Professor Yi sat behind his office desk.
Page after page, with great patience, he leafed through the pile of documents that Old Yao had brought to him.
Occasionally, he lifted his head to scrutinize the young scholarship student seated across from him.
Professor Yao was quietly enveloped in dense smoke – whether it was a peculiar effect of his pipe, or a spell cast by Old Yao, the blue-white smoke swirled about him and within a radius of several feet, not a single tendril strayed.
Zheng Qing sat upright on the chair, gripping his knees with both hands. His spine was straight as a ramrod. Even in the dimly lit room, the two badges hung on his chest sparkled brilliantly.
Maintaining such a formal posture was very tiresome, very tiresome indeed.
But, to leave a good impression on the sternly serious Divination professor seated across from him, he had no choice but to grit his teeth and endure.
The seconds and minutes ticked away.
