After leaving Kaiyuan Bookstore, Fu Wenyu decided to take a stroll around the city.

The last time he had visited Liuzhou City was with his mother and younger sister. Back then, the three of them had a clear agenda: first, they visited the bookstore, then the embroidery shop, followed by the market in the west. Once their tasks were completed, they returned home.

As a result, Fu Wenyu’s impression of Liuzhou City remained rooted in the memories of the original owner of his body.

Now that he had finished writing his first storybook, he had plenty of free time and decided to explore the city. Not only would this deepen his understanding of Liuzhou City, but it might also provide material for his next storybook, perhaps sparking some inspiration.

Liuzhou City was not very large, with three main streets.

The first was Zhuangyuan Street, where Fu Wenyu had just come from. This was the main thoroughfare of the county, home to many long-established shops. For instance, Kaiyuan Bookstore and the prosperous Fuguijiu Restaurant, which had been featured in the tabloid Fu Wenyu had read, were known for their signature dishes like “Steamed Tender Lamb” and “Lamb Trotters with Bamboo Shoots.”

The second street led to the docks.

Liuzhou City was situated along a major river, connecting the capital upstream with other prefectures downstream. As a result, trade was relatively prosperous, and many shops lined the road leading to the docks.

As for the third street, Fu Wenyu stopped in his tracks from a distance.

This street was a gathering place for people of all walks of life. Some buildings had red silk and lanterns hanging at their entrances, marking them as brothels. Others were gambling dens, with gamblers and enforcers tugging at each other at the doors, likely over unpaid debts. These were places Fu Wenyu wouldn’t visit even if paid, so after a quick glance, he turned around.

He eventually returned to Zhuangyuan Street and stopped in front of a teahouse.

Unlike simple tea stalls, this teahouse was not just a place to drink tea but also a venue for listening to music, watching performances, and chatting with family and friends, similar to a washe (a traditional entertainment venue).

When Fu Wenyu entered, the storyteller was just reaching an exciting part of his tale.

“…The woodcutter was thrown heavily to the ground.”

“He knew that this time, his chances of survival were slim!”

“What was that across from him? It was a mountain demon, a spirit, an ancient monster that had lived for who knows how many years. To put it bluntly, that old monster might have eaten more people than the woodcutter had ever seen in his life.”

“How could he possibly stand against it?”

“My life is in grave danger!”

Was this Mr. Sanliu’s story, The Woodcutter?

Fu Wenyu sat down with interest.

He also liked the story The Woodcutter and even felt that if translated into plain language, it wouldn’t be inferior to the supernatural stories written by modern masters. In fact, in terms of certain word choices and descriptions, it might even be stronger. The only downside was that it was too short, less than 50,000 words.

In the time it took to settle in, the storyteller downstairs had already reached the climax.

“At that moment, the woodcutter felt pain in his heart, liver, and lungs, almost fainting from the agony. He deeply regretted not heeding the advice of the ancients and choosing to enter the mountains on a foggy day.”

“And now, he had encountered a spirit!”

“He regretted it, regretted it so much.” The storyteller put on a sorrowful expression. “Just as he was at his wit’s end, with no one to turn to for help, he suddenly saw an axe!”

“By sheer coincidence, the spirit had thrown him right where the axe had fallen. Isn’t that just too coincidental, esteemed guests? Truly, it was an incredible stroke of luck!” The storyteller slammed the gavel dramatically, his voice filled with passion. “In the blink of an eye, the woodcutter steeled his heart, grabbed the axe, and prepared to fight the spirit!”

“Good, fight it!” As soon as he finished speaking, cheers erupted from both upstairs and downstairs.

“Well said!”

“Fight it!”

The atmosphere in the teahouse was electric, with guests applauding and some even opening their money pouches to toss silver coins or copper coins toward the center of the stage, prompting the storyteller to bow repeatedly in thanks.

…This guy is really good.

While listening, Fu Wenyu silently praised the storyteller, thinking that his skill was on par with some professional storytellers of the modern era, though still not quite as good as a crosstalk performer.

If his own storybook could be performed like this, it might reach a wider audience. However, that was something to consider in the future. For now, Fu Wenyu simply enjoyed the performance.

As he listened, Fu Wenyu couldn’t help but marvel.

Mr. Sanliu really writes well. I should visit him if I get the chance.

Just as he was thinking this, the storyteller finished today’s segment. He clasped his hands and bowed to the audience, saying, “Thank you all for your support. Today’s telling of Mr. Sanliu’s The Woodcutter ends here.”

“I will return tomorrow.”

…Wait, that’s it?

Fu Wenyu, like many other guests, let out a disappointed sigh.

He had been completely engrossed. Although he had already read the content, reading and listening were two different experiences. Especially since this storyteller didn’t simply recite The Woodcutter verbatim but had made some adaptations. Moreover, his delivery was full of rhythm and emotion, with several changes in tone, making it far more engaging than a simple reading.

Why did it have to end now?

