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Now, in this intersection of old and new cultures, people on the streets wore both Italian silk brocade purple-and-gold robes, and many, like da Vinci, wore German-style fur cloaks with sharp-cut sleeves.
Some women wrapped their heads in long scarves, and their dresses were mostly split robes with necklines that were shockingly low.
Not far from da Vinci's house were many peculiar little shops.
Although Hedy couldn’t understand the Italian signs, she wandered into each one.
There was a blacksmith's shop, a gold-leaf shop, a dyeing workshop, and further down, there was even a shop selling glasses.
What was even more interesting was the omnipresent sight of pasta.
People even kneaded wheat dough right on the streets, rolling it out, cutting it, and leaving it to dry, stretching it out long and hanging it up to dry outside.
Not only were the yards of every house filled with drying noodles, but the streets and squares were also scattered with golden strands of pasta drying in the sun.
Hedy adjusted her headscarf, carefully covering her face a little more.
She had black hair and blue eyes, with facial features that were distinctly Jewish—although she was undeniably beautiful, there was a subtle difference compared to the locals here.
She had wandered around the area and familiarized herself with the surroundings, using the little pay she had earned to buy some things for herself, preparing to return home and take care of other odd jobs.
But when Hedy approached da Vinci’s house, the passersby nearby would give her strange, questioning looks, even stopping to confirm if she was really entering.
—What’s going on?
Hedy felt a faint sense of unease, but she pushed open the iron gate and entered anyway.
Da Vinci was still immersed in his writing, seemingly uninterested in painting.
She didn’t disturb him but instead returned to her room, carefully removing the jewelry sewn into her maid’s uniform.
These were things she had brought from Austria, the only items tied to her past life.
As she carefully cut open the seam with a small knife, four or five rings slipped out, their sapphires and diamonds still as dazzling as ever.
The young woman lowered her gaze, examining these old objects, a feeling of being in another lifetime washing over her.
Her mindset seemed to still be that of someone in their eighties, and she found herself strangely unfamiliar with the rings when she looked at them.
In her past life, they had long been pawned away in America and England, and even after decades, they felt like distant memories.
Below the collar, there was also a hidden layer of embroidery, with two pairs of earrings sewn on each side.
The silver jewelry, adorned with pomegranate-red gemstones, was quite stylish.
If she couldn’t stay in the artist's workshop for long, she would have to find a way to sell these items again, preferably in exchange for a house.
On the underside of her skirt were four or five necklaces, with pearls and crystals that still gleamed brightly.
Hedy sighed softly, wearing the loosely-fitted burlap dress.
These things, she’d need to sell some of them eventually.
She wasn’t sure how long she could stay here, but it was better to have some hard currency on hand just in case.
Earlier, she had pretended to be a woman casually shopping, observing the way people conducted trades on another street.
In Florence, gold coins and silver coins were used.
