I Only Sell Murder Houses

The meal was a lively affair.

It lasted nearly an hour.

After the banquet ended, Seventh Master, Meng Yifan, and I prepared to bid the old man farewell.

But Daoist Xiang stopped me alone. He called me aside and asked my name.

“Chen Mo.”

“Chen Mo?”

Daoist Xiang looked at me and smiled faintly. “A good name. Like the man himself, simple yet profound.”

I was puzzled. “You’ve never spent any time with me. How could you know what kind of person I am?”

Daoist Xiang said, “A full, well-proportioned face belongs to a person with a kind heart. Upright eyes reflect an upright heart. You are sincere and benevolent, but you carry many things inside you. They reveal themselves in your eyes.”