I became an immortal in the Tang Dynasty

Chapter 123 A Gift from Fate to the Storyteller, Cutting Through the Chaotic Snow
Jiang She said he hadn't expected it.

The storyteller then said, "It is Wu Daozi, Wu Sheng!"

It was common to add "生" after a surname to address someone; for example, Lu Pei of the Lu family in Xiangyang was called Lu Sheng by many people.

The storyteller then began to tell the story of Wu Daozi.

Talked for a while.

It was also mentioned that some people's homes were haunted.

"The Wang family has been quite restless lately. Ever since they married a new woman, they seem to hear noises at night. Sometimes when they get up in the middle of the night, they can suddenly see a woman in white with disheveled hair floating by—it's terrifying!"

"The Wang family suspected that his first wife was restless in the afterlife, so they specially invited a Taoist priest to exorcise the evil spirits, but it was ineffective."

"It's been quite a commotion these past two days..."

"I heard that the temple outside the city is very powerful. The Wang family even came to me to ask for guidance, hoping to seek the protection of the Stone Goddess."

The cat tilted its furry head back to listen, its blue eyes focused intently.

The storyteller smiled upon seeing this.

She couldn't help but say, "My lord, you take good care of this cat. It's so shiny and intelligent, it's like it can understand what I'm saying."

Jiang She patted the cat's head.

The Stone Goddess is doing quite well these days; it seems the incense offerings have increased significantly.

Busy with official duties.

I wonder if a little spirit can handle it.

Seeing that the man and the cat were enjoying the story, the storyteller even gave Jiang She directions.

"If you find it interesting, my lord, the legendary Stone Goddess Temple is not far from the city. Just walk two miles outside the city and you'll see a small earthen temple in the distance."

Jiang She did not say that he knew the location.

He thanked the storyteller.

By this time, he had finished his meal long ago, and after listening to this conversation for a while, a new customer arrived at the tavern, so the storyteller could no longer tell stories just for him.

The storyteller drank a small bowl of steaming hot tea and whispered a few words to the shop assistant.

He turned to look at the customers in the restaurant.

Speech clearly and loudly:
"Today, I'll continue telling you the story of Wu Zixu's revenge..."

Jiang She beckoned to his waiter.

"Check, how much is it in total?"

The waiter came over, a towel tied around his waist, and said, "Mr. Liu paid for you earlier."

He gestured for Jiang She to look at the storyteller who was telling the story.

The guy next to him laughed.

“Mr. Liu told us that he had told us many stories about your house before and had benefited from them... Now that we have the opportunity to meet the guest, we cannot let you pay the bill.”

Jiang She then learned that the storyteller's surname was Liu.

The storyteller sat at the doorway, half of which was shielded from the cold wind by a curtain, while the other half was open to customers, requiring the door to be left open for business. He sat there, soliciting business and telling stories.

The cold wind was blowing outside.

No wonder people drink hot tea to warm themselves up.

At this time, storytellers were also called storytellers or market people. They combined storytelling and singing, and mostly told Buddhist folk tales, about the Buddha and his deeds, as well as historical narratives, such as those about Wu Zixu, Li Ling, and Wang Zhaojun, which often had an educational meaning.

Occasionally, a few interesting stories or anecdotes from the city will be interspersed.

Jiang She thought for a moment.

He found a clean spot on the table and asked to borrow the restaurant's paper and pen for keeping accounts.
“I have some stories here, some of which I have experienced, and some of which I have heard from others. I can show them to Mr. Liu.”

He wrote down his experiences in Xiangyang.

The text describes the grand banquet held by the local deities. It recounts how the old abbot of Qingxu Temple in Xiangyang was born with a third eye, allowing him to see ghosts and spirits, though the names of some places are obscured. It also describes the eight-hundred-year-old connection between the Old Deer Mountain God and the Lu family…

I wrote about four or five things here and there.

Jiang She had not written down the paper donkey, fearing it might cause trouble for others.

After finishing writing, Jiang She signed it, "Winter of the thirteenth year of Kaiyuan, presented to Mr. Liu by Jiang Mouyuan."

Stop writing and blow the ink to dry.

He handed it to the waiter.

The waiter wasn't very well-educated and didn't dare touch this scholar's toy. He wiped his hands with a towel a couple of times before taking it.

