In her previous life, Shen Mianmian wore the same thing, cotton-padded jackets that couldn't be washed and were not very attractive. This layer worn on the outside served to keep dirt off the inner clothes and made them appear just a bit better.
One could only say that what she wore was slightly less worn than her old clothes; calling them pretty would be a stretch of the truth.
However, Zhou Siyu was only fifteen years old now, living in such a family where having new clothes for the New Year was considered good enough, her aesthetic appreciation indeed hadn't been elevated.
Oh! Wrong, even if it had been elevated, she couldn't appreciate it.
When Zhou Siyu went to school, she liked to dress in an innocent, pure style, but later when she entered society, she adopted the style of a feral kitten: in summer, she liked to wear tight leopard prints, and in winter, she preferred mink.
Zhou Siyu pouted again, "Sis, you're just sour because you don't have any, aren't you?"
