Mr. Zhongli, we can't slack off anymore!

The fine, silent rain blurred the solemn outline of the Mo Mang Palace.

Even on rainy days, Fontaine stubbornly maintains its elegance.

The palace appeared even more solemn and distant in the rain, its towering pillars and tightly closed gates acting as an invisible barrier, shutting out worldly disturbances.

However, meeting a supreme judge who holds the highest judicial power in a country and is almost assimilated with the law itself is obviously not an easy thing to achieve.

This is especially true for a traveler, a visitor to a foreign land.

Just as I stepped onto the rain-washed, polished steps in front of the main gate of Mo Mang Palace, before even getting close to the two incredibly heavy doors, a figure blocked my path.

She was a female security guard in a crisp, dark blue uniform. Rainwater slid down the curve of her hat brim as she extended a white-gloved hand, making a clear and unequivocal gesture of obstruction.

“Miss, please wait.” Her voice left no room for negotiation: “This is Mo Mang Palace. Without prior appointment or relevant official credentials, you cannot enter at will.”

Humph.

They crossed mountains and seas, carrying memories and expectations diluted by time, only to be stopped at the very first step by cold rules and vigilance.

Before any of the imagined scenarios of a long-awaited reunion could unfold, reality poured cold water on them (in fact, it also poured rain on them).

Then let your Supreme Judge continue to grieve so much that he floods the entire city of Fontaine!

When expectations are dashed before they are fulfilled, it's easy to feel a little frustrated.

So, she maintained a polite smile and nodded slightly to the meticulous female guard to show her understanding.

Without lingering or trying to explain, he turned away decisively and plunged back into the increasingly dense rain.

It wasn't until their clothes were completely soaked through and the cool, dampness clung to their skin that the traveler belatedly realized they could use an umbrella.

She stopped and wiped the rain off her face with a hint of helplessness.

Rain dripped down her hair and slid down her neck, making her shiver slightly.

Is this the new step of rating Fontainebleau?

Fontaine is terrible!

*

Damn it, I'm going to stay at the most expensive hotel in Fontainebleau today!

With his hazy memories, the traveler quickly found the Molière Waterfront Hotel, located in the heart of Fontainebleau and adjacent to an artificial canal.

Its extraordinary style can be felt simply from its appearance.

The building does not simply pursue height; the facade is decorated with exquisite stone carvings and flowing wrought iron balconies, and every window is polished to a shine.

Two waiters in retro tailcoats stood at the door, their posture upright. The drizzle did not affect their professionalism as they opened the heavy brass-handled door for the traveler.

Instantly, the warm, dry air of the room enveloped her, transporting her to an extremely luxurious space.

The hotel lobby's decor is comparable to that of the Palace of Versailles.

The towering dome is adorned with a massive mural depicting a mythological theme, with golden plaster carvings dividing the scene, and layers of crystal chandeliers shimmering brightly.

The walls are almost entirely covered with intricate gold reliefs. The floor is paved with gleaming dark marble. A refined yet expensive blend of fragrances permeates the air, each wisp seemingly silently marking the entrance to this place.

Here, every smooth floor tile seems to whisper a warning about the astronomical cost involved, every inch of carved wall tells of the exorbitant price, and the faint fragrance in the air acts as an invisible barrier, politely dissuading every cash-strapped customer from "going astray."

The traveler, though soaked to the bone, with his hair disheveled and plastered to his forehead and cheeks, and his clothes darkened from the wetness, looked quite disheveled.

However, her demeanor and the fact that even when soaked, her coat was clearly made of excellent material and was meticulously tailored gave her an aura that didn't clash with the luxurious environment.

The traveler walked straight to the front desk, which was like a work of art, where three impeccably made-up waitresses with perfectly trained smiles stood.

"I want to stay in the most expensive room here," the traveler said bluntly.

The receptionists quickly exchanged glances.

The woman in the middle, who appeared to be the most senior, quickly and professionally scanned the traveler to determine if she was "qualified" to check in. She soon came to a conclusion: "Yes, miss. It would be a pleasure to arrange it for you."

