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

Jiang Mian lazily lifted her eyelids.

"What's going on tonight?"

Speaking of this, Qian Weimin became much more energetic.

"Dr. Jiang, have you forgotten? Tonight is the launch show for Leslie's new album 'Monica'!"

"He specifically told me beforehand that he would wear Brother Lu's number one battle uniform tonight."

"I've even prepared the second round of promotional materials for GG, just waiting for him to appear on stage so we can roll them out all over Hong Kong immediately!"

After hearing this, Jiang Mian's sleepiness lessened considerably.

Monica, this is a phenomenal album by Leslie.

In this era, this was a groundbreaking record that rewrote the entire Hong Kong pop music scene.

If she weren't pregnant and not suited to that kind of atmosphere, she would have loved to go and witness it in person.

Never mind, let's invite him to hold a concert in mainland China if we have the chance.

After thinking it through, Jiang Mian waved her hand, "Okay, go and do it."

……

TVB Building, Hong Kong Island.

As soon as night fell, the studio was already packed with fans.

In the media area, reporters carrying cameras and recording equipment pushed their way forward.

Ken mingled in the crowd, taking advantage of his extensive experience to secure the most advantageous central position.

Suddenly, all the lights in the studio went out.

The screams suddenly rose in pitch.

As soon as the dynamic electronic synthesizer intro started, the entire hall seemed to be ignited.

A dazzling spotlight suddenly shone on the center of the stage.

The platform slowly rose, and Leslie stood under the spotlight, holding a microphone in one hand.

The screams from the audience almost lifted the roof off.

Reporters in the front row raised their cameras, the flashes turning the room into a blindingly bright daylight.

Ken looked through the viewfinder at the people on stage and snapped a photo.

Leslie didn't wear the sequined leather jacket that popular singers usually wear, nor did he wear an extravagant Western-style dress.

He was wearing that dark-colored, modified Zhongshan suit.

Number One Jersey!

The dark fabric suppressed the strong stage lights, while the red gold silk threads revealed a subtle luster as the movements progressed.

The cut is clean and sharp, the shoulder line is upright, and the waist is perfectly fitted.

The elegance of the East was not swallowed up by the pop stage; instead, it suppressed the clamor of the audience.

As soon as Leslie opened his mouth, the screams from the audience were amplified by his singing.

He turned around, raised his hand, and took a step.

The hem of her dress swayed with her movements, and the gold threads swept across the lamplight like flowing dim light.

The reporters below the stage were snapping photos like crazy, and Ken didn't even dare to blink.

He knew that these photos would definitely go viral tonight.

The song ended.

The applause and screams nearly lifted the studio off its feet.

Daffy stood quietly in the shadows of the backstage corridor.

As Leslie turned around, his gaze swept over that spot.

The corners of his lips lifted slightly.

That smile was subtle, but Daffy understood it.

Since that night on the hillside terrace, the constant tension and defensiveness they had been under had eased considerably.

The host strode onto the stage with cue cards in hand, his voice filled with excitement.

"Leslie! That was amazing!"

"Your outfit tonight is so special; it's completely different from your usual stage style."

The host looked at his clothes and couldn't help but ask more questions.

"Is this a new design from some European haute couture boutique?"

The flashbulbs went off even faster from the audience, and all the reporters were listening to him say it himself.

Leslie picked up the microphone, his breathing not yet fully steady, but his eyes were bright.

"This garment comes from Eastern culture."

The scene suddenly fell silent.

The next second, a cacophony of voices erupted.

Leslie smiled and continued, "It's not European haute couture."

"This is a work made stitch by stitch by a top-notch tailor from the East."

Someone in the audience couldn't help but gasp, and Leslie raised his hand and gently touched his clothes.

"This is the exclusive battle robe that Dongfang Fengwu prepared for me."

"Of all the brands, I chose Oriental Style."

These words were transmitted via radio waves and instantly reached countless homes on Hong Kong Island where radios and televisions were turned on.

Following the Peninsula Hotel press conference, Oriental Style has already stirred up a storm in socialite and wealthy circles.

Reservation cards are sold for outrageously high prices on the black market, but that's still a small circle within high society.

The previous overwhelming GG campaign only made people aware of the existence of such a wealthy and powerful brand.

But tonight is different.

Hong Kong's most popular celebrity, on the stage with the highest viewership ratings, personally said, "I chose Oriental Style!"

