That evening, Chen Changsheng was gone.
He shut the door and sat quietly in the small courtyard. As night fell, he turned into drifting sand and vanished silently.
Qingshan City remained as usual.
Heavy mist blanketed the city at dawn, lifting only by morning’s end.
Manager Zhuang told everyone that the gentleman had left. The listeners expressed much regret.
“When will Mr. Jiucha return?”
“Three years.”
“How long?!”
“Not three days, not three months, but three years. Three full years.”
“…”
The teahouse went wild.
No one was happy.
After hearing his performances these many days, they’d grown used to Mr. Jiucha telling tales of Liaozhai on stage.
Manager Zhuang had no choice. He sought help from Third Master Jin, as this commotion was getting out of hand.
But Third Master Jin wouldn’t help. “Manager Zhuang,” he said, “I don’t like the gentleman leaving either. Let them fuss a bit.”
Manager Zhuang could only sigh helplessly. Then he asked about Cao Fa.
After all, the teahouse couldn’t do without a storyteller.
Jin San said, “That kid Cao Fa still needs a lot of practice. But with his drive, maybe in just half a year he can take the stage.”
“Then we’ll wait half a year,” Manager Zhuang said.
Jin San was surprised. “And what about these six months? Keep the teahouse closed?”
Manager Zhuang replied, “To be honest, Mr. Chen was only here half a month. Yet in just those fifteen days, he earned more silver for the teahouse than an entire year previously. So, waiting six months is the least of it.”
Hearing this, Jin San said, “Manager Zhuang, such boldness! Jin San admires you.”
“You flatter , Third Master Jin. What am I, really? Just a manager.”
Jin San rely smiled in response.
He also hoped Cao Fa could take the stage soon. Of course, it would be best if Mr. Chen could return.
Only the teahouse with Mr. Chen present was the most interesting.
…
When Ruyi and Pingan went to the courtyard again, they found the door wouldn’t open no matter what.
They waited from morning till night. Ruyi knocked on the door again and again.
But it never opened.
Then she understood. Uncle Chen was gone.
Perhaps knowing earlier that the gentleman was leaving, Ruyi wasn’t so sad right now.
The evening sun shone into the alley.
Big and small, they sat before the tightly closed courtyard gate.
Pingan turned to his elder sister. “Elder Sister, has the gentleman left?”
Ruyi patted his head. “The gentleman will co back.”
Pingan asked, “Then do we still need to practice writing after this?”
“Of course we do!”
Ruyi said, “When the gentleman cos back, we’ll show him.”
“Oh…” Pingan murmured. He wanted much more to learn sword dance from the gentleman.
“Co, let’s go back.”
Ruyi held Pingan’s hand and they went ho.
Wang Sanniang made sticky soup. Pingan ate a big bowl, but Ruyi didn’t touch any.
Wang Sanniang asked, “Don’t you like it? Why not try a bite today?”
Ruyi shook her head. “Ruyi doesn’t like it now. Won’t like it ever again.”
Children’s thoughts are always hard to fathom.
…
A few days later, Ruyi wrote characters on the ground with a twig.
Her writing had beco much better.
But as she wrote, she suddenly sighed and tossed the twig away.
Ruyi felt strange.
Uncle Chen was gone; no one was teaching her anymore. When she’d first learned he wasn’t there, she hadn’t been so very sad.
But now, sitting here writing, she’d sotis lift her head and glance around, as if a gentleman reading a book might be sitting before her.
But that spot was always empty.
Ruyi felt very sad, sadder than before.
She thought of Grandpa Lou again. In past years, Grandpa Lou would always tease her, often making her stamp her feet in frustration.
Now Grandpa Lou was gone too…
Ruyi looked at the two characters ‘Ru Yi’ she’d written on the ground. (Ru Yi ans ‘As One Wishes’).
She mumbled, “Not satisfying at all…”
Pingan heard his elder sister muttering. He thought for a mont and said, “Not peaceful at all.” (Pingan ans ‘Peaceful’).
Ruyi reached out and lightly rapped Pingan’s head. “You can’t say that.”
“Elder Sister, why can’t I say it?”
“Because I am Ruyi, and you are Pingan.”
Pingan rubbed his head. He didn’t understand what his elder sister ant.
His elder sister was like Uncle Chen, saying such baffling things.
Really strange.
…………
Cao Fa remained a worker in the teahouse. Every morning he worked there busily. In the afternoons, he’d find a quiet place to practice his voice and diction, practicing till midnight.
Manager Zhuang said they weren’t busy now, so he could just focus on practice, didn’t need to help at the teahouse, but his monthly pay would stay the sa.
Cao Fa refused. He said there was no reason to take pay without working. No matter how they pressed him, he wouldn’t listen.
From that ti on, Third Master Jin often stayed at the teahouse. But unlike before, he rarely spoke to the custors there.
Most of the ti, he’d order a pot of tea, sit in a quiet spot with ink, brush, paper, and inkstone placed before him. He’d just sit there silently thinking. Occasionally, he’d dip the brush and write a few characters, then pause for a long ti.
Again and again…
Manager Zhuang watched all this. He’d thought Mr. Chen’s choice back then was random, but now he saw the gentleman’s eye was not wrong at all.
He’d never seen Third Master Jin ponder things like this before.
Manager Zhuang glanced around the teahouse. After Mr. Chen left, business indeed got worse day by day.
But no worse than before. It was passable.
During this ti, people kept asking when Mr. Jiucha would return.
But no one got any clear answer.
Later, slowly, no one asked anymore.
Only occasionally would soone ntion it. And whenever it was brought up, they’d chat about it for a long ti.
Chatting about the Liaozhai the gentleman told them, about The Painted Skin, about Liancheng, about Nie Xiaoqian…
The custors all deeply rembered this storyteller.
Manager Zhuang felt glad for Mr. Chen too. This was probably the most comndable thing for a storyteller.
Thinking of the present now, the Southern King had reorganized the Righteous Army, so Qingshan City settled down a lot. Though the Xiang Army was stationed outside, things remained deadlocked. It seed no conflict would break out soon.
It was thought that peace could continue like this.
But before long, trouble still arose.
The hardest thing to avoid in this world isn’t war, but natural disasters!
That year, the Southern Region suffered severe drought. Abyss River couldn’t escape it either.
The rice fields the Southern King had planted near Qingshan City had all dried up. Before Huai Xu arrived (referring to a specific season/ti), it was already clear no grain would be harvested at all!
Looking out, cracks covered the fields.
Yan Ruchu gazed at this scene and murmured, “Could Heaven an to destroy …?”
The scholar stood beside him, helpless.
This great drought across the land was not sothing he could resolve.
This drought completely shattered the peace of Qingshan City.
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