Transmigrating into a Book in the 80s: After Giving Up, I Was Pampered by a Rough Man

Several ladies below stared wide-eyed as they listened.

Mrs. Chen turned her head and grabbed Mrs. Su's arm, her voice full of disbelief.

"Pure gold is hammered into gold leaf and then wound onto silk thread? My goodness, I've never even heard of such a technique!"

Su Tai nodded repeatedly.

"If we could actually buy this, it would be an unparalleled level of prestige in all of Hong Kong!"

Jiang Mian ignored the whispers from the audience and continued speaking.

Five hundred years ago, the weavers of Suzhou and Hangzhou wove cloth exclusively for the emperor.

"The peacock feather thread is mixed with the red gold thread and threaded one by one by the master craftsman into the warp and weft of the woodworking machine."

"This work can't be rushed. If you move your hands too fast, the thread will easily break. Once the thread breaks, the whole piece of cloth will be ruined."

"At most, we can weave a few inches a day. It takes several months to finish weaving a piece of cloth."

"Later, with the change of dynasties, the inheritance of this time-consuming and labor-intensive craft was lost long ago."

At this moment, the suggestive effects of the incantation technique have already quietly taken effect.

The wealthy ladies who had initially just thought the clothes were pretty now found themselves straightening their backs involuntarily.

Mrs. Chen slowly sat up straight, forgetting even to protect the expensive little bag in her hand, and stared blankly at the glass display case on the stage.

Su Tai even slowed down her breathing.

Mr. He's hand, which was holding the teacup, paused in mid-air before he gently placed the cup back on the table without making a sound.

The same thought popped into everyone's mind at the same time.

This is more than just clothes; it's a priceless treasure crafted with life and time.

Jiang Mian's tone remained calm as she continued speaking.

"In order to find this kind of material, the former factory director of a textile factory in the mainland traveled almost all over Suzhou and Hangzhou."

"He approached several retired craftsmen, pleading with them to the end, and their doors were practically worn out from all the visits."

Finally, in the cellar of an old master craftsman, they found the last batch of old treasures that had been hidden away for years.

"The old factory director wanted to give him money, but the old master craftsman refused to accept it no matter what."

"The old master only said one sentence at the end."

He said, "Don't waste it, take it out and let those foreigners see it for themselves."

This plain language contains no loud pronouncements or deliberate emotional manipulation.

With the added prestige of incantation techniques and the brand halo of Oriental Style, these words struck like an invisible hammer, relentlessly into the hearts of these wealthy individuals.

Pierre, sitting in the front row, suddenly had tears welling up in his eyes.

He turned to Martin and muttered in French, "Oh my god! Is this what they call an old craftsman from the East?"

"They actually hid their best stuff in the cellar!"

Martin stopped writing with his pen.

Luc even closed his notebook, but stared intently at the stage.

Although they don't understand Chinese very well, most of the content has to be translated.

But the overwhelming sense of weight and weight it evokes needs no embellishment.

Martin took a deep breath and quickly started writing in his notebook again.

Luke leaned over and took a look.

"Martin, I dare say if this report of yours were published, the ladies of the Parisian aristocracy would be so angry they wouldn't be able to eat."

He Sheng, who was in the front row, turned to look at Huang Sheng.

"We have underestimated the profound cultural heritage of the mainland in the past."

Huang Sheng nodded in agreement.

"Mr. He, you're right. This kind of thing really can't be produced by machines."

Miss He sat beside him, anxiously tugging at Young Master Huang's sleeve.

"Did you hear that? It takes three months to weave one bolt of cloth! How impressive it would be to wear this outfit!"

Young Master Huang also looked longingly at it.

"If I could order one for my mom, she would be so happy that she wouldn't even bother to investigate the time I smashed the car last month."

Qian Weimin hid in the corner, his face flushed with excitement, his hand tightly gripping the small notebook in his pocket.

Ah May coughed softly beside her.

Qian Weimin gritted his teeth.

"I won't take it out; I'll remember it all. This is such a brilliant line."

"This isn't just selling clothes; it's stealing the hearts of all the wealthy people on Hong Kong Island!"

Ah Hai was stunned by what he heard.

"Boss, with Miss Jiang's eloquence, it's a real shame she's not running for senator."

Qian Weimin slapped Ahai on the back.

"Forget about running for councilor! Making money is the real business!"

On stage, Jiang Mian stood bathed in light, giving the audience ample time to reflect and digest the moment.

Then, she leaned forward slightly.

"Eastern Style doesn't sell history or sentimentality."

"We're only going to do one thing today."

"That is to let the whole world know that the most expensive luxury goods have always been in the East."

The moment those three sentences were uttered, the entire room fell completely silent.

This is the source of confidence, the most straightforward and undisguised ambition of Eastern culture.

The entire banquet hall was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

After a brief period of absolute silence.

Thunderous applause erupted.

He Sheng was the first to lead the applause.

Huang Sheng clapped along, and Young Master Huang clapped his hands loudly.

The ladies all abandoned their usual reserve and clapped with all their might.

These three sentences firmly cemented the brand of Oriental Flavors at the pinnacle of Hong Kong's high society.

Lu Ting stood three steps behind Jiang Mian.

He seemed unconcerned by the loud applause around him.

He simply watched Jiang Mian quietly in front of him.

His broad shoulders relaxed completely, and a faint smile even lingered on his lips.

His wife is shining.

Everyone on Hong Kong Island is watching her shine.

Zhou Zhichang sat in the corner, still holding the pen in his hand.

He came here to cause trouble.

But after hearing those words, all the vicious ideas he had prepared in his mind were crushed by this invisible aura.

He even began to feel that if he stood up to ask a question now, it would be a huge joke and a defilement of a priceless treasure.

But he still bit his tongue hard, forcing himself to wake up.

The final payment promised by Boss Chen is still waiting for him to collect.

Today, no matter what, he has to muddy the waters.

Jiang Mian did not immediately shift the topic to the products.

She picked up the warm water next to her and took a sip.

Only after the applause had completely subsided did she raise her hand to signal the staff to move the first set of display cases to the side.

The light then moved to the other side.

Two small display stands were pushed up.

On one side, there was a small amber-colored glass bottle.

The bottle has a minimalist design, with only a barely noticeable gold line pressed into the bottom.

On the other side, there was a porcelain jar of Oriental truffles.

The glaze of the porcelain gleamed under the light, and the seal on the mouth of the jar was intact.

Next to it was a small silver spoon and a thin porcelain dish.

When Pierre saw the porcelain jar, he almost jumped off his chair.

"Oh! My dear Oriental truffles!"

Although he tried to lower his voice, he couldn't help but shout it out.

Qian Weimin quickly leaned half his body out from behind and pressed his hands down.

"Mr. Pierre, calm down, calm down!"