Han Zhizhi and Liu Chang'an accompanied An Nuan into the boutique. The saleswoman approached with a standard smile. They had long developed a keen instinct for telling apart casual browsers, customers who came with the intention to buy, and potential consumers worth cultivating.
Some brands required frontline sales staff to provide one-on-one service to every customer who entered the store. But salespeople were only human; they inevitably assessed people by their clothing and appearance, which affected the warmth in their words and expressions.
An Nuan and Han Zhizhi were not dressed like the extravagantly wealthy, but they clearly had some spending power. At the very least, they did not look like they had come to mooch off the mall's air conditioning.
As for Mr. Liu, he often appeared at Baolong Center. His build and looks alone made him memorable, yet no one fawned over him too enthusiastically. Instead, they kept a certain distance. Unless he indicated with his eyes, no one would rashly rush up and unleash one sales pitch after another.
After all, the owners of Baolong Center were all Mr. Liu's hangers-on. People like that generally did not care about warm, sincere service or the supreme experience of being a super VIP. They preferred to have their own undisturbed space. The staff would stay at an appropriate distance, come over when summoned with a glance, and quietly withdraw with a nod.
As Liu Chang'an surveyed the heavily marked-up goods, he still believed this was a benefit inherited from the era of Western colonialism. Especially after World War II, they had promoted their culture and ideology through PUA-like methods, continuing to exploit others to the marrow even now. Yet many people had no awareness of it at all, and even willingly accepted such unfairness.
Even when they did realize