Chen Changsheng went to the teahouse as usual to tell stories.

Today he told “Liancheng.” The story was about Scholar Shi’s daughter, Liancheng, who admired Qiao Sheng, but Scholar Shi didn’t want Qiao Sheng as his son-in-law. He betrothed Liancheng to a salt merchant’s son instead.

But not long after, Liancheng fell seriously ill. She needed flesh from a grown man’s chest for her medicine. To save his daughter, Scholar Shi promised Liancheng’s hand in marriage to any man willing to help.

Qiao Sheng went to the Shi family right away to save Liancheng. However, after she recovered, Scholar Shi broke his promise and didn’t let Liancheng marry Qiao Sheng.

Unexpectedly, Liancheng died within months. Qiao Sheng, overwhelmed by grief, also died.

They met again in the Underworld. With a friend’s help, they returned to life together. After many hardships, the lovers were finally united.

During his midday break, Jin San pulled Chen Changsheng aside for tea.

Fascinated by the story, Jin San asked, “Mr. Chen, does the Underworld really exist?”

“Third Master Jin, do you think there is?” Chen Changsheng asked back.

Jin San felt it existed but had never seen it.

He said, “When I was younger, there was a girl I liked. We both cared for each other, but she fell ill with a strange disease and passed before she could be cured.”

After hearing this, Chen Changsheng replied, “Third Master Jin, a story is just a story.”

Jin San sighed. “I know. I just had a foolish moment. Mostly because your storytelling makes it all sound so believable.”

Chen Changsheng smiled. “Is that so? Then should this humble Chen make his future stories less convincing?”

Jin San laughed too. “That won’t do! What’s the point if it’s fake?”

Chen Changsheng looked at Jin San. “Guests at the teahouse say Third Master Jin has never taken a wife or concubine. Could it be because of that girl?”

Jin San thought quietly. “Partly. But there are other reasons. I hold onto the past tightly. Plus, I have no real talents. Business? Poor at it. Studies? Even worse. Someone like me, loafing around teahouses all day—what girl would ever want to marry me?”

Chen Changsheng said, “Finding a wife or concubine shouldn’t be hard for Third Master Jin. Possibly as simple as asking.”

With the Jin family’s influence in Qingshan City, arranging a marriage for its Young Master would be easy.

Jin San smiled wryly. “Yes…”

He didn’t deny it—his family background made it possible.

“I just… don’t wish to.”

Jin San continued, “Mr. Chen, don’t be fooled by the surface glamour. Behind it—well, that’s all it is. Surface glamour.”

“Why would Third Master say such a thing?” Chen Changsheng inquired.

Jin San opened his mouth but paused. He shook his head, offering no explanation.

Perhaps it was just a sour mood prompting his outburst.

Chen Changsheng didn’t press further. He simply sipped tea with Jin San.

Though Jin San seemed like a spoiled nobleman, he differed from the usual kind. From the start, he had never looked down on Chen Changsheng for being a low-class Storyteller.

Suddenly, Jin San asked, “Could I learn storytelling from you, sir?”

Chen Changsheng replied, “Why do you wish to learn this?”

Jin San answered honestly, “I’ve actually wanted this for a long time. But no one dared teach me. I asked the previous Storyteller once. He said teaching others would be fine, but I’m Third Master Jin. He couldn’t teach me. Didn’t dare to.”

Chen Changsheng chuckled. “If he had, and Old Master Jin found out his son was learning this low-class craft, that previous Storyteller would’ve suffered greatly. Possibly faced death.”

Third Master Jin gave a helpless smile. “Quite true…”

Chen Changsheng said, “So why ask this humble Chen?

“What if you would teach me?” Jin San countered.

Chen Changsheng shook his head. “I dare not teach you either.”

“Ai…”

Jin San sighed gloomily. He’d expected no miracle here.

Chen Changsheng murmured, “Though, speaking of it… I have been thinking of training someone…”

“Eh?” Jin San blinked. “But you’re so young, Mr. Chen? Isn’t it too early to take disciples?”

“Times get busy.”

Chen Changsheng explained, “Business at the teahouse booms. I only tell stories mornings. My afternoons are empty. Can’t have guests drinking plain tea.”

Jin San saw the reasoning.

He inquired, “Have you someone in mind?”

“Actually, I do,” Chen Changsheng confirmed.

His gaze landed on Clerk Cao bustling nearby.

Though a waiter, Clerk Cao had sharp wits. He’d be easy to train.

“Cao Fa?” Jin San asked.

Chen Changsheng said, “Talent helps speed learning. My stories are the focus—I just need someone quick-tongued.”

This reminded Jin San. “Oh! Of the four storytelling skills—speaking, acting, assessing, narrating—Mr. Chen’s indeed lacking some.”

“Truthfully,” Chen Changsheng admitted gently, “I never formally trained myself.”

Jin San paused a beat, then understood. “Ah! No wonder!”

Something about Mr. Chen had felt unusual earlier.

Now he knew why—lack of training.

“You remain highly skilled, Mr. Chen…” Jin San exhaled, sitting straighter.

Chen Changsheng smiled. “Half-baked skills count as highly skilled?”

“Totally!” Jin San insisted. “Even with basic skills, you still earn those cheers and applause! Isn’t that remarkable?”

Chen Changsheng thought briefly. “There’s sense in that, Third Master.”

Jin San grinned. “So, Mr. Chen, if it’s not quite ‘storytelling’—perhaps teach Clerk Cao… and me? Together?”

Chen Changsheng considered. “True storytelling? Absolutely not.”

Then his tone shifted. “Instead…”

Jin San’s eyes brightened expectantly.

Chen Changsheng declared, “I’ll teach you scriptwriting.”

“Scripts?”

Jin San froze. He mulled it over. “Truly? No regrets?”

“Between heaven, earth, you, and I.” Chen Changsheng smiled.

Jin San almost bounced in excitement. He thanked him several times, asking what apprenticeship gifts were needed, and when lessons started.

Chen Changsheng excused lightly, “No gifts necessary. Scriptwriting? Explained in just a few words. Talent matters most. Think of it… as chats between friends.”

“That’s impossible! Skills aren’t passed lightly! This is your livelihood. I can’t take it freely!”

Chen Changsheng weighed his words. “If Third Master feels this unsettled… then cover my tea costs? Fair?”

“Wait…”

Jin San hadn’t expected such generosity.

He vowed urgently, “Rest assured, sir! Tea streams unending! And Third Master Jin bears this alone—never tracing trouble back!”