The entire story was captivating, with one twist leading seamlessly to the next.

Everyone listened with great interest.

But when they snapped out of it, they felt a sudden surprise.

“Honored sir, at the start, you said that ‘Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio’ was a book about spirits, immortals, and deities. Yet, in this chapter ‘Rouge’, there’s neither spirit nor immortal.”

“Yes, yes.”

With this reminder, everyone realized that what they had just heard indeed had no ghosts or monsters.

Chen Changsheng smiled warmly and said, “In ‘Rouge’, there truly are no magical forces of spirits or deities. But among all of you out there, have you ever truly seen such things?”

“As the saying goes, if you have no bad deeds in life, you fear no ghosts knocking at your door at midnight. That killer was haunted by guilt, which caused him to slip up. Before that, he tried to frame and incriminate someone else to escape. Sometimes, people’s minds can be far more frightening than spirits. The ghost in one’s heart is still a ghost.”

As these words ended, someone below murmured.

“That’s well said!”

“No bad deeds, no ghost fear—just as it should be, just as it should be, ha-ha-ha…”

“That detective Shi Xue was a clever fellow too.”

“Absolutely, absolutely.”

“Here’s a reward!”

Clerk Cao came up with a bamboo basket, handing it to those who seemed satisfied. Those pleased would toss in a couple of copper coins as a tip.

In no time, the basket held nearly a hundred copper coins. Some big spenders threw in a whole tael of silver.

“Since it’s this honored sir’s first time on stage, consider it a welcoming gift.”

“This one thanks you on behalf of the honored sir.”

After noting down the person, Clerk Cao headed backstage. After a round, tip money filled the basket so much that carrying it felt tiring.

Yet it wasn’t that the storyteller spoke remarkably well. It was just that for a debut, listeners often gave face out of courtesy. In past years, new storytellers got much the same treatment—nothing unusual.

Manager Zhuang breathed a sigh of relief. “Whew, at least it held up.”

Still, it was worth noting how well this honored sir built suspense today, a stark difference from yesterday.

The initial assessment had been off. Seems he had real skill; yesterday just hinted at a fraction.

After finishing his tasks, Clerk Cao went to bring tea to Chen Changsheng.

“Honored sir, have some tea to soothe your throat.”

“Thank you.”

Chen Changsheng expressed his thanks, and soon Manager Zhuang approached.

“Mr. Chen, you truly have a great talent. I, Zhuang, am impressed.”

“Manager, you flatter me. Chen still has a long way to go to perfect the craft.”

This wasn’t modesty—it truly needed more time.

Manager Zhuang could see this point too.

After sitting down, Manager Zhuang asked, “Honored sir, why not talk about ‘Journey to the West’? With your understanding and poetic touch on that book, it would surely earn full applause.”

Chen Changsheng said, “You likely don’t want me to be invited away either, right?”

Hearing this, Manager Zhuang quickly caught on.

“Of course!”

Manager Zhuang chuckled. “I wondered why the honored sir skipped ‘Journey to the West’ today. Pardon my silly question.”

The previous storyteller had been invited away after a good recitation—he remembered that.

Now, Tang Family Teahouse was the only one with such a gem in Qingshan City; it couldn’t be snatched.

As for why Chen Changsheng didn’t talk about Journey to the West…

He simply felt no wish to.

Bringing it up always reminded him of the long-gone official from back in Shangjing days.

Manager Zhuang inquired about the origin of the ‘Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio’ tales.

Chen Changsheng just said it was written by predecessors, and he had heard it through others. Journey to the West came from childhood influence in a past life, tied to his soul cultivation now. But Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio? He had only read few brilliant parts; he never recalled the whole book. Otherwise, he’d start from scratch.

“Is that so…”

Manager Zhuang sighed inwardly at the pity, then asked, “Sir, will you speak of Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio again tomorrow?”

“Indeed,” Chen Changsheng nodded.

Manager Zhuang said, “They say expertise values depth. I shouldn’t meddle, but the tea patrons here are tricky to please. Got to ask another thing: How does what you plan to speak of tomorrow compare to ‘Rouge’?”

He worried tomorrow’s segment wouldn’t live up to today’s, potentially sparking comments.

Chen Changsheng said, “Manager, rest easy. What I share tomorrow will only be better, not worse!”

Manager Zhuang smiled. “With this word from the honored sir, I feel assured!”

Plus, today’s tip money was plenty. Following the earlier agreement, they split it half and half. But Manager Zhuang added an extra portion, as a favor.

Chen Changsheng couldn’t refuse, so he took it. When the time came, he left the teahouse.

The turn came of several days and nights.

With a storyteller now, Tang Family Teahouse did much better business than before. Especially when Mr. Chen shared the story of ‘Nie Xiaoqian’ on the second day, patrons piled in so thick that serving all stretched thin.

Manager Zhuang hadn’t expected such a huge response. He promptly hired another clerk to help. That eased the strain a bit, avoiding neglect of customers.

He’d never realized how gripping these Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio stories were—spirits, immortals, and deities felt real and stirring through Mr. Chen’s telling. Some even rushed over from North City just to hear the program, wanting to see what was so special about Chen Jiucha.

Later, someone remarked, “Went wrong at first glance; I thought ‘Rouge’ was all Mr. Jiucha’s got. Did not expect stronger tricks up his sleeve this time. Manager Zhuang did not boast at all.”

“Exactly, exactly! First ‘Nie Xiaoqian’, then ‘Yingning’, all fresh and new. Before, hearing about heavenly soldiers in Journey to the West felt grand but distant. Now, after Strange Tales from a Chinese Studio, spirits and immortals seem within arm’s reach. Honestly, beats Journey to the West by miles.”

“Well, not so fast—both have their highlights.”

“Right, right.”

As Chen Changsheng worked the stage more, his storytelling craft grew smoother, with cuts timed just right.

Asking “Who knows what comes next? Break for next time” often riled the crowd into cussing.

In short, he had learned the trick.

This Mr. Jiucha became household talk in Civic District, turning very familiar.

Even when Chen Changsheng went to fetch wine at the wine shop, Li Lao’er asked him, 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

“Mr. Chen, what tale did you spin today?”

Chen Changsheng smiled back. “Today was ‘Gong Sun Jiuniang’—a romance between human and ghost. Later, Li Lao’er brother, you might ask listeners; they’ll say it’s a fine story.”

Sighing, Li Lao’er replied, “I wished to hear myself, but Mr. Chen never repeats a story twice.”

Chen Changsheng chuckled. “Maybe it will get a rerun someday.”

“That works—just let me know when.”

Li Lao’er passed him the wine.

Chen Changsheng weighed it and grinned. “Li Lao’er brother, when pouring daily, could you be shaking?”

Li Lao’er beamed. “Extra scoop—on the house.”

Yet Chen Changsheng said, “Li Lao’er brother, why treat me so? I know it’s all for my sake. Chen keeps that close, but Chen never takes advantage.”

He laid down two copper coins.

“Hey, you…”

“Tomorrow I return for more. Li Lao’er brother, please skip the bonus.”

Waving, Chen Changsheng left the wine shop.

Li Lao’er eyed the coins on the table, cracking a smile. “Now, that fellow—really quite the character.”