in the southwest corner trembled unnaturally, not once, but twice.
"Pull up surveillance feed B-3," he murmured into his cufflink. A retinal projection instantly displayed an infrared image: a crouched figure clumsily adjusting the hem of a dress.
*Interesting.* This was already the third corporate spy this month.
Li Moting undid his cufflink, feeling the familiar throb of a migraine pulsing at the base of his skull. The sleeping pills his doctor prescribed were tucked inside his suit pocket, but he'd developed a pathetic tolerance for them by now. Maybe dealing with this little rat himself would grant him a good night's sleep.