Chapter 277: A Man Is Known by His Clothes

"There's one last outfit." Johnny lit another cigarette, his voice hoarse, his demeanor worn out.

The studio floor was littered with cigarette butts.

It wasn't just her—everyone was exhausted.

After two straight days of intense shooting, plus the major incident in between, no one had rested well, and no one could stay fully energized at this point.

But hearing it was the final piece, everyone's faces relaxed with relief.

No matter how tired they were, only this one remained.

What surprised Luo Quan, however, was that this last outfit was the "Forbidden Fruit"—the very dress Liang Yan had taken earlier.

"It was flown in overnight by headquarters' private jet, just arrived now," Li Yun exhaled softly. "It's the flagship haute couture of this summer, Brown's masterpiece. Headquarters still won't give it up."

"It's truly a shame to abandon promotion for such a beautiful dress," Luo Quan studied it closely—even someone as clueless about fashion as she couldn't help but admire its design.

The "Forbidden Fruit" was entirely black; as a summer piece, it used sheer fabric that looked almost transparent, like a black stocking stretched to its limit.

"Try it on," Johnny said. Though he had little faith in the dress's prospects, he still had to fulfill headquarters' orders.

There was no other styling—just the dress. Hair and makeup were skipped. Everyone just wanted to go home.

But when Luo Quan stepped out of the dressing room, everyone changed their minds.

The previously lifeless studio instantly grew hot with energy because of her.

The "Forbidden Fruit" on her body seemed to have been given new life.

The dress's patterns were edged with dark gold thread, the main motifs a deep crimson—three shades, each darker than the last—but when worn by Luo Quan, they shimmered in magical harmony with her porcelain-white skin.

The profound darkness and dazzling white created a powerful visual impact—only Luo Quan's complexion could produce such an effect.

Black symbolized coldness, strength, and evil; this color maximized men's innate desire to conquer and eradicate evil.

White, meanwhile, symbolized purity, innocence, and gentleness—especially this sickly white, which effortlessly stirred the heart's urge to protect the weak and cherish beauty.

Two extremes of beauty, two extremes of contradiction, intertwined—just one glance could trap you, unable to escape.

The designer also understood the art of ambiguity: the black gauze darkened gradually from bottom to top, becoming increasingly sheer higher up.

But it wasn't the transparent cut of a low-cut evening gown—it was more like a woman half-concealing herself behind a pipa.

Everyone knew there was only a thin layer of gauze between them and what lay beneath, yet no matter how hard they stared, they could not glimpse what lay under the black veil.

It was the designer's riddle to all—no one could know the answer.

At this moment, Luo Quan resembled the embodiment of angel and demon—every movement, every glance wildly releasing desire.

"Everyone, get ready to shoot!" Johnny roared like a furious lion.

He strode to the photographer, grabbed his collar: "You must capture its most perfect form!"

The poor photographer, though a top name at Chanel, could only nod meekly before Johnny.

"Props? Where are the props?" Johnny shouted again.

The assistant stumbled over, clutching an apple tightly.

In the West, the "Forbidden Fruit" meant apple—this one had been bought fresh from the market last night, still bright red this morning, but by evening, its edges had turned brown; even in summer, it had wilted far too quickly.

"Can we still use this?" the assistant looked pained. "Should I go buy another?"

"No—this one!" Johnny's spirits lifted at the slightly spoiled apple—he wanted exactly this effect.

"Change the backdrop!"

"Luo Quan, get ready to shoot!" Johnny commanded again—this time directly at Luo Quan.

"Alright," Luo Quan raised her hand to rub her face and wake herself up, but Johnny immediately snapped:

"No—this state is perfect. The more tired, the more worn-out, the better!"

Luo Quan was baffled, but as a layperson, she didn't dare ask more—she simply obeyed.

In the following shoot, Johnny reignited his creative passion, replacing the photographer to direct Luo Quan through one pose after another.

Though titled a stylist, he was also a skilled photographer—just this time, given the heavy workload, they hadn't assigned him to shoot.

The entire session lasted twenty minutes. When it ended, everyone erupted in cheers.

Perhaps because of Luo Quan's beauty—or perhaps simply because they could finally go home.

"This might actually recover the company's losses," Johnny looked haggard, but his eyes gleamed.

Luo Quan's look in this dress surpassed his wildest imagination—once released, the impact would be explosive!

"If it does, that'd be perfect," Luo Quan yawned, too tired to change clothes. She grabbed the outfit she'd worn when arriving and climbed straight into Li Yun's car.

Li Yun also lived in Jiuding Mansion—they were going the same way.

Luo Quan had guessed Chanel would quickly release photos to salvage its reputation and losses, but she hadn't expected them to move so fast.

The drive from the studio back to Jiuding Mansion took less than an hour, despite rush-hour traffic.

Back home, her phone buzzed with a notification: Chanel's official Weibo had posted a new update:

"Chanel 2017 Summer Haute Couture—Eden Series Flagship: 'Forbidden Fruit'!"

Below it were nine photos arranged in a 3x3 grid, the star, of course, Luo Quan—each with different angles and poses.

The background had changed from white to a red velvet rug, with more props scattered on the floor.

Dressed in the "Forbidden Fruit," Luo Quan leaned against the wall, eyes hazy and languid, lips slightly parted—exquisitely captivating.

In this photo, Luo Quan's figure perfectly carried the dress without alteration—her waist slender just right, two long, snow-white bare legs extending from the hem, sparking endless imagination.

This was the conceptual image for customers wanting to buy the "Forbidden Fruit"—a correction to Liang Yan's version, as if to say: This is how you're meant to look in this dress!

