The speaker was a man dressed like a scholar, about thirty years old. His features were fairly handsome, and his thick brows were especially striking. Yet his coarse cloth Confucian robe was somewhat worn, washed so many times it had faded white.
The moment Qiu Yan saw him, he stepped forward to greet him. "So it's Brother Zheng."
This man was named Zheng Zhongsen. He had been on good terms with Qiu Yan's former self, and the two often discussed essays and studies together.
Zheng Zhongsen had previously failed the Dao Examination three times. He and Qiu Yan could be called fellow sufferers in adversity. But before this examination, he had pulled every string and greased every palm, and at last his efforts had borne fruit—he had earned the status of a xiucai.
"Some time ago, I heard the terrible news about you and your father. This elder brother was deeply grieved and paid my respects from afar. Then, this morning, I heard that you were distributing porridge in the city. If not for that, who knew when this elder brother would have learned of it?" There was a faint note of reproach in his words.
Qiu Yan hurriedly apologized. As he looked Zheng Zhongsen over, he noticed that the man's complexion was pale, with what seemed to be black qi lingering between his brows.
"Oh? This is indeed the sign of a wounded heart and damaged spirit. It seems Zheng Zhongsen truly regarded my former self as a friend. Even after becoming a xiucai and rising in status, his feelings had not changed."
Over the past three days, Qiu Yan had condensed his Human Soul. Besides listening to storytelling every night, he had also tried cultivating the Spirit Eye Art and the Curse Compendium. Though he had yet to