The Republic of China: From Storyteller to God

Although it is a regular teahouse catering to the general public, the decor of Miaoxiang Tea House is anything but casual.

In the large hall, more than a dozen tables were arranged in a staggered manner.

In the past, neighbors would come here early in the morning to find a good spot to drink tea or listen to audiobooks and pass the time.

But today, the teahouse is empty, with most of the tables empty.

Only at the table opposite the storyteller's platform, closest to the north wall, sat a long-braided man with triangular eyes and a repulsive appearance.

This man was none other than Zhao Tianhu, the leader of the Shahe Gang.

He was lazily cracking open a longan while standing with one foot on a chair, spitting the longan skin and seeds all over the floor.

Two burly thugs stood behind him, their arms thick and strong, coldly watching him from the left and right.

The teahouse owner hid behind the counter, head down, trembling.

"Ptooey! Spit!"

Zhao Tianhu spat out a longan seed and looked at the storytelling stage with a half-smile.

There stood a storyteller, looking miserable, leaning on a table in front of the stage.

He wasn't short, but he was a bit hunchbacked.

In addition, his graying temples made his figure appear somewhat hunched.

His gray long gown was faded from washing, and there were several clear footprints on it.

There were wrinkles visible at the collar, and a few spots of blood that looked like they had spurted from a wound at the corner of the mouth.

His arms, which were thin, were supporting him on the table, but he still managed to straighten his body.

"Mr. Chen."

Zhao Tianhu looked at him teasingly and asked, "Are you rested enough? I'm getting impatient. Hurry up and tell me a story!"

The storyteller listened to his words, and a flush of anger rose on his face.

Seeing that he didn't speak, Zhao Tianhu sneered, "What? Do you want my two brothers to give you a little more exercise?"

Upon hearing this, the two burly thugs behind him stepped forward in unison.

"Wait!"

Mr. Chen raised his hand, a flicker of struggle in his eyes, but he finally sighed and said dejectedly, "I'll talk... I'll talk..."

"Then let's get started!"

Zhao Tianhu lazily leaned back in his chair, propped his legs up on the armrest, and tossed a longan into his mouth: "Spit! Bah!"

The longan seed bounced on the ground and landed at Mr. Chen's feet.

Looking at the longan seed, Mr. Chen twitched the corner of his mouth, gave a self-deprecating smile, and shook his head.

For a storyteller who has mastered the craft, each performance is a form of self-cultivation.

The first skill a novice storyteller possesses is the ability to describe things vividly and engagingly.

He can stimulate his qi and blood to create a powerful sound, resonating with the emotions of those around him.

With just his words, he could vividly depict the scenes, environments, and characters described in the storybooks, allowing the audience to immerse themselves in the story.

However, this ability also consumes a great deal of physical strength and energy.

It often takes three to five days to recover after each storytelling performance.

Throughout the year, in order to pay off his debts, he disregarded his depleted energy and insisted on telling a story every three days.

He was already in poor health, and all the money he earned went to Chunmiao's son, causing his health to deteriorate day by day.

There were many guests this morning.

He had just finished telling a story, putting all his energy into it.

Just as the teahouse waiter received his tip, Zhao Tianhu barged in with his Shahe Gang members.

Not only did they steal all the reward money, but they also took advantage of his weakness to attack him en masse.

As the saying goes, misfortunes never come singly, and a sudden gust of wind can also bring misfortune.

He consulted the blind fortune teller Li, who said that this year was unlucky for him, and that today's misfortune was his just desserts.

His fingers, gripping the table, turned white from clenching them.

He struggled to stand up straight and slowly moved behind the desk.

With difficulty, he picked up the gavel from the table and slammed it down on the table.

Snapped!

The sound of the gavel echoed in the empty teahouse, sounding particularly crisp.

Looking around, his gaze swept over Zhao Tianhu and his group, then fell on the empty tables where regular customers often sat, and he spoke in a deep voice.

"Ladies and gentlemen, today we will not talk about the emperors and generals who expanded the territory, but only about a hero who was upright and generous."

He looked weak, but when he opened his mouth, his speech was clear and his voice was loud, and every word could be clearly heard throughout every corner of the teahouse.

"This hero's surname was Qin, given name Qiong, courtesy name Shubao, and he was from Licheng, Shandong."

He was a founding general at the end of the Sui Dynasty and the beginning of the Tang Dynasty, one of the twenty-four meritorious officials of Lingyan Pavilion, and held the highest position among officials.

Back then, he was born with a face as pale as gold and eyes as bright as stars. He was skilled with a pair of gilded bronze maces and possessed the courage of ten thousand men. People in the martial arts world nicknamed him "Little Mengchang".

Lord Mengchang was a famous scholar during the Warring States period, known for his philanthropy and generosity.

Qin Qiong was quite like him, being extremely generous and righteous, helping the poor and needy.

