The storyteller took a seat by the window, enjoying the bamboo shoots braised with pork that Qing had served. The shoots, harvested fresh and dried in season, were soaked, cut into small pieces, and braised with alternating chunks of fatty and lean pork with seasonings. The pork was tender and flavorful, the shoots crisp and savory. The rich broth alone could be poured over rice for two bowls.
Shu Rui noticed the storyteller stroking his beard in delight and brought a small dish of chilled, seasoned celery to his table.
The storyteller frowned. “I didn’t order this.”
Shu Rui smiled. “It’s on the house. The braised bamboo shoots are rich; the celery refreshes the palate.”
The storyteller laughed. “Such attentiveness! I’ll gladly accept.”
Shu Rui asked casually, “You seem unfamiliar—are you not a resident of this street? How did you learn of our inn?”
“I live in the east part of town. I travel around telling stories in several districts. Today, I’m in the south. Yesterday I noticed the inn’s sign as I passed. Since I’m performing here, I thought I’d see your new place.”
Shu Rui realized that business relied heavily on promotion. Good service retained guests, but first, guests had to come. The runners hired for yesterday’s opening had indeed helped.
“Which stories do you usually tell?”
“I’ve told ‘Sui-Tang Romance’ and ‘Water Margin.’ Lately, I tell stories from the ‘Expanded Laughing Forest.’”
The storyteller raised his eyes at Shu Rui. “Do you want me to perform at your inn?”
Shu Rui didn’t answer directly. “Do you rely solely on passing listeners for payment?”
“Mostly, yes. Sometimes teahouses hire me for multi-day performances. Listeners buy tea or wine to hear the next installment, which also draws customers for the establishment. Storytellers like to be invited—performing indoors offers shelter, steady earnings, unlike depending only on passing tips.”
The storyteller, seeing Shu Rui’s new inn and understanding his intent to attract customers, said, “If you have a story in mind, I can prepare it. I’ve read widely; a little review and I can perform it here for you.”
If there weren’t any particularly good stories, Shu Rui had several new manuscripts on hand—collected from scholars—covering the supernatural and strange, chivalric adventures in the Jianghu, tales of love and hatred between men and women…everything imaginable. Each story was superb, though slightly more expensive than the overused ones sold in the market.
Shu Rui thought to himself that every trade truly had its own ways. Although he had no firm plan to hire the storyteller to perform at the inn—after all, his goal was to attract customers from outside rather than rely on the already small number of guests at this location—learning more about other trades’ workings was never a bad thing, especially as the storyteller was eager to talk.
He asked, “Then, sir, if you were to perform at the inn, how would your fees be arranged?”
“That depends on the length of the story and whether it’s already circulating or new. If the story is short, told over three days, and is already known, it would be one hundred and twenty wen. A new story, however, would be two hundred wen.”
Shu Rui did the math. One hundred twenty wen over three days came to forty wen per day—seemingly reasonable. But the storyteller did not speak all day; he would only perform during the busiest times around noon and evening, roughly the duration of two or three incense sticks.
“What do you think, sir? My rate is not high, and I’ve been telling stories for ten years. Unlike the green-faced novices outside who stumble over the words and still charge hundreds, I’m fair.”
Shu Rui hesitated. “I do wish to hire you at the inn—it would be good to attract some new guests. Even if it doesn’t bring many, it would still be enjoyable to listen.”
“Pity your inn just opened. Business isn’t booming yet, and with so much silver already invested, it’s hard to spare extra for entertainment. Tea houses and taverns spend far more than you can manage.”
“Even so, I want to go the extra mile for my inn’s success. Here’s my thought: when you tell stories outside, could you slip in a line recommending my inn? I’ll pay you for it.”
The storyteller looked puzzled. One moment Shu Rui said he wouldn’t pay, the next moment he offered money. “Sir, I don’t quite understand what you mean.”
Shu Rui smiled faintly.
