Douluo Continent: A Fallen Immortal Descends to Earth, Slaying Gods with a Drunken Sword

Chapter 441 The Storyteller and the Soul Master's Name (Bonus Chapter)
The storyteller pushed the gavel to the table, his withered, bamboo-like fingers hovering over it, and slowly spoke to his twelve-year-old grandson:

“Look closely, this is called ‘suspended but not falling’.”

"When the storyteller strikes the gavel, the audience's hearts must also be in their throats."

His wrist suddenly felt heavy.

A crisp "snap" echoed in the courtyard.

"This is called 'Falling Jade Plate'."

He stroked his grandson's hand and placed it on the gavel.

"It should be heavy and crisp, like a pebble thrown into a deep pool!"

He then picked up the folding fan.

"Opening the fan is like unfurling a painting scroll, closing the fan is like gathering away the wind and clouds."

"When describing a general slashing his horse diagonally—"

The fan-shaped surface cut through the air.

"Speaking of a beautiful woman shedding tears, this is how one should gently touch the water—"

He lightly twirled the fan three inches from his grandson's brow.

The little grandson copied the movements, and even in his childish actions, a certain rhythm was already evident.

Just teach.

The storyteller gazed at the gilded and silvery clouds on the horizon, then suddenly tucked his folding fan into his sleeve.

"It's time. Come with Grandpa to the teahouse."

"Grandpa has already won the favor of the Creator God, so why does he always have to go on stage in person?"

The little grandson clutched the old man's sleeve, his eyes full of confusion.

The storyteller tapped his grandson's head lightly with his folding fan.

"Storytelling has never been a noble profession."

"From giving a lecture every day to three times every thirty days, it's already a stolen moment of leisure."

"If you want to tell a story that touches people's hearts, you can't do without the warmth of everyday life."

He was helped across the threshold by his grandson.

Two long shadows stretched out on the bluestone road.

“If it weren’t for Grandpa presiding over Lord Jianjiu’s wedding back then, your father would not have allowed you to inherit my storytelling mantle.”

He gazed at the wine flags fluttering at the alley entrance, his voice gradually fading into the twilight.

"Today's performance is Grandpa's last performance."

The teahouse was bustling with noise, the aroma of tea and wine mingling together to create a warm and inviting atmosphere.

The owner of this teahouse.

It was the same waiter who always received tips from Li Zhexian back then.

Since that day, Li Zhexian jokingly said, "You've been a waiter for years."

He said he was "used to being a waiter," but in reality, he sat by the river all night.

In the end, the twelve gold coins and twenty-six silver coins that Li Zhexian had given as a reward were used to set up a tea stall.

now.

This "Qingyunzhai" stands shoulder to shoulder with the century-old brand "Shanxiangfang".

"Sir, you've arrived! Please come up to the stage!"

"Sir, you must be ninety-nine years old this year! Look at you, still so healthy and with such a booming voice, you are truly blessed!"

"This old gentleman has ascended to the realm of gods and received celestial fruits personally bestowed upon him by the Creator God! Living to be a hundred years old is only natural!"

Snapped!
A sharp crack of the gavel.

The clamor in the hall was instantly silenced.

Although the storyteller's hair and beard were all white, his spine straightened unconsciously as he held a gavel in his hand.

That air of composure, honed over a century, flowed naturally, needing no further words; it had already commanded respect.

"today……"

"Still the legend of swords and wine..."

For a while.

The whole house cheered.

This "Legend of Sword and Wine" has been told and heard for decades since the ascension of the Sword and Wine Master.

The people in the building have come and gone, and the stories have become richer and more legendary with the embellishment of folk masters, just like the ever-increasing number of statues in the central shrine of Tiandou City...

The gilded statue of the young man in the center is said to have been praised throughout the world.

Therefore, no one found it boring.

The old-timers nodded and swayed as they listened, boasting to the new faces: "Let me tell you, Lord Jiujian, you used to eat my steamed buns!"

The newlyweds listened with rapt attention, marveling at that bygone era, which, though lost, became all the more vibrant through word of mouth.

End of book presentation.

