Xiahou Daye opened her eyes amid a violent jolt, and the ambergris wafting out of the gilt-copper stove made her cough twice. This is not her top-floor office overlooking the night view of the Huangpu River, nor is it the VIP lounge backstage at Paris Fashion Week—a carved and gold-embellished bed takes up half of the room, the brocade quilt is embroidered with intricate stitches, and the fragrance floating in the air is strange and fragrant.
"Is the girl awake?" The maid with a double-ring bun came in carrying a copper basin. When she saw her sitting up, she was pleasantly surprised. "That's great. You've been sleeping for three days, but you've made Grandma Li very anxious."
Xiahou Daye stared at the tie on the maid's green skirt, and his mind felt like it was being stuffed into a high-speed meat grinder. She remembered that she was checking orders backstage at a show in Milan when a couture dress worth tens of millions suddenly slipped from the hanger. When she reached out to pick it up, she hit a metal truss and her vision went dark and she lost consciousness. Why did I arrive at this quaint place as soon as I opened my eyes?