Upon seeing it, he exclaimed in praise:
"Your handwriting is excellent, sir!"

Jiang She took the cat outside and saw him standing there watching.

Seeing that the worker wasn't working, the landlord came over and muttered, "What are you looking at? What did the customer write?"

The guy stared at it for a long time.

He chuckled.

"I just think that young man's handwriting is beautiful, but we can't understand what he's writing. Second Uncle, can you tell me?"

The landlord came over, looked at the words in his nephew's hand, and sighed.

"Wow—this handwriting is really good!"

He squinted before reading the contents. "This story is good, it's told like it's a true story..."

Jiang She smiled, and with the cat, walked away along the snowy path.

As for the storyteller Mr. Liu's tale about the young prince's loyalty and righteousness, and his guard's killing... Jiang She raised his hand and did some calculations.

……

……

Zhongtiao Mountain is located at a bend in the Yellow River, and the mountain range dominates the area east of the river.

The snow-capped mountains are majestic, and below them flows a frozen river. Snowflakes are falling heavily from the sky.

Heavy snow blocked the mountain pass, making it difficult for ordinary people to enter or leave.

Zhang Guolao was sleeping soundly in his thatched hut, with a charcoal stove burning beside him and a half-read book resting on his stomach.

He slept in a carefree and unrestrained posture, with a piece of paper peeking out from his arms, about to fall off.

The monk held a brush and inkstone in the farthest spot from the charcoal fire.

He was recalling the wondrous teachings he had observed in front of the Stone God Temple, trying to transcribe them from memory. But each time he put down his pen, he felt he had lost that profound feeling.

Zhang Guolao, who was fast asleep, turned over and rolled off the bed.

I woke up with a start.

Zhang Guolao touched his chest, only to find nothing there. He was startled and went to look for the white donkey his friend had used to cast the spell.

The monk saw it.

Avoiding the charcoal stove, he limped over, picked up the flimsy piece of paper from the ground, and handed it over.

He had no human presence, and the paper remained unchanged.

Zhang Guolao carefully put the donkey back in his pocket, letting out a sigh of relief. "Luckily it wasn't lost. It was enlightened by my good friend."

The monk's heart stirred.

Thinking of the place where I live, and then looking at that light, fluttering piece of paper.

He asked:
"Is the good friend my old benefactor mentioned Mr. Jiang, whom I met a few nights ago?"

Zhang Guolao was pleased with himself.

"It's him!"

The monk's eyes widened. "Was the inscription in front of the Stone Goddess Temple also written by that senior?"

Zhang Guolao stroked his beard.

"It's him too."

"Is it really that senior?"

"To be able to write such characters, could one be an immortal?"

Zhang Guolao chuckled, stood up from the bed, straightened his wrinkled clothes, looked at the snow outside, and muttered to himself.

'I'm always the one who goes to see Mr. Jiang.'

'I've never seen Mr. Jiang come to see me.'

'Could it be that he doesn't really consider the old man a true friend?'

The old man thought to himself, but then felt it was too much. He thought to himself that he was being really sour. Zhang Guolao stroked his beard, pondered for a while, shook his head, and went back into the house.

I'm planning to take another nap.

He must not have slept well to be thinking about such trivial things.

Zhang Guolao closed his eyes.

I was just about to dream of meeting the Duke of Zhou.

Suddenly, a familiar voice reached my ears.

"It seems the monk has already been buried, and his attendants are still dressed in his finest clothes. I wonder if Master Guo would be willing to come?"

The sound cleaved through the swirling snow.

He spoke in a measured tone, but I heard him clearly.

Zhang Guolao suddenly opened his eyes.

The monk asked in surprise, "My old benefactor, aren't you going to sleep?"

"Sleep? What are you talking about?"

Zhang Guolao scrambled up from his bed, took out the paper donkey, placed it in the heavy snow outside, took a mouthful of wine, and spat it out.

He rode the donkey.

"I'm going to Yanzhou!"

Without turning his head, Zhang Guolao disappeared.

Only the monk's shadowy figure remained, standing forlornly in the thatched hut, gazing at the thick snow on the mountain. The monk scratched his bald head and stood at the doorway for a while.

He limped back, his steps uneven.

I wonder what business my old benefactor is going to Yanzhou. Are you not taking him with you?

【Ask for monthly ticket】

(End of this chapter)