CHAPTER 223: CHAPTER 59: WHO IS GOD

When I woke up, it was already noon. Su Ziceng hadn’t found Lin Ying, who had mentioned the night before, after turning off the light, that she worked as a sales assistant at a clothing store by day. By this time, she was probably already gone.

Lin Ying did not comment on Su Ziceng’s bizarre promotion assessment, only suggesting that she might find some temporary work at a Chinese restaurant nearby. With Lin Ying’s generous help, accommodation costs in Paris were not a worry, but Su Ziceng did not want to live entirely off Lin Ying’s French bread, nor did she plan to take on jobs like dishwashing or waiting tables.

As for her own capabilities, Su Ziceng was well aware—it was only a matter of time before she’d break all the dishes in a restaurant.

"Go out and turn left, then another left and a right, and you’ll find a Chinese restaurant. Keep going for two more blocks, and you’ll get back to the square from yesterday," Su Ziceng read from the simple map Lin Ying had left behind.

The noon Sunshine danced through the aroma of cheese and sausages. After swallowing the last bite of French bread, Su Ziceng made up her mind to buy a croissant today to change things up.

"Heaven never seals off all exits," Su Ziceng thought, knowing her situation all too well, she had already thought of a job that would let her enjoy the sun on the Avenue of Champs Elysees and help her get delicious donuts.

Tourists were coming and going through the Triumphal Arch; Su Ziceng saw the mailbox-green phone booth waving at her from a distance. According to schedule, every evening at six, Pello would give her a call. This special care made Su Ziceng’s steps light and breezy.

The display window of LV showcased a variety of bags, the familiar logo catching Su Ziceng’s eye. She wandered by the entrance and saw a sales assistant inside discussing with two fashionably dressed middle-aged women.

The women were speaking in broken Mandarin, calculators in hand, gesturing repeatedly to the LV assistant.

Glancing at the store’s notice board, Su Ziceng saw the hiring sign for sales assistants and decisively entered.

Having worked at a high-end boutique like Admiration, coupled with her familiarity with the amiable accent from her homeland, the two women quickly clarified what they wanted to know.

They had seen the same product at a promotional price back home; their nature as middle-aged women convinced them the foreign Russians were ripping them off. Su Ziceng earnestly flipped over the price tag and revealed a subsidiary brand tag, explaining, "This is a new fall product that hasn’t been released at home; you must have missed it."

Upon hearing that the goods hadn’t arrived in their country yet, the women immediately dropped the argument, took out their cards, and bought several items in one go.

Seeing the assistant watching, Su Ziceng couldn’t help but feel smug—a qualified sales assistant should be like her, selling ten or eight products in one fell swoop, all smiles.

So, she struck while the iron was hot, asking the manager for a job as a sales assistant, only to be met with a genuine "French shrug" and then a rejection.

"?" Su Ziceng could no longer care about whether her French was fluent or her accent was pure. Couldn’t everyone in the store see, or were they blind? A super sales assistant like her was hard to find even with a lantern; yet she was being rejected outright.

"Miss," the earlier unsuccessful sales assistant took Su Ziceng to LV’s welcoming carpet, pointing to the two letters and reiterating "You are now in an LV store, where every sales assistant and every customer alike is God."

Every sales assistant in the store held their heads high, neither smiling nor flattering as they greeted customers. They embodied the spirit of the century-old French brand very well, ushering Su Ziceng—the glaringly out-of-place nouveau riche—out the door.

Not everyone needs to meet others with a smile. Su Ziceng watched as her once-favorite logo cast a giant shadow before her eyes.

Standing at the street corner in confusion, she felt the familiar luxury names, one after the other, shutting their doors on her.

For the rest of the time, Su Ziceng could only wait by the phone booth until the hasty ring of a call could once again bring a smile to her face.

"It’s already noon in Z country now, isn’t it," Su Ziceng thought of the students at Kelly Women’s College, streaming out class after class, while Pello stood by the phone booth, nodding politely to each student passing by.