The sharp pain in the back of her head felt like being hit by a heavy hammer. Shen Yan struggled to open her eyes. First she smelled a smell of rouge, gouache and incense, and then heard the cries in her ears. The Beijing-accented sadness was wrapped in antique oppression, which made her frown. The red silk hijab made her eyesight dim, the phoenix crown's hairpins pinched her temples, and the heavy Xia Pei made her shoulders ache. You didn't need to look at it to know that this outfit was definitely not something that a modern social creature could afford.
