After Zhou Yi entered, the bookshopkeeper had been observing him closely.
The dark cyan Taoist robe's material could not be discerned, with its stitches fine and even as if woven by a machine, yet it looked natural and comfortable, lacking the rigidity of mass production.
"Such exquisite craftsmanship, a foot of this would cost several taels of silver at least!"
The shopkeeper, being well-experienced, had accompanied his employer to Xianjing to purchase new printing machinery and knew that the scions of noble families and true Taoist practitioners clad themselves in crafts from a century ago.
Poor people are the ones who wear machine-woven fabrics!
Upon further observation of the jade hairpin on his head and cloud shoes on his feet, the traces of his profound background were evident.
The shopkeeper's eyes twinkled as he leaned over and bowed, "Taoist master, do you need any Taoist scriptures? A hand-copied version by the true person Zhang Huaiyun from a hundred years ago!"