Although many people had never set foot in the Imperial Residence, nearly everyone in the area was familiar with it—largely because it was located in a prestigious school district. Drawn by the location and glowing advertisements, Yang Mo followed the address listed on the flyer and arrived at the Imperial Court sales department.
From the moment he stepped inside, he was greeted by grandeur. The lobby was tastefully luxurious: an enormous crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, radiating such brilliance that even in broad daylight, its light bounced vividly off the spotless marble floor—bright enough to reflect a person's face. It was a space designed to impress, and it succeeded. The sense of opulence was palpable, from the elegant welcome desk to the scale model of the residential development proudly displayed deeper inside the lobby.
Today, the sales department was bustling with activity. Dozens of potential buyers wandered the showroom, pointing at details, discussing layouts, and imagining their lives in the yet-to-be-finished apartments. Sales agents, sharply dressed and armed with smiles, maneuvered through the crowd, pitching their scripts and trying to hook their next client.
Yang Mo entered quietly, wearing his usual sweats—a comfortable and modest outfit that immediately set him apart from the other clients. To any casual observer, he looked like a student who'd gotten lost on his way to class. In fact, that's precisely what one of the salesmen assumed.
Even before Yang Mo approached the display model, a voice floated out from a nearby group of salespeople.
"Honestly, the ads do their job, but half the people who show up are just here to gawk," the voice muttered with a hint of irritation. "Today alone, I've dealt with so many who asked about prices and then vanished without so much as a follow-up."
The man leaned slightly and, with a condescending smirk, nodded subtly in Yang Mo's direction. "Speak of the devil. Look at that one. Doesn't even look like he goes to school properly."
Yang Mo, though he wasn't trying to eavesdrop, heard the words clearly. He turned his head slightly to find the speaker: a young man with slicked-back hair and an overly confident posture. Standing beside him was a younger girl, probably a new trainee, with a ponytail and a hesitant expression.
"Brother Xiao," the girl said cautiously, "I don't see anything wrong with him. Maybe he really is here to buy a house?"
The young man, Xiao, scoffed dramatically. "You just graduated, right? Let me teach you something important." He rubbed his freshly trimmed buzz cut, clearly enjoying his moment of superiority.
"First, look at the way he's dressed. Baggy sweats? Please. People like that can't afford a place like this. Second, real buyers always come with their spouses or families. Lone wanderers are just here out of curiosity. And third—look at what he's holding! A promotional leaflet, and he's crushed it like it's a napkin. You think a real buyer would treat the flyer like trash?"
Several other salespeople, catching wind of the gossip, joined in eagerly.
"Xiao's right. He's just wasting time."
"He's probably here to ask about the special-discount units. Didn't anyone tell him those were sold out ages ago?"
"Snowy, you're too soft-hearted. You'll never make sales if you can't spot dead-end leads."
They laughed, nodding amongst themselves, entirely unaware—or uncaring—that Yang Mo was listening. Their judgment was swift, their arrogance unshaken.
Some turned their eyes away when they saw Yang Mo looking directly at them. Others, more brazen, stared back or even took a step back, distancing themselves as though he carried some invisible disqualification.
Snowy, the girl, looked conflicted. Gathering her courage, she began to step forward, but Xiao immediately reached out and grabbed her arm.
"I told you not to waste your time," he snapped. "You want to learn? Learn from my experience. People like that aren't worth the effort."
Startled, Snowy stepped back and lowered her head. Yang Mo could see the conflict in her eyes. She wasn't cruel like the others, just unsure—young and caught between empathy and pressure.
Yang Mo, however, didn't respond. He simply studied the group with cold clarity.
"What a pack of dogs with sharp eyes and dull hearts," he thought. "Judging people by the cut of their clothes and the bend of a leaflet."
He knew their type. The world was full of them—people who equated appearances with worth and arrogance with wisdom.
But Yang Mo had not come here for their approval. He was here to choose a new home.
And no condescension would change that.