I'm a storyteller by a wild bridge in a deserted village,
one copper coin for a tale,
with just three old men and a yellow dog for an audience.
That day, bandits raided the teahouse and held a knife to my neck.
I brought down the clapper: "Now then, one day, the wind was like a blade, and the sword came from its sheath..."
The whole place fell silent.
The next moment, a real sword appeared in my hand.
A hundred bandits and half the wild bridge were cut in two by a single stroke.
Later, a rumor spread through the martial world:
There's a storyteller in the deserted village. Whoever he says will die won't live to see the next time around.
[Martial Arts + Storytelling and Deduction + Stories Come True + Good-for-Nothing's Rise + Ensemble Cast]
The greatest swordsman under heaven came to demand justice, his sword point three inches from my throat.
I cleared my throat:
"Want to know what happens next? Tune in next time."
His sword was forced to stop until the following day.
And the white-clad heroine I'd summoned from my story
clutched my sleeve and said:
"This time, you have to give me a happy ending."