Later that afternoon, Lu Ling finished work. He hurried from the martial arts school, wanting to help Shu Rui watch over the inn.
Since the master had last spoken with Wei, he hadn’t caused trouble. The master had deliberately arranged for another assistant to support Lu Ling and Wei separately, preventing them from working together.
Lu Ling didn’t care much—he wasn’t afraid of Wei—but having no one provoking trouble made things more comfortable. He knew his smooth progress at the school wasn’t just due to the master’s arrangements but also his family’s influence.
Recently, Lu Yu had visited the school while unwell and quickly noticed Wei’s ill intentions toward Lu Ling. He asked his father if Wei Rongming—the meddlesome colleague at the office—was related. The father and son worked to check Wei’s influence. Once Lu Yu passed the imperial examination, his father’s status improved, colleagues realigned, and Wei Rongming, sensing the change, restrained himself.
Lu Ling left the official matters to his father, trusting Lu Yu to manage them, while he focused on the inn. One handled the official side, the other the inn—no need to overextend.
As Lu Ling thought this through, a loud wooden clapper rang:
“Before one could react, a dagger glinted and stabbed straight toward him! Young Master Fang, knowing he could not evade, closed his eyes in resignation. At that instant, a clear voice rang out: ‘Stop!’
The dagger was deflected by a long sword, and a tall, dark-clad, handsome man subdued the attacker within a few moves.”
Not far, under a locust tree, the storyteller had set up a small table and was energetically telling his tale, voice booming, drawing a crowd of laborers utterly entranced.
Lu Ling usually paid no attention to street storytellers; even at the heroic “rescue the beauty” segments, he would not linger.
“Fang, who thought he would die today, saw the heroic savior and could only stare blankly. Understanding Fang’s fright, the hero spoke kindly: ‘I’ll take you somewhere safe.’”
“Where?”
“Ten-li Street in the southern city. A newly opened inn, same name as the street: Ten-li Street Inn. Affordable, delicious food, kind and approachable innkeeper, opened just yesterday. There you will eat well, sleep well, and recover your spirit, making anything easier.”
“Thank you, hero! I shall go there: Ten-li Street Inn!”
Lu Ling, intending to hasten off, paused—
The listeners on the street murmured, curious.
“To find out what happens next, come back here tomorrow, and I will tell the tale.”
The storyteller tapped the clapper to signal the end. Some in the audience tossed a few coins in appreciation.
Curious onlookers asked, “Sir, is there really an inn on Ten-li Street?”
The storyteller sipped tea, remaining cryptic. “Truth or falsehood, madam, you can see for yourself.”
“Why won’t you just tell us straight?”
The storyteller packed up and left without another word.
“Let’s go see for ourselves. We have nothing better to do,” someone said.
“If it exists, tell me when you return. I can’t spare the time,” another added.
The chatter stirred curiosity among passersby.
Lu Ling frowned, unsure what game was afoot. He ignored the storytellers and returned to the inn.
“You heard that? Did he really say that?” he asked Shu Rui.
Shu Rui laughed quietly. “It’s true. I have no skill to make up stories.”
Lu Ling, seeing Shu Rui’s knowing expression, asked, “Did you coach him to say that?”
“Would it be deliberate?” Shu Rui chuckled. “At noon, the storyteller came to eat at the inn. He told me some inns hire storytellers to attract guests, asking if I would hire him. I wanted more customers, but Ten-li Street isn’t the main street—traffic is limited. His fame isn’t great either. Rather than having him perform inside, it’s better if he brings guests while performing outside.
I offered him thirty wen to mention our inn in his story—he agreed immediately, no haggling. Probably because the offer was so generous; no one had ever done that before, so he had no reference point.”
Lu Ling thought it a clever idea, only Shu Rui could have thought of it.
Shu Rui pulled Lu Ling aside, asking how the listeners reacted. Lu Ling recounted the scene again in detail.
Shu Rui was delighted. “See? Those thirty wen weren’t wasted! People now know about our inn.”