Several more photos followed, all full-body shots of Luo Quan standing from multiple angles, fully showcasing the dress's beauty and ingenious details.

The later photos resembled more of a personal showcase by Luo Quan.

This time, she wasn't standing—she was curled on a chair, her right hand dangling over the armrest, four fingers lightly holding a wilting, nearly-falling apple.

Her gaze remained as languid and dreamy as ever; scattered books on the floor, dim lighting—this chaotic scene evoked an atmosphere of decadence and corruption.

Everything together formed a painting titled "Desire."

Luo Quan was a beauty only possible in a painting—like a fairy from a night forest, misty and enchanting.

Her left hand gently lifted the hem of the dress, revealing along her snowy thigh a reproduction of Michelangelo's masterpiece, "The Creation of Adam."

Originally an offering of piety to God, the golden thread now radiated divine aura.

Yet here it appeared in this setting—like a ruined statue of the Virgin, holiness and corruption entangled, indistinguishable.

Luo Quan was the living "Forbidden Fruit"—vivid, intoxicating, luring humanity deeper into the abyss of desire.

Her flesh was blooming poison; her eyes and brows were dancing serpents; every breath carried the same scent as the apple in her hand—beautiful on the surface, rotten beneath.

And this scene, captured by the photographer's lens, became eternal.

If this were a true oil painting, it could unquestionably be called art.

If it had appeared centuries ago, it might have become an immortal masterpiece in human history.

Of course, these were only imaginings—now it appeared beneath Chanel's advertisement. As long as the internet existed, its immortality was assured; whether it would be deemed a masterpiece remained uncertain.

At least public reaction was overwhelming—the moment the photos dropped, they surged to trending and climbed into the top five within minutes; comments multiplied visibly, soon surpassing fifty thousand:

"Beautiful! Unimaginably beautiful—I've never seen such a photoshoot!"

"Only the world's most beautiful could pull this off. On Weibo, everyone claims 'absolute beauty'—who dares challenge Luo Quan?"

"From now on, don't casually use 'absolute beauty'—you'll only embarrass yourself."

"No comparison, no harm—look at Luo Quan, then look at Liang Yan. Same dress, two outcomes: Xi Shi and Dong Shi."

"I think you're insulting Dong Shi."

"Such a beautiful dress—I want to buy one!"

"Just dream about it. This dress costs over two million U. S. dollars."

"The poor shed tears of sorrow—fine, I'll wait for a Taobao copy."

………………

Not just domestically—Chanel released these photos globally simultaneously, and overseas enthusiasm quickly surged.

Twitter users and fans flooded the platform with praise for the photos, screens filled with exclamation marks.

Most excited of all was the dress's designer—he reposted Luo Quan's photos across all his social platforms, desperate for everyone to admire his "masterpiece."

He lavished Luo Quan with high praise, showering her with words like "angel," "God's favorite," as if they cost nothing.

Foreigners always had an abundance of adjectives for beauty—where a Chinese person might praise from multiple angles without repeating a single phrase—think of the "Ode to the Goddess of the Luo River."

The "Forbidden Fruit"'s reputation instantly reversed—previous cancellations were retracted, and new pre-orders poured in.

Chanel itself hadn't expected that what began as a major failure would turn this dress into the best-selling haute couture piece in years!

In recent years, the haute couture market had been sluggish—celebrities and socialites increasingly favored streetwear; outside special occasions, few wore haute couture anymore.

Many luxury brands had shut down their haute couture lines entirely, shifting toward streetwear.

Chanel was one of the few still maintaining a full haute couture production line, consistently releasing new designs each year—but sales had always been sluggish, a trend across the entire fashion industry.

But the explosion of the "Forbidden Fruit" surpassed all expectations—after an initial plunge in pre-orders, within a day it rebounded, even surging by two hundred percent!

This was nearly the total number of haute couture pieces Chanel sold in an entire quarter last year—and now it was just one flagship piece!

If nothing changed, the "Forbidden Fruit" would become one of the best-selling haute couture pieces in the past decade!

This was truly turning misfortune into fortune.

To preserve its value, Chanel Group swiftly issued a statement: the "Forbidden Fruit" would be globally limited to five hundred pieces—buy now, or miss out.

Before, "limited to five hundred" would have made the industry laugh—producing so many? That would devalue it!

Usually, haute couture had only dozens of pieces; the worse the sales, the more they'd produce.

But this time, no one doubted the "Forbidden Fruit"'s sales—five hundred pieces would sell out, and still not be enough!

This dress was a rare masterpiece—Luo Quan's wearing it had caused such a sensation; it was destined to become a symbol of beauty and status. Buy it, and you profit.

Miss this, and you'll forever watch others wear it, watch them show off.

Suddenly, phone calls ordering this dress flooded into Chanel's sales hotline, numbering at least five hundred.

As for who would buy it, that was for Chanel to sort out slowly—high-end custom pieces weren't something anyone could afford or wear.

Liang Yan was a vivid example: she wore clothing unsuited to her, and was mocked mercilessly both domestically and abroad, especially after Luo Quan's photos surfaced, making her the biggest laughingstock on Weibo in recent times.

Although she deleted the related photos, netizens had saved many and combined them with Luo Quan's image into a single comparison.

Whenever a comparison example was needed, this image would appear, nearly becoming an internet meme.

If Liang Yan had once gained fame and massive traffic from this dress, now she had lost both her reputation and her investment.

Besides being labeled as vain and low-class, other major brands would likely think twice before collaborating with her, and her image and reputation on Weibo had plummeted—she wouldn't recover anytime soon.

P. S. Thank you to the readers Xiao Xiang Xi Bian and Xiao Xiao Meng Gui for their book coins—appreciated!