This name immediately came into the public eye.

Outside the building.

Qian Weimin sat in the Mercedes-Benz, listening to the live broadcast on the car radio.

Upon hearing the words "I chose Oriental Style," he slapped the steering wheel with excitement.

"Good lad! You're really loyal!"

He immediately grabbed his mobile phone and yelled at the other end.

"The time has come! Change the poster immediately!"

Within just half an hour.

Central, Causeway Bay, Tsim Sha Tsui, Baby Bus...

All the giant GG billboards in the core business districts were replaced with brand new images by workers as quickly as possible.

In the center of the poster is Leslie's upright figure wearing a modified Zhongshan suit.

Next to it was only one extremely domineering sentence:

He chose the flavors of the East.

There is no price listed, and no way to purchase it.

It possesses an unapproachable elegance and an irresistible curiosity.

Hillside villa.

Only a few dim wall lamps were on in the luxurious living room.

The sofa was covered with the softest cashmere blanket, and Jiang Mian leaned comfortably against it, covered with a thin quilt.

The radio on the coffee table is playing live interviews from the studio.

Lu Ting sat on the high stool next to him.

He was holding a small silver hammer and carefully cracking open the walnut shells.

He moved very quietly, afraid of making any unnecessary noise that might disturb his wife.

After cracking out a whole walnut kernel, he carefully peeled off the outer, bitter skin before handing it to Jiang Mian.

Jiang Mian opened her mouth, took it, chewed it a couple of times, and then closed her eyes contentedly.

The radio blared the madness of the outside world, but inside the villa, all that could be heard was the soft cracking of walnut shells.

Jiang Mian was in an unusually good mood as she listened to the commotion outside.

Back then, Shen Zhiyi ran herself ragged trying to throw a lousy party, spending money to hire media and send out invitations everywhere, only to end up looking foolish and being laughed at.

In contrast, she sleeps until she naturally wakes up every day and is too lazy to even leave the house.

All it takes is a little effort to get the brand featured on the highest-rated stage in Hong Kong.

Jiang Mian felt more and more comfortable as she thought about it.

Truly brilliant business practices don't require you to run around the place yourself.

……

Europe, thousands of miles away.

Inside a century-old building on the Champs-Élysées in Paris, France.

Martin, the editor-in-chief of "European Table," was sitting behind his large desk.

He held several frontline reports that had just been faxed from Hong Kong Island in his hand, with a large stack of high-resolution photos scattered around him.

One of them is the amazing candid shot that Ah Ken took in the studio.

Eastern tailoring meets modern stage lighting.

Understated, luxurious, and extremely aggressive.

The office door was suddenly pushed open.

Luc walked in carrying several thick evaluation reports and plopped down on the sofa opposite Martin.

"Things have gone mad in Hong Kong." Luc threw the report on the table.

"I just contacted Pierre, and the French pilot of Oriental Truffles has already caused a sensation in several top private clubs."

"Now it's not just gourmets who are scrambling for them; even old aristocrats who rarely show their faces are starting to ask people to find them quotas."

Martin picked up the candid photo, his gaze lingering on the crimson gold silk fabric of the garment.

"That's normal."

Martin put down the photo, his voice filled with undisguised admiration.

"They not only have amazing ingredients, but also high-end customization that can break through the barriers of Western aesthetics."

"I originally thought that this Eastern brand would slowly gain traction within the circle of the wealthy."

Martin stood up, walked to the huge floor-to-ceiling window, and looked down at the bustling Parisian street scene.

"But I was wrong."

Luc frowned. "She's pushing the brand into the public eye; isn't she worried about losing its mystique?"

Martin turned around, his eyes sharpening.

"Ordinary people can see it, but ordinary people can never buy it."

He walked back to his desk and pressed his fingertips heavily on the photo.

"This visible yet unattainable distance is the strongest dominance of luxury goods."

Luc fell silent.

Martin picked up the layout sample and flipped directly to next month's cover page.

"Immediately revise next month's journal layout plan!"

Luke was taken aback.

"Wasn't the front page reserved for that century-old Italian handcrafted leather goods brand?"

"Demolish them!"

Martin issued the order decisively.

"Italian leather goods can wait."

"If we miss this window into Eastern culture, all of Europe will be ahead of us next month."

He picked up a red pen and wrote a line in the blank space.

When the pen stopped, the red title stood out.

A new order of luxury from the East has officially arrived.