The plain young man spread the paper and ground it, brushed off his blue robe and sat down. His voice was empty and clear, and he told the story. The teahouses were all quiet, and the literati and elegant guests held their breath, being transported back to those times. However, no matter how lingering and pathos the love story is, and no matter how ups and downs the anecdotes of the rivers and lakes are, they are just transformed into a bit of ink in the history book and given to the storyteller.