The manager, sensing my displeasure, quickly left with his staff.


    Right then, Mrs. Brown stepped forward, frowning as she surveyed the surroundings with an expression of apparent dissatisfaction.


    "What kind of shabby ce is this? This looks just like an average vige! Did you book us a stay at some rural homestay?"


    "Yeah! Look over there. There are ducks in the river! What proper hotel raises poultry? This is obviously some vige-turned-guesthouse!"


    "Not just that, look at those wooden houses. They''re no taller than two floors. What is this ce supposed to be? I wouldn''t even dare post photos of this ce on social media!"


    What they said left me speechless. What ordinary vige could possibly look this beautiful?


    At a nce, I could already identify over a dozen types of rare flowers and nts. And that wasn''t even a river-it was a man-made canal with ponds. The birds swimming on it weren''t ordinary ducks but a hybrid breed of colorful ducks boasting vibrant and varied colors that were truly stunning.


    Even my mom, who had stayed here before, was thoroughly impressed by the ce. Yet, these people looked down on it.


    Fortunately, a staff member soon arrived and led us into the courtyard.


    Just then, Mrs. Cylon grabbed Mrs. Brown''s arm, saying, "Vanessa, my luggage is still in the car. I didn''t bring it with me."


    "What''s the rush? I already called to have it brought over while we were on the way here."


    "Oh, okay. Just tell them to be careful. I brought several jars of pickles and some homemade olive oil. Make sure nothing spills."


    Mrs. Brown burst outughing upon hearing this. "Pickles? Are you serious? Did you bring pickles to the city? That''s hrious! Did you all hear that? She brought pickles!


    "If the staff here hears this, they''ll dieughing at how much of a country bumpkin you are. What isn''t avable in the city? Who would want your pickles?"


    Mrs. Brown''s cousins chimed in with equally disdainful expressions, "Not just pickles, but also homemade olive oil? Wow, I don''t even know what to say. People like this stay uncultured no matter how long they''ve been in the city."


    "Hey, don''t be so harsh. We don''t care for pickles, but her future son-inw clearly does! Look at how poor he looks. He probably survives on pickled vegetables every meal."


    The manager likely told the staff member standing next to me who I was, as her eyes widened in shock when she looked at me after hearing what they said.


    Clearly, she hadn''t expected someone the manager was so respectful toward to be ridiculed like this.


    Felicia''s face turned bright red, and tears welled up in her eyes. She finally couldn''t hold back anymore, chiding, "Could you stop looking down on people? Our family matters have nothing to do with him!


    "My mom brought the pickles and olive oil for me. The pickles are for me to eat, and the olive oil is for me to give to my counselor. What does that have to do with any of you?"


    "Felicia."


    Mrs. Cylon shook Felicia''s arm, signaling her to calm down, then turned and smiled obsequiously at Mrs. Brown. "I''m just a simple


    woman from the countrysidel.ne


    So it''s


    only natural that I do some uncultured things."


    Mrs. Brown snorted, shooting Felicia a re again.


    "Whatever. They can wait for their pickles. We should head to our rooms to rest


    first."


    I gave the staff member a look before saying, "Take them to their rooms first. I''ll


    stay here with them to wait for their luggage."


    "Yes, Mr-I mean, sir."


    Once they left, I led Felicia and Mrs. Cylon to a bench by the canal.