Soon, Weihui and I arrived at a distinctive spot in the commercial district: Feiling Attire. This boutique specialized in crafting garments for winged races.

The Empire of Aifei was governed by the Breath of the Sun Church, whose relatively lenient racial and commercial policies made the Imperial Capital’s markets exceptionally vibrant. Numerous demi-humans—intelligent, human-like species—resided here permanently. Most originated from races created by deities after ascension, each possessing unique traits and talents. While reproductive isolation existed between demi-human species, all could intermarry with humans, producing hybrid offspring.

Naturally, businesses catering to their specialized needs flourished. Winged demi-humans were particularly common: avian beastkin, Angels, Demons, Vampires, dragonkin, Sirens, and more. Feiling Attire served precisely this clientele.

Inside the shop, the atmosphere was pleasantly quiet compared to the bustling streets. Several winged customers browsed under the guidance of attendants—who themselves had wings. The garments were undeniably exquisite, woven from premium materials adorned with elegant patterns and inscriptions. Yet they lacked trendy flair; this was high-end craftsmanship prioritizing symbolism and utility over mere aesthetics or comfort.

The store was divided into sections tailored to different races’ aesthetics. An attendant approached me.

"Welcome, beautiful Six-Winged Angel lady. This is our Angel section—please browse at your leisure."

She left us to explore. I stood clueless, while Weihui meticulously examined fabrics, then studied my figure with intense focus.

I followed her lead. True to its theme, the Angel section featured predominantly white garments embroidered with mystical runes and regal motifs in gold or azure. Whether from childhood indoctrination or my new Angelic instincts, I found them alluring.

Weihui, however, frowned. She held up robe after robe against me, shaking her head each time before returning them to the racks.

"What’s wrong with this one?" I finally asked, losing patience as she rejected another piece.

"Sister-sama," she protested, "why are Angel robes so breezy and loose? Won’t you freeze mid-flight? And won’t the wind tear them apart?"

I chuckled. She’d forgotten that Angels—high-tier Divine Envoys—rarely felt cold and valued grandeur over practicality.

Ignoring her, I grabbed a set I liked and headed to the fitting room. When I emerged, my appearance had transformed.

The base was a white short robe inspired by Eastern qipao designs, slit high on both thighs. Black-and-gold metallic accents trimmed the waistband, collar, cuffs, and hem, creating stark contrast. A deep back opening accommodated my wings. Minimalist in pattern, the sleeveless top ended above the knees for ease of movement. I’d even worn the matching accessories: white lace-trimmed ankle socks, leg rings, and armbands.

Crafted from unicorn hair—a sacred, scarce material—the fabric was reinforced with rare Mist-Prism Tungsten. Each component had been blessed by Holy Clerics, granting defensive properties and Divine Art amplification.

Weihui stared speechless. Only after I drew near did she finally look away, muttering, "It... suits you beautifully, Sister-sama. But it’s too revealing. You’ll attract thugs."

*I sweat-dropped.* Hardly. If anything, *I’d* been the one teasing beauties back in my human days. No thug would dare harass an Angel—unless he craved death or was a legendary powerhouse.

Ignoring her grumbling, I purchased the set. Two similar designs by the same artisan joined my haul. Six gold coins later, I was thoroughly satisfied—I’d return often.

*(Currency context: Exchange rates fluctuated slightly by region and material purity, but the standard hierarchy was copper → silver → gold → Obsidian Coin → amethyst crystal → mithril. An Imperial Capital commoner earned 4,000–5,000 copper yearly—roughly 30–40 silver coins, given the Divine Church’s preference for silver weaponry. My six-gold purchase equaled a year’s wages for most.)*

I kept the new robes on as we returned to the street. Heads turned constantly. *Should’ve worn my old clothes after all.*

Next stop: professional gear shops.