Several months passed.
Quite a few people from the surrounding area had been drawn to the teahouse. Some even deliberately stayed in the shop to drink tea, just to hear fantastical stories here.
By now, the teahouse Song Qingming and Li Xuanyi ran had become a favorite resting place for residents near the western side of the town.
Though it was only a small teahouse with limited business, unable to earn much money.
The two of them had nevertheless been busier than ever these days, taking great pleasure in managing the little teahouse in perfect order, and had temporarily settled down in the town.
Besides running the small teahouse, Song Qingming also spent some time sorting through and recording the many stories he had heard.
Some of these stories concerned immortal cultivators in the mountains, while others were tales of ghosts and monsters said to haunt the hills.
Still others were stories spun entirely out of thin air by imaginative people based on things that had happened in daily life.
No matter where they came from, as long as they were engaging enough, Song Qingming would sort them out and record them.
Whenever there were fewer customers in the afternoon, children from around town would gather in the teahouse and ask Song Qingming to tell them stories.
Song Qingming did not refuse such requests, personally telling them the tales he had compiled.
Faced with these seven- and eight-year-old children, Song Qingming seemed to have returned to the days when he had patiently taught the younger generation at the Family School on the mountain.
Seeing Song Qingming surrounded by another group of children, Li Xuanyi sat quietly to one side, watching them with a smile.
The two of them followed their sect's rules for entering the mortal world to cultivate. Throughout