After returning to the courtyard, Chen Changsheng summoned the Rain-Listening Sword.

The sword seemed reluctant, perhaps because he hadn’t used it for too long. Yet, its first task today was cutting wood.

“I’ll call you again soon to fight a Great Demon,” Chen Changsheng said.

Only then did the Rain-Listening Sword quiet down.

He picked up the sword and began carving a peachwood branch.

Before long, the shape of a blade gradually took form in his hands.

After several rounds of polishing, the form became clear.

Chen Changsheng examined the wooden sword, tilting it left and right until the weight felt balanced. An imbalanced sword would snap easily.

The wooden sword needed to be hardened over fire. He heated it, then polished it again until the work was complete.

He swung it once, then nodded in satisfaction.

Seeing it was still early, with Ping’an yet to arrive, he decided to go out for breakfast.

It’s worth noting that years ago, when he worked as a Storyteller in the teahouse, he earned quite a bit of silver. Added up, it totaled over forty taels—mostly from tips, half of which came from Third Master Jin.

Chen Changsheng headed to the Tang Family Teahouse.

Stepping inside again, he was struck by drastic changes.

The old teahouse had been expanded several times, swallowing the neighboring shops. The place had been rebuilt entirely.

At this early hour, the teahouse was still quiet. Few visitors lingered as the Storyteller hadn’t arrived. Only some breakfast diners sat over tea, their tables holding steamed buns and baked cakes as they chatted idly.

The teahouse’s current staff member was Niu Da—the server hired by the original manager.

At first, Niu Da didn’t recognize Chen Changsheng. He guided him to a seat instead.

People change over time. Serving strangers had blurred Niu Da’s memories, especially after so many years apart.

“Morning, sir! Here for tea or the Storyteller?” Niu Da inquired.

“The Storyteller,” Chen Changsheng answered.

“That’ll be later,” Niu Da warned politely. “Are you comfortable waiting?”

“No trouble. Just bring me some tea for now.”

Niu Da brought his tea before tending to other customers.

Chen Changsheng glanced around. Manager Zhuang hadn’t arrived.

He took a quiet sip, ready to wait.

The teahouse slowly filled with eager listeners.

At the hour of “Cheng” (7-9 a.m.), the Storyteller finally appeared.

Manager Zhuang emerged slowly without haste from the backyard. Onstage, he offered pleasantries to his listeners. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

The room echoed with “You’re early,” “May things go your way,” and other warm wishes.

The Storyteller ascended the stage next.

Cao Fa had shed yesterday’s weariness. Today, he radiated seriousness—the kind carved from years of practice.

“Good morning, listeners! Cao begs forgiveness for his lateness!”

He bowed repeatedly in theatrical apology.

The crowd below laughed.

“When is Master Cao ever on time anyway?” someone teased from the audience.

“Well said!” another voice agreed.

“Punish yourself with a drink!” a third commanded.

“Yes! Drink!” they roared in unison.

Cao Fa chuckled, then accepted graciously. “Fair punishment indeed!”

He lifted the pot off his table… and took a hearty sip.

Chen Changsheng frowned. That pot contained wine, not tea. But Storytellers always drank tea!

Suddenly, a stranger slid into the chair beside him.

“Morning, friend.”

The man was plainly dressed, his hands rough and calloused—yet his kind smile softened his appearance.

Chen Changsheng returned the greeting. “Morning.”

“Never seen you here before,” the newcomer observed.

“I left town for a while,” came Chen Changsheng’s simple reply.

“Ah,” the man said gently. Then he added, “I’m Tao Sheng—assistant in Tao’s Bowl Shop along the street.”

“My name is Changsheng.”

“‘Enduring Life!’” Tao Sheng admired the name’s beauty immediately.

“I chose it as a child,” Chen Changsheng explained evenly. “It promised protection during dark times.”

Tao Sheng only nodded thoughtfully.

But Chen Changsheng asked, “Why does the Storyteller have wine instead of tea? That seems unlike him.”

“Master Cao grew fond of it over the years,” Tao Sheng replied knowingly. “At first, none of us noticed—until someone smelled the wine and called him out! Now we deliberately urge him to drink. Good fun!”

Chen Changsheng remembered Cao Fa once abstained strictly. Strange how time altered habits.

“Shush! It’s starting,” Tao Sheng whispered.

The “Xingmu” (storyteller’s wooden clapper) struck once onstage. Cao Fa cleared his throat and began:

“Yesterday, we spoke of Jin Sheng encountering a carver near a Mountain Stream. As majestic as the unfinished eagle statue appeared, its eyes were mere hollows. Jin Sheng asked, ‘Why leave it incomplete?’

The master answered, ‘If I carve its pupils now, the eagle will spread its wings, panic before humans… and attack!’

Jin Sheng scoffed internally. Mere wood couldn’t come alive! This craftsman, he thought, was spinning tall tales.

‘I don’t believe you!’ Jin Sheng declared.

The woodcarver simply handed him a brush. ‘Then prove your doubt. Draw its pupils yourself.’

Jin Sheng hesitated, studying the vivid statue. Trepidation coiled inside him—yet he grabbed the brush!

‘Fine!’ he exclaimed. With two strokes, ink eyes transformed hollows into bright pupils!

The moment the brush left wood, Jin Sheng stumbled back.

A sharp crack rent the air!

Feathers burst through the carving! Wings stretched as an eagle’s shriek tore the silence—

Alive!

Fierce eyes fixed upon Jin Sheng…

Then the eagle lurched forward—razor talons aimed at his exposed throat!

Exactly as the carver predicted!

Jin Sheng screamed! Death’s claws were inches away—

When the master leapt past—fingerprints smeared the ink pupils!

Instantly, the eagle froze mid-strike. Feathers hardened into bark. Wood overtook the miracle…”

Gasps rippled from the listeners. Many stared at the stage, dazzled by this tale of magic ink!

Master Cao paused dramatically.

“Jin Sheng nearly collapsed. Heart racing, legs trembling. Slowly, the carver finally spoke:

‘Now do you see why I gave you a brush instead of a chisel?’

Silence stretched. Jin Sheng could only stare at the motionless eagle…”

Beside Chen Changsheng, Tao Sheng sighed in amazement.

“Brother Chen,” he whispered fervently. “Could wood statues truly awaken this way?”

Chen Changsheng thought briefly. “Possible, I suppose.”

“Then… you believe it’s true?”

“Not necessarily.”

Even so, Tao Sheng marveled, “So strange! Yet convincing!”

Chen Changsheng sipped his tea.

Perhaps… Third Master Jin hadn’t exaggerated after all. Perhaps he truly found a magician hidden among mortal hands.