Cao Fa began practicing his voice on the very first day with Mr. Chen.
Being a Storyteller wasn’t easy. Though Chen Changsheng was only average as a Storyteller, he was a strict teacher. He insisted on having it done correctly—properly, just as it should be.
To beco a Storyteller, one needed clear enunciation and smooth speech, with no room for carelessness.
Cao Fa, being a front hall server, had so skill. That was good, but it also created problems.
Mr. Chen said: “Your enunciation is fine. The issue lies in your speaking pace and emotions. When storytelling, you mustn’t sound servile like a server. You’re acting out characters from the book, you’re not a teahouse worker.”
“This humble one understands,” Cao Fa nodded.
“You must learn how to refer to yourself. Saying ‘this humble one’ definitely won’t do.”
“Understood…”
Cao Fa felt awkward. He knew this skill required hard work, not half-hearted effort. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to change.
His biggest hurdle was practicing speech.
Cao Fa was quite talented in ‘acting’, and he was deeply interested in this skill. If he could get the speaking part down solid, the rest would happen naturally.
Third Master Jin joined the practice too, but found the voice training unbearably tough.
Then there were those tongue twisters prepared by Mr. Chen.
How could anyone recite these smoothly?
Green grapes grow green vines, green vines cling to green grapes… Fourteen is not the sa as forty… Eight hundred brave soldiers ran to the north slope… From the south ca soone carrying a trumpet…
After just a short while, Third Master Jin’s tongue tripped over itself.
He glanced over and saw Cao Fa practicing naturally. He felt quite discouraged.
“So difficult…” Third Master Jin smacked his lips, thinking the Storyteller’s craft wasn’t simple at all.
Towards dusk, Chen Changsheng let both rest. They sat down for tea, and he taught them how to write story scripts.
Mr. Chen asked: “Writing scripts is very different from practicing enunciation. Third Master Jin, which do you find easier—scriptwriting or enunciation practice?”
“Scriptwriting should be a bit easier,” Third Master Jin replied.
Mr. Chen shook his head. “Actually, scriptwriting is much harder. Speaking clearly and telling a story at a well-paced, rhythmic pace can be achieved through long practice. But wanting to write a truly good story script? Hard work alone won’t suffice.”
“Besides imagination, scriptwriting requires broad knowledge, clear judgnt about things, plus wild, unbound daydreaming. It demands exceptional insight.”
“I can’t help you broaden your knowledge. That must grow slowly with your own experience. What I can teach you now is how to think—how to dare to think!”
“Dare to think?” Third Master Jin paused.
Mr. Chen continued: “You’ve heard several of these tales involving ghosts and strange beings from Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio. Think for yourselves: just what things can awaken wisdom and gain sentience?”
Cao Fa pondered. “Mountain spirits and wild beasts?”
Third Master Jin added: “Snakes, rats, cattle, sheep—all can beco spirits.”
Mr. Chen said: “So, at heart, both of you believe only beasts or things from the mountains can gain sentience? Correct?”
Jin and Cao nodded. They indeed believed as much.
Mr. Chen stated: “The aning of ‘dare to think’ lies in breaking that ntal barrier.”
“Since they are becoming spirits… why limit their origin?”
“Gain wisdom, beco a spirit demon. Amass power, turn into a monster. As the saying goes, all things hold living essence.”
“If plants like trees and grasses can beco spirits… what about a writing brush? It cos from wood… Could it beco a spirit?”
Third Master Jin’s eyes lit up. “Ah! Why hadn’t I thought of that?!”
Mr. Chen pressed: “What about the characters written with the brush?”
“The words could beco spirits?!” Cao Fa gasped.
“Why not?” Mr. Chen countered. “But it still needs logic.”
Third Master Jin spoke up: “If following the path of Strange Tales, characters gaining consciousness? These characters would likely have trendous aning before. Perhaps penned by wise scholars in important works… or Immortals! Then, through ti, they gain sentience!”
Mr. Chen smiled warmly. “Third Master Jin speaks well.”
“This is precisely what I ant by logic.”
“Everything has a cause. Characters don’t simply appear on paper—soone must wield a brush to place them there. For words to beco spirits? They must have a reason.”
Third Master Jin was deeply inspired. He murmured: “So… this is daring to think…”
The lesson on scriptwriting lasted only from dusk until dark.
That was the span.
Truly, teaching scriptwriting wasn’t easy. Mostly, Mr. Chen used examples: one, two, ten, hundreds of them. Through this, he encouraged their thoughts to flow freely, letting them dare.
On this path, Third Master Jin showed exceptional insight.
Many concepts left Cao Fa baffled after lengthy thought, but Third Master Jin grasped the why.
Each man had strengths and weaknesses.
Luckily, Cao Fa refused to be discouraged by the challenge of scriptwriting. He focused more on mastering enunciation and the skill of ‘acting’.
Once ho at night, he practiced tirelessly, never skipping a mont.
That evening, Chen Changsheng filled a jug of wine at Li Lao’er’s place. They chatted briefly before heading ho.
Ruyi and Ping’an had reached an age where they could manage books on their own now. Mr. Chen only needed to inquire each evening about any passages giving them trouble.
Wang Sanniang remained busy. Days saw her managing her market stall. At night, caring for the youngsters weighted her weary limbs. Tired, yes… yet it offered guarantee that the larder would hold wheat and rice again.
Life gathered strength slowly, rising steadily once more that season.
Mr. Chen checkd the glow within: his Soul Fla. Ti dwindled. Thus he spent these weeks pouring effort.
Truthfully, he had little to offer Cao Fa. Yet Cao Fa pressed on, earnest diligence his gift. Guidance sufficed. The skill began to root. Even if the Teahouse saw Chen Changsheng gone soon after, Cao Fa could stamr enough to fill the stage if he kept training.
Mr. Chen suspected he’d complete no more chapters from mory now.
So, one wick burned late that night. He inscribed every tale he recalled from Strange Tales. These pages filled… simply reciting one daily would chain retellings for two full months.
The project complete, Mr. Chen settled in his chair. Then sleep claid him there.
He reached the Teahouse next morning.
That manuscript—seventy chapters of Strange Tales—he gave to Manager Zhuang then.
Not that Chen held back purpose. rely that only so much remained stored now.
Manager Zhuang stared stunned. “Sir! This…! This livelihood belongeth solely to thy skill! How could Zhuang dare accept…?”
Mr. Chen chuckled. “‘Tis no treasure held unto one path for life. Bound for record soon. Moreover, these Chen uncertain to speak the unwoven portions…”
Manager Zhuang caught the words, paused. Recalling recent signs, he asked quietly: “Dost thou journey then?”
Mr. Chen dipped his head. “This Chen intended to say as much today. Within three sunrises… Abyss River his path must cross.”
Manager Zhuang started at hearing this.
“When… does thought guide thy return?”
“Perhaps three years will flow back.”
Manager Zhuang fell silent hearing this… voicing nothing further.
Honest truth… letting this teacher fade seed ill fitting to his mind.
The Sorcerer
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