Wandering Gods of Day and Night-Chapter 932 - 376: Mingjiang Fire Record_3
Yuan Buyu made a grand entrance, holding a folded fan in both hands, and said, "Everyone, please stay calm. Zhou Xuan is my disciple. He has a peculiar habit that isn’t necessarily bad—if inspiration strikes while narrating a story, he will write a new tale on the spot and start telling it."
"Switching stories midway requires some spare time, and during this wait, the audience might grow impatient. So I’ve stepped up to keep the show going, by sharing a tale with you all."
"The title of the book is ’The White-Browed Hero.’
As his voice fell, coincidentally meeting Zhou Xuan’s gaze.
The teacher and his disciple exchanged smiles, then each returned to their own tasks.
Zhou Xuan swiftly continued writing the tale, while Yuan Buyu narrated ’The White-Browed Hero.’
Though the audience may not have enjoyed it, at least their attention was drawn back, and they no longer complained about leaving.
Some knowledgeable viewers below started discussing right away.
"The guy on stage claims to be the master’s teacher. The ’White-Browed Hero,’ as I know, is a tale crafted by the master."
"Isn’t it inappropriate for the teacher to tell the disciple’s tale?"
"Absolutely inappropriate, such a disgrace."
The informed viewers clapped their hands and said, "A teacher narrating the student’s work, in the storytelling world, is likened to grown-ups playing with children’s toys. If word spreads, it’ll invite ridicule."
"Of course, teachers narrating the student’s tale isn’t unheard of—some teacher-student pairings are actually father-son duos. The father narrates the son’s work to support him, but otherwise, a teacher would never lower themselves like this."
"So, according to you, is the old man on stage as close as one can be with our master?"
"Indeed, closer than a biological son."
Yuan Buyu listened to the discussions below, secretly laughing to himself.
He never forgot, this scene belonged to Zhou Xuan—since it’s Zhou Xuan’s venue, the stories told were only those he once narrated.
He narrated; bore the embarrassment; left the reputation to his disciple.
’The White-Browed Hero,’ a tale that gained popularity in the Zhou Family’s Troupe during Zhou Xuan’s time away to Mingjiang Prefecture, was secretly narrated by Yuan Buyu whenever he missed Zhou Xuan.
Now brought to the public stage, he was adept at it, whether it was the movements, posture, or performing the martial arts techniques described in the book, everything was precise.
Though many below were still distracted, some did enjoy listening.
Thus, the scene was steadied, and many even forgot that the master on the storytelling stage was diligently penning away a tale.
...
"Bi Book Hall," three ancient cursive characters, painted on a modestly sized wooden board, hung on a pillar of the grass hut.
Bi Fang laughed coldly from the wooden chair behind the storytelling stage: "Storytelling is a grand matter of preaching, yet now there are those who wish to transform it into entertainment, bringing it into ordinary homes. Foolish dreams, indeed."
"Those who listen to stories, what do they know about books? How can they grasp the true meaning and understand the great human philosophies? This time for Zhou Xuan is a lesson for him."
Amidst Bi Fang’s cold words, the white-robed Daoist stood aside listening attentively.
The white-robed Daoist was waiting for Bi Fang’s storytelling session to descend upon the human world rather than relying on divine silk fishing.
With Bi Fang not yet started, this Daoist naturally could not descend.
"Master, why was Zhou Xuan’s session not spiritual?"
The white-robed Daoist was puzzled why Zhou Xuan, who frequently hosted popular storytelling sessions, encountered a particularly cold reception during this most important event.
"Zhou Xuan, no more than someone who teases cats and dogs, lacking depth in storytelling skills without enlightenment of the great Dao through Mingxin. Spiritual? Lack of spirituality is the norm; his past success in Ping Shui Prefecture and Mingjiang Prefecture’s tales was mere luck."
"If the Ancestor Master’s spirit of storytellers in Heaven knew of such clowns swaying the people’s hearts, they’d likely manifest in anger and erase such clowns."
Bi Fang remained with eyes shut, his hand’s folded fan swung with a peculiar rhythm.
God-level folded fan; storyteller’s hall’s divine. A fan’s movement evokes an answer from earthly storytellers’ fans.
From these responses, Bi Fang could glimpse the scenes of storytellers narrating in the human realm.
"Ha ha ha."
Bi Fang suddenly laughed aloud, fingers waving with contempt, "A clown remains a clown. Countless viewers below, yet he sits alone writing a tale, wanting to change the narrative midway."
"What an amateur. In two thousand years of Jing Country, no one dared pull such a stunt."
Bi Fang laughed until tears appeared. He gently wiped the crystals from the corner of his eyes.
The white-robed Daoist echoed, "Master, Zhou Family’s Great Nuo borrowed our storyteller’s hall to nurture Zhou Xuan, who turned out to be an amateur storyteller."
"Humph, humph, the Nuo God once protected humanity, merited a battle against Heavenly Ghosts, and granted nine incense sticks by supreme will,
Future generations of the Zhou Family, if they enter Nuo Dao, could have one incense stick harnessing nine layers of hall skills,
It’s a pity the Zhou Family’s Great Nuo was never impressive, let alone producing someone of high incense caliber, even if they did what of it?"
Bi Fang’s words were sharp, "Jack of all trades and master of none is the start of a catastrophe.
Upon stating this, he suddenly burst into laughter, bending slightly.
"Ha ha, ha ha, Yuan Buyu saves the scene. Yuan Buyu, this old storyteller, has no face, narrating Zhou Xuan’s stories—playing with children’s toys."
Bi Fang laughed, his laughter turned to rage, as he slammed the table, exclaiming in anger, "Yuan Buyu, Zhou Xuan... storytellers like you should have perished long ago. Letting you live till now shows the world is still too merciful."
