Chapter 775 --775

Chapter 775: Chapter-775

. A few of the men exchanged subtle, questioning glances, their sheer veils swaying as they clearly wondered why a woman dressed like a dockworker had wandered into a high-end boutique.

Heena, however, paid absolutely no attention to their curious stares. She hadn’t come here to conform to local expectations, and she certainly wasn’t going to let a few bewildered looks ruin her shopping experience.

She bypassed the colorful displays of men’s fashion entirely, walking with calm, measured steps straight to the main counter.

"Excuse me," Heena said straightforwardly, addressing the female shopkeeper who was currently organizing a stack of embroidered collars. "Where is the women’s section?"

The shopkeeper looked up, blinking in mild surprise at the direct question. Her sharp eyes did a rapid, professional sweep of Heena’s attire—taking in the frayed edges of the wool cloak and the coarse, cheap linen tunic visible at the collar.

"Oh," the shopkeeper said, her customer-service smile appearing a second later as she pointed toward a tall, intricately carved wooden folding screen at the very back of the room. "It is right over there, Miss. Just step behind that partition."

Heena nodded her thanks and walked past the lingering scent of citrus and sandalwood perfumes trailing off the male customers, heading toward the back of the shop.

The moment she stepped around the wooden partition, the shopkeeper hurried over to join her, apparently eager to manage the transaction quickly.

"Welcome, welcome," the shopkeeper said smoothly, gesturing to the racks lining the back walls. "If you are setting up a new rotation of daily wear, we have some very sturdy pieces that arrived just this morning."

Heena stopped and looked around the enclosed space. The contrast between the front of the shop and the back was so stark it was almost comical.

Out in the main room, there had been a breathtaking array of colors—emerald greens, vibrant reds, soft pinks, and shimmering golds, all woven into lightweight, breathable fabrics meant to flatter the figure.

Behind the partition, the selection instantly plummeted into aggressive, utilitarian dullness.

The racks were lined with heavy, stiff fabrics in the most uninspired palette Heena had ever seen. There were endless variations of mud-brown, charcoal-gray, deep navy, and flat, unpolished black. The cuts were entirely practical: wide shoulders, straight, boxy torsos, and thick, reinforced cuffs meant to withstand manual labor, writing at a desk, or riding a horse. There was zero embroidery, no delicate trim, and absolutely nothing that caught the eye.

The shopkeeper, reading Heena’s current outfit as an indicator of her wealth, didn’t even bother reaching for the higher shelves where the finer, darker silks were folded. Instead, she immediately pulled down a heavy, rigid jacket made of a cheap hemp-and-cotton blend.

"This is an excellent choice for a working woman," the shopkeeper offered, holding up a remarkably ugly, mustard-brown tunic. "The weave is very tight, so it won’t tear easily if you are hauling goods or working in a dusty environment. And the dark color hides stains perfectly. It will last you three winters at least."

Heena stared at the mustard-brown garment. Her expression remained completely calm, but her eyes narrowed imperceptibly.

She reached out, running her pale fingers over the sleeve. The fabric was so stiff and coarse that it felt like it could double as sandpaper. If she put that rigid hemp over her torn, healing back, the friction would rip her new scabs open before she even walked out the door.

The shopkeeper pulled out another option—a shapeless, slate-gray robe that looked like it belonged on a depressed monk. "Or perhaps this? Very modest, very durable."

Heena let out a slow, quiet breath. She wasn’t angry. She understood the basic rules of commerce; the shopkeeper had profiled her based on her cheap cloak and was showing her inventory that matched a laborer’s budget. It was a logical assumption.

But Heena had exactly zero intention of walking out of this boutique looking like a peasant, nor was she going to subject her skin to cheap hemp when she had two hundred taels of official silver sitting in her leather satchel.

"These are certainly durable," Heena said smoothly, dropping the sleeve of the mustard tunic and taking a step back from the rack. She looked directly at the shopkeeper, her raspy voice turning cool and distinctly aristocratic. "However, I did not come here to buy a uniform for a stable hand."

The shopkeeper blinked, her polite smile faltering slightly. "I... apologize, Miss. I only assumed that based on your cloak—"

"I need fabrics that breathe," Heena interrupted calmly, completely unbothered by the woman’s assumption. "My skin requires something much softer than coarse cotton right now. Do you have anything cut from dark, high-grade spun silk? Or perhaps a heavy, polished brocade in deep indigo or raven black? Something with a softer inner lining, tailored properly to the shoulders, rather than these boxy cuts."

The shopkeeper stared at her. Finer silks and tailored brocades for women were usually reserved for the high-ranking scholars, wealthy merchants, or the noble matriarchs who rarely shopped for themselves. They cost ten times as much as the hemp tunics.

"We... we do have some premium silks for women locked in the cedar chests," the shopkeeper hesitated, her eyes darting nervously back to Heena’s frayed cloak. "But I must warn you, Miss, pure tailored silk without an advance guild discount is quite expensive. A single inner and outer robe set starts at around three silver taels..."

Instead of arguing, Heena simply reached beneath her cloak. She unclasped the small leather pouch tied to her belt, loosened the drawstring, and tipped it forward.

A single, gleaming ten-tael ingot of official, government-stamped silver slid smoothly into her palm. She held it out, letting the pure white metal catch the light.

"I am perfectly aware of the price," Heena said quietly, offering a faint, chillingly confident smile. "Now, why don’t we put the mustard hemp away, open those cedar chests, and see what you actually have?"

The shopkeeper’s eyes practically bugged out of her head at the sight of the gleaming ten-tael silver ingot.

The polite, slightly patronizing customer-service smile instantly vanished, replaced by an expression of profound, trembling reverence. Without another word about durable hemp or boxy cuts, the woman hurriedly produced a ring of brass keys and unlocked the heavy cedar chests lined up against the far wall.

The scent of cedarwood and dried lavender filled the air as the shopkeeper carefully lifted out bolts of premium women’s fabric.

Heena didn’t just point and blindly purchase the silk. She stepped closer, running her fingertips over the dark, polished fabrics. Despite being in an alternate dimension, this was still an ancient, pre-industrial world. There were no massive, steam-powered textile mills or perfect, machine-pressed synthetic prints here.

The patterns on the fabric—faint bamboo leaves woven into charcoal silk, or subtle silver lotuses bordering deep indigo—were all painstakingly crafted by hand. Some were block-printed using carved wooden sponges and dye, while others featured tight, meticulous hand-embroidery. Because of the manual labor involved, the patterns weren’t mathematically perfect, but the sheer, raw craftsmanship gave the clothes an authentic, heavy elegance that modern fast-fashion could never replicate.

She liked it. It was exactly the kind of quiet, imposing luxury she needed.

"I will take the indigo silk and the raven-black brocade," Heena instructed, her voice calm and authoritative. "But silk is only for receiving clients and conducting business. For my daily wear around the shop, I need cotton. Soft cotton. Do not bring me that coarse material again."