But who could have imagined that even such a hero would have his day of bad luck, like a phoenix falling from its perch!

Seeing that Mr. Chen was actually talking about books, Zhao Tianhu's face darkened.

He originally intended to humiliate the old man, force him to beg for mercy, and then sign the contract in a straightforward manner.

But this old fellow was completely oblivious and couldn't understand the meaning behind his words.

Mr. Chen was completely oblivious to Zhao Tianhu's fierce glare.

His gaze was fixed on the empty space, but his thoughts drifted back to the moment he had just become a disciple of his master.

"Xiang Wan, storytelling isn't about rote memorization or simply reading the whole book aloud."

Storytellers use words, sounds, actions, and gestures to guide listeners into immersing themselves in the characters of the story, thus evoking resonance.

But if you want the listener to empathize with you, you have to be able to empathize with them first.

If you want to say that Yue Fei's death was tragic, you must first put yourself in his shoes and understand his grief and indignation.

In the dragon dance team, the leader at the very front, who dances the dragon ball, is the one who performs the dance best.

Even without the long dragon following him, he alone could still be seen as having the bearing of a soaring dragon.

Remember, storytelling and historical recounting, at their core, all boil down to one word: "emotion."

At that time, he was clueless and didn't understand what his master meant by those words.

But now, after experiencing so many setbacks, he was even humiliated by the Shahe Gang today, suffering endless torment.

When he talked about Qin Qiong selling his horse, he seemed to truly understand the humiliation Qin Qiong felt at that time.

"On this day, Qin Qiong arrived in Tiantang County, Luzhou on official business, but unfortunately contracted a serious illness and was trapped in Wang Xiaoer's inn."

At first, Wang Xiaoer saw that he was imposing and had heavy luggage, so he served him with great care.

But the illness dragged on for months, and with all their money gone and their clothes pawned, Wang Xiaoer's face grew colder day by day.

First, the portions of tea and rice were reduced; then, the words became more sarcastic; and finally, he led a group of hooligans to block the doorway demanding payment.

"Mr. Qin, you've racked up quite a bit of debt for rent and meals! I'm just a small business owner, and I really can't afford to cover it all!"

Chen Xiangwan seemed to have forgotten her current situation, imitating the waiter's tone, but it was clearly Zhao Tianhu's voice.

Upon hearing Chen Xiangwan compare him to a waiter, Zhao Tianhu flew into a rage, slamming his fist on the table: "Shut up! What nonsense are you spouting!"

But Chen Xiangwan on the stage seemed oblivious, completely absorbed in the story, her expression mirroring that of Qin Qiong in the book—a mixture of grief and indignation.

It was as if all the blood and energy in his body had rushed to the top of his head, and even on this hot day, wisps of mist were rising from the top of his head.

"Alas! Qin Qiong, who usually spends money like water and makes friends all over the world, has never suffered such filth!"

Chen Xiangwan slapped her palm and sighed, "It's true what they say: a man with money is a hero, but a man without money is nothing!"

As the saying goes, a dragon in shallow water is mocked by shrimp, and a tiger fallen to the plains is bullied by dogs. Even the most outstanding hero, with all his wealth, cannot survive when his bedside is empty!

Hearing this, Zhao Tianhu could no longer contain himself. He jumped up, kicked over the table, and pointed at Chen Xiangwan, yelling, "Who are you calling a tiger and a dog? How dare you insult your grandfather in such a roundabout way! Beat him up!"

As he spoke, he waved his hand, signaling the two thugs behind him to step forward.

However, Chen Xiangwan remained immersed in grief and indignation, completely ignoring Zhao Tianhu's shouts and curses.

So this is what Master meant by moving people with emotion.

He talked about books for over a decade before finally finding the key.

No wonder his master said he had no talent.

Unfortunately, he finally mastered the art of moving people with emotion, but no one listened.

If this passage elicits a standing ovation, leveraging the audience's grief and indignation, he will surely break through the barriers and ascend to the seventh rank.

Once he reached the seventh rank, he could borrow the energy of the heroic spirits in the book.

If he could borrow the heroic spirit from the book, how could he have been so humiliated by these scoundrels from the Shahe Gang?

But there are no "what ifs" in life.

Chen Xiangwan remained calm as she watched the two thugs rush towards her.

That's good, he can see Chunmiao sooner.

But... he had finally managed to deliver a moving piece of writing, and if he could hear someone say "good" before he died, he could die in peace.

Just then, a sudden cheer came from the entrance of the teahouse.

"What a beautiful poem!"

The two thugs were skilled in martial arts and had keen hearing, but they didn't notice anyone coming in.

At a shout of applause, the two thugs instinctively stopped and looked warily toward the entrance of the teahouse.

A young man dressed in a light blue robe walked in, clapping softly and smiling.