By the time they returned to Hermione's two-story home, Mrs. Granger had prepared a lavish spread.
Over dinner, Mr. Granger once again drank too much and insisted that studying magic was a mistake for Zhang Xiao. He ought to become a dentist instead.
Mrs. Granger, however, kept giving him rather odd looks, and after dinner she warmly invited him to stay in the guest room.
Without anyone teaching her, she had even mastered that classic Chinese line: "It's so late, and you're already here."
I can't stay. If I don't have those feelings, I'd better not give anyone the wrong idea.
Under Mrs. Granger's disappointed gaze, the Ferrari's taillights gradually disappeared into the distance.
At Claridge's, Zhang Xiao handed his keys to the valet. This was the only hotel in London he knew.
His wife's best friend had stayed here on a trip to Britain in his previous life. It cost roughly ten thousand yuan a night, and she had sung its praises to the heavens after returning.
It had supposedly hosted royalty and celebrities such as Queen Victoria, former prime minister Churchill, Audrey Hepburn, and Cary Grant.
There was its 1920s Art Deco style, which made guests feel as though time had stood still... and its confident, well-trained, impeccably polite staff.
Zhang Xiao remembered being sick of hearing about it. Yet when she visited the classical gardens in Suzhou, she had called them hopelessly tacky and wondered why such old relics hadn't disappeared already.
As with many five-star hotels, the first thing that greeted him was a magnificent lobby with soaring ceilings.
Dazzling crystal vases, gilded columns, and black-and-white diamond-patterned floors reminiscent of piano keys reflected the soft glow of low-hanging chandeliers.
A grand staircase with carved railings and a patterned carpet swept upward, while each old, manually operated