"Do you believe in prophetic dreams?"
In a nearby café, bright natural light mingled with soothing music. At this hour of the afternoon, simply sitting inside gave one a peculiar sense of comfort.
Add a dessert and a bitter coffee, and that feeling was elevated to an entirely different level.
Zhao Cheng had never expected that his first time in a place like this would be with neither Wu Yiran nor Belvia, but with a strange girl.
Just moments ago, the girl had called out to him, then bought the owner's two beloved swords for the exorbitant price of two million without the slightest hesitation—or even an attempt to haggle.
That had left the owner dumbfounded instead.
The two swords simply were not worth that much. He had named such a high price solely because he did not want to sell them.
But there was no helping it—the rich lady was offering far too much.
Still, the owner was an honest man. He took the initiative to lower the price and asked Li Huang'er for only six hundred thousand.
That price was still somewhat inflated, but Li Huang'er had not cared about two million, much less this amount.
Thus, both the box and the swords now belonged to Li Huang'er.
After that, Li Huang'er did not say much in the shop. She merely told Zhao Cheng, "Didn't you ask how I knew your name? Let's find somewhere else to talk," and so they came here.
In truth, if not for the sheer extravagance of her throwing down six hundred thousand, Zhao Cheng might even have suspected she was a shill hired by the shop.
"Let me say this upfront: I'm very poor, so when we order, just get your own portion."
Rather than answer her question directly, Zhao Cheng explained