Other guests shared the same sentiment.

Immediately, one person shouted, “Mr. Feng, tell us another segment!”

“That’s right, another segment!” Others, equally unsatisfied, chimed in, emboldened by the first speaker. “Tell us another segment. We came here specifically for the storytelling.”

“Another segment!”

Mr. Feng hesitated, “This…”

Faced with the enthusiastic pleas of the customers, the middle-aged man was torn. He instinctively glanced toward the back, where the teahouse owner stood. Storytellers like him were hired by the teahouse to perform. While the content wasn’t fixed, the timing was—usually just half an hour or an hour each day, with the rest of the time reserved for singing, acrobatics, and other performances.

In other words, if he took too long, it would affect others.

The teahouse owner understood Mr. Feng’s dilemma. He gave him a meaningful look and then smiled, clasping his hands toward the guests. “Everyone, please don’t pressure Mr. Feng.”

“How about this: let Mr. Feng tell one more short segment. After all, he’s been performing for quite a while today and must be tired. Besides, you still have Ru Niang’s zither performance to enjoy. Let’s save the rest for tomorrow, shall we?”

The implication was clear: the focus should be on tomorrow.

Mr. Feng immediately understood.

He sat back down, cleared his throat, and said, “In that case, I’ll tell one more segment.”

The guests weren’t entirely unreasonable. They had just been caught up in the excitement. Now that both the owner and Mr. Feng had spoken, they gradually settled back into their seats to listen quietly.

Fu Wenyu did the same.

Then he heard Mr. Feng begin, “This time, I’ll tell a new story. Since I’ve only just started practicing it, please forgive any shortcomings.”

After this apology, he continued, “Once upon a time, there was a place called ‘Ping’an County.'”

“In this county, there lived a great philanthropist named Wang, whom the locals referred to as ‘Master Wang.’ Master Wang had spent half his life doing good deeds, helping the elderly and nurturing the young. He was a truly good man.”

Fu Wenyu: …This sounds familiar.

Then he heard Mr. Feng continue, “One day, Master Wang went out to tend to his business, leaving only his elderly mother, pregnant wife, and a few servants at home.”

“That night…”

By this point, Fu Wenyu was certain that Mr. Feng was telling his first storybook, Jiu Occupying the Magpie’s Nest: The True and False Young Masters.

To think that a storyteller had adapted it.

…I wonder if they paid for the copyright.

Fu Wenyu listened to the familiar plot while his mind wandered.

The True and False Young Masters was serialized in the Liuzhou tabloid, with new installments every five days, each about 3,000 words. So far, only the first 20,000 words had been published, covering the part where Zhang Gousheng, under the mistreatment of the Zhang family, used his wits to overcome one challenge after another and gained the favor of the village school’s teacher.

As Mr. Feng spoke, Fu Wenyu overheard the guests discussing.

“Huh, this part sounds familiar.”

“I know, I know!” one guest who had read the story said in a low voice. “This is the new story in the Liuzhou tabloid. It’s about a wet nurse who swapped her own grandson with the master’s son.”

“Wow, how could someone do such a thing!”

“Exactly!”

“So what happens next?”

“Ah, it’s not finished yet.”

…

The first 20,000 words of The True and False Young Masters, aside from the dramatic child-swapping at the beginning, mostly focused on Zhang Gousheng’s growth. Since there weren’t many major conflicts beyond family disputes, Fu Wenyu had added some humorous details to make it more enjoyable for readers.

Mr. Feng, as a storyteller hired by the teahouse, was truly skilled. Over the next while, through his unique pauses and intonations, he brought Fu Wenyu’s story to life, making it incredibly entertaining. Some of the funnier parts even had the guests bursting into laughter.

Fu Wenyu, noticing the time, left before Mr. Feng finished.

Before leaving, however, he packed some of the teahouse’s specialty tea snacks and the fragrant tea eggs, which he had already devoured three of, to take home and share with his mother and sister.

After leaving the teahouse, he made his way to the blacksmith’s shop and the market.

He went to the blacksmith’s shop because, while he had been busy writing his storybook, his mother, Zhou, and his sister, Fu Rong, had finished the embroidery work they had taken from the embroidery shop. Now, they were using the leftover silk threads to make chrysanthemum velvet flowers in various colors and sizes. Fu Wenyu decided to order some tools for them, such as needle-nose pliers and tweezers.

After all, a craftsman must first sharpen his tools.

Since iron tools were prone to rust, Fu Wenyu specifically asked the blacksmith to use copper instead. At the same time, he also ordered some fine copper wires for making velvet flowers, arranging to pick them up the next day.

As for the market, Fu Wenyu felt that his family would be eating vegetarian for a long time, which wasn’t good for their health, so he wanted to buy some nourishing ingredients. In the end, when he returned to Fujia Village, aside from the snacks and tea eggs he had packed from the teahouse, he also brought back a goat.

Because of the goat, Fu Wenyu attracted quite a few curious glances along the way.