The senior waitress gave an impeccable professional smile: "However, since this is your first time staying at a hotel in Fontainebleau, according to Fontainebleau's travel management regulations and the hotel's rules, we need to register some basic personal information for you and confirm your current asset status to ensure smooth follow-up services. Please understand."

"May I ask your name and place of birth?" She picked up a slender quill pen, ready to write it down.

“My name is Lü Ren, and I come from Liyue.” The traveler nodded and answered cooperatively.

"Hello, Miss Lu Ren. Molière Waterfront Hotel is honored to host such a distinguished guest as you from Liyue." The waitress quickly took notes, her smile unchanged. "So, do you have a bank account in Fontaineble? Or do you hold a large-sum credit certificate recognized by the Fontaineble Commercial Association?"

"No," the traveler replied crisply.

She had indeed only recently set foot on Fontainebleau soil.

“Okay, I understand.” The waitress showed no sign of surprise, clearly a seasoned guest: “As we need some time to verify your information and arrange your room, during this waiting period, the hotel’s butler will take you to our hot spring relaxation area for a short rest. We will provide you with a comfortable resting environment, as well as professional clothing cleaning and care services, ensuring that your clothes will be as good as new after your rest.”

As she spoke, she slightly turned to the side, gesturing. A man who had been standing quietly by a side pillar walked over with steady steps.

He was between fifty and sixty years old, and his hair, like his meticulously trimmed beard, was a dark gray mixed with silver strands, each hair neatly combed.

He wore a more refined dark butler uniform than that of ordinary waiters, perfectly tailored. His demeanor exuded a mature elegance, a quality cultivated through years of serving the elite, a blend of humility and inner pride.

“Miss Lu, good day. I am the butler of the Molière Riverside Inn. You may call me Bernard.” He bowed slightly, his movements fluid and natural. “Please follow me.”

*

Each hot spring cubicle is completely independent and offers excellent privacy. It is constructed of natural stone, and the rising steam carries a faint herbal fragrance.

The warm water flowed over his shoulders, and the traveler leaned against the smooth stone wall, finally letting out a long sigh of relief.

The water temperature was just right, dispelling the chill brought by the rain and seemingly melting away the slight irritation in my heart caused by being turned away.

Just as she was feeling a little parched, there was a very light knock outside her private hot spring room, followed by a gentle inquiry from a waiter. After receiving permission, a waiter brought in a glass of chilled fruit wine on a tray.

The wine glass is crystal clear, and the wine is a beautiful amber color, with tiny pieces of fruit and vanilla floating inside. It has a sweet and slightly sour taste that instantly quenches thirst.

When the traveler changed clothes and stepped out of his individual cubicle, the scene before him was quite different from before.

The once quiet corridor outside the hot spring area was now lined with two neat rows of people. On either side of the corridor, one row consisted of male butlers in sharp black suits, and the other row of female butlers in well-tailored skirt suits.

They stood respectfully, their hands clasped in front of them, as if welcoming someone extremely important.

The senior waitress who had previously greeted her was followed by a slightly plump woman whose name tag read "Hotel Manager".

The manager stopped in front of the traveler and bowed deeply. The waitresses and the two rows of butlers behind him also bowed slightly at the same time.

“Ms. Lü,” the manager said, his voice steady and full of apology, “I am truly sorry for the poor service just now. I failed to recognize your distinguished status immediately, causing you to wait here for so long and go through such a complicated registration process.”

Her face showed sincere apology and an even warmer smile: "Now, all the formalities have been properly completed for you. Fontaine welcomes you, esteemed guest. The Molière Waterfront Hotel will provide you with the highest level of service to ensure a comfortable and unforgettable stay in Fontaine."

"..."

I?

Have I become that famous? Even a top-tier hotel like Fontainebleau can "recognize" my "distinguished status" so quickly?

The scene before me, and the drastic change in attitude, truly satisfied my vanity to a great extent.

The lives of the rich... are indeed different.