"Good morning, Meng," said the man called Su, bowing his hands in courtesy.
"Morning, Meng," replied the rough-voiced man.
Meng Zhengjun returned the gesture, "Good morning, Young Teacher Su, Young Teacher Duan."
The two gentlemen who entered looked youthful, probably not yet thirty, but their styles and temperaments were quite distinct.
The one walking ahead was Su Changfeng, clad in a clean white Confucian robe, with a fair complexion and a baby face, exuding a hint of youthful innocence.
He was the poetry and prose teacher at Mochi Academy, also teaching the poetry class at Shuaixing Hall.
Following closely behind was a self-proclaimed 'lover of colors,' a tall and burly man, even more robust than Gu Yiwu, measuring over nine feet, with thick eyebrows and large eyes but sporting a shiny bald head. Whether this was intentional or not was unknown.
If it was the latter, it was certainly convenient, saving the trouble of daily hair binding.
