"Crack!"
Wake up and the trees fall, the whole hall is quiet.
I sat on a high-backed chair at the end of the teahouse, and my eyes slowly swept across the audience. The newly brewed Longjing is steaming white in the blue and white porcelain bowl, like countless stories waiting to be told.
"Dear readers, please take a look at this -" I unfolded the folding fan, and the sandalwood fan ribs glowed warmly under the lamp, "In this first cup of tea today, I will not talk about the emperors, generals, talents, and beauties, but just talk about myself."
A regular customer in the audience laughed: "The old gentleman is going to arrange his life experience again!"
I shook my head and tapped the teacup with the tip of my fan, causing ripples in the water.
"Three hundred years ago, I was also an ordinary listener. That day in this teahouse, after listening to the last performance of "The Peony Pavilion", the old storyteller said to me when he was closing the stall: 'Boy, you have been listening to it for three years, and it's time to wake up.'"
I picked up the dark red wood on the desk, its texture had been softened by time.
"He said that this awakening tree can move the universe with one knock, spook ghosts and gods with the second knock, and -" I paused for a third knock, "it can determine life and death."
The whole hall was quiet, only the drizzle and rustle outside the window could be heard.
"After the old gentleman finished speaking, he turned into smoke, leaving only three things: this tree, this fan, and a plain white handkerchief embroidered with plum blossoms." I unfolded the handkerchief and gently wiped the corners of my mouth. "From that day on, I became a storyteller."
A young man in a blue shirt raised his hand: "Are you really able to live forever?"
I sipped my tea and smiled: "Immortality is true, but it is not a blessing. In the past three hundred years, I have sent away seven generations of guests, and even this teahouse has been renovated eight times. Storytellers see six directions and hear all directions. It is not magical power, but living long enough and seeing enough."
The fan closed with a snap, and I leaned forward:
"You ask who we are? We are the recorders of the human world. There are ten thousand stories sealed in each piece of wood, three thousand souls painted on each fan, and hundreds of tears soaked in each square handkerchief."
I took out a copper coin from my sleeve and tossed it gently. Copper coins flipped in the air, reflecting the lights in the hall.
"From today on, I will tell you these stories. Each story really happened in this world - maybe in the alley next to your house, maybe in your dream last night."
Wake up and the wood rings again.
"At this time tomorrow, I will tell you a story about 'exchanging lives'. A scholar spent ten years of his life in exchange for one look at the person in his dream."
I put away the folding fan and the tea bowl bottomed out.
"Want to know what happened next? Let's hear the explanation next time."
The people in the audience dispersed one after another, and I sat alone for a long time. The new waiter put away the tea sets and glanced at me secretly.
The rain stopped, and the setting sun slanted through the door, making my shadow grow long.
For three hundred years, this shadow has never changed.
Intention: to reflect people's hearts with strange stories, and to pursue the forgotten truth and warmth in the strange power and chaos.