Stepping into Penacony, the Planet of Festivities, once again, the suffocatingly luxurious air was still so thick it seemed impossible to disperse.
The enormous doors, inlaid with flowing starlight, slid open soundlessly, as though lifting a thin veil between reality and dreams.
"Eh, did they renovate this place?"
March 7th gripped the handle of her pink suitcase, printed with cartoon rabbits and worn at the corners, and her eyes instantly lit up.
The lobby was dotted with densely packed decorations made of unusual materials, among which March 7th recognized only objects that looked vaguely like balloons.
They were not ordinary rubber, but translucent Memory Bubbles that shimmered faintly, floating lightly in the air with iridescent patterns flowing across their surfaces.
There were also streamers.
The streamers were no ordinary things either. They were some kind of flexible glowing fibers, winding and hanging down like ribbons of frozen aurora beneath the warm golden starlit dome, adding a dreamy holiday atmosphere.
"Are they holding some kind of festival? We really came at the right time."
March 7th's voice brimmed with excitement, and even the hands pushing the wheelchair seemed a little lighter.
In the wheelchair, Yan Huan lounged against the backrest like an old man, one leg crossed high over the other, not even fully lifting his eyelids.
"All this gaudy nonsense is definitely meant to jack up the room rates," he commented lazily.
His tone carried the sharpness of someone who saw through everything.
"Back when Sunday stabbed them in the back, who knew how much Penacony had to pay out? Now they're probably trying to fleece it all back from tourists, principal and interest included."
"Hey, that's only human nature." March 7th could understand that, anyway. It was not like they could fleece her.
She pushed this living ancestor forward