He returned home. After finishing his meal, the storyteller went back to his room.

He took out a faded, patched blue cloth robe from the bottom of the trunk, gently stroked the fabric with his thin fingers, and then put it on.

"Father, why did you dig out these old clothes?"

His son was surprised to see him dressed like this.

"Be comfortable in your clothes, don't worry about me."

The old man waved his hand, slowly walked into the courtyard, and sat down on the bamboo chair that he had sat on so many times that it was shiny.

The night is getting darker.

The stars twinkled in the sky.

He tilted his head back, his cloudy old eyes reflecting the starlight, and those memories flowed before his eyes like a revolving lantern...

He wasted most of his life, and even in his old age he was still mediocre. He spent half his life wielding a gavel, able to narrate the stories of heroes all over the world, but he couldn't even afford a simple coffin. When his wife passed away, he could only find a straw mat and bury her himself on a barren slope on the outskirts of the city.

The neighbors' chatter was like a gentle autumn rain:

"What future can storytelling offer? You should have found a proper job long ago."

On that moonless night, he buried the wooden clapper that had accompanied him for half his life under the old locust tree in the backyard. He dug three inches into the soil, then regretted it and took it out again, repeating this process until his ten fingers were covered in mud.

Finally remembering the promising young man from Tiandou City, he wrote a new manuscript overnight, intending to finish this last chapter and then shut up and find another job.

Who knew that from that day on...

His bleak life was rekindled.

That young man named Li Zhexian not only became a beacon illuminating the long, dark night of the continent, but also the dawn that would light up the rest of his life.

In his twilight years, he was able to witness the grandeur of the Heavenly Battle era, with its myriad lights illuminating every home, and gaze upon the dazzling celestial blossoms in the clouds of the divine realm.

"Thank you, Master Jianjiu..."

The night breeze ruffled his graying beard and hair, and his long blue robe gleamed warmly under the starlight.

"I have no regrets in this life..."

The storyteller slowly closed his eyes, his arms hanging limply at his sides.

The gavel that had accompanied him throughout his life was still firmly clutched in his withered hand.

Just as consciousness was about to sink into eternal darkness.

He suddenly felt a lightness in his body.

The previously dim vision gradually brightened.

When the sky cleared, I found myself standing in a divine realm shrouded in auspicious clouds.

The young man in white smiled and bowed to him.

"Even a banished immortal must thank you, sir, for traveling all over the mainland and telling my story to the world."

"This this……"

The storyteller hurriedly returned the greeting, his voice trembling as he said:
"Lord Jianjiu, you flatter this old man!"

He looked up blankly at the Soul Master holding a scroll behind the boy.

The Soul Master smiled and cupped his hands in greeting.

"Congratulations, sir, on attaining the rank of priest."

The storyteller's usually eloquent tongue was now so excited that he was incoherent.

“I am but a mortal, I have never cultivated even a fraction of my life… how can I be worthy of… how can I be worthy of a divine official…”

With a smile playing on his lips and a voice as clear as a divine decree, Li Zhexian once again proclaimed the divine message.

"Having lived a life of wandering, witnessing all the vicissitudes of life, and recounting all the joys and sorrows of separation and reunion, I hereby appoint you as the God of the Floating World."

"It can travel through the heavens, collect the most profound and touching stories of the world, tell the gods about the mortal world, and thus show compassion to all living beings."

The divine voice fell.

A myriad of rays of light descended.

Enveloped the storyteller.

He still looked like an old man with white hair and wrinkled skin, but his aged eyes were as bright as stars.

A green robe swayed in the wind.

The gavel in his hand gleamed with a warm and profound luster.

"Thank you, Creator God, for your pardon!"

The Soul Master stepped forward and said:
"I am the Firebearer Priest in charge of recording, and I will be able to work with you again from now on."

Li Zhexian nodded in satisfaction and waved his sleeve.

A scroll bearing the celestial constellations appeared in the air; it was the Universal Divine Book, which recorded the names of all the gods.

The storyteller and the soul master stepped forward.

Solemnly inscribe your name in the annals of divination:

“Meng Songgu”.

"Li Youwei".

(End of this chapter)