The stories in the teahouse had to end eventually.
It was time to eat. One by one, the tea-drinking listeners left the teahouse satisfied and headed home.
Uncle Hu, the storyteller, also carried out a dirty mineral-water bottle, beaming as he left the teahouse. Inside was the two ounces of liquor someone had promised him.
Because he had told such a good story, he had also received some lamb liver and intestines to make into drinking snacks at home.
He could finally have a proper drink today.
Jiang Qiao had mingled among the crowd and listened for most of the day. He was just as happy.
He was a man who lived for amusement. If he could hear amusing things, how could he not be happy? There were plenty of strange and bizarre happenings in this desert, which suited him perfectly. Otherwise, what was the point of traveling all this way if he encountered nothing and only ended up eating sand?
Several more days passed.
Every day, Jiang Qiao appeared at the teahouse on time.
He drank tea and listened to stories. His days were quite leisurely—or one could say a little boring. Aside from the first day, the things he heard over the next few days were all rather unremarkable.
Uncle Beard still came to drink tea every day, but he never told any interesting stories again.
Of course.
Perhaps his stories were still interesting to everyone else.
But to Jiang Qiao, things like notorious bandits, Dry Stakes catching people, or someone leaving home and disappearing without ever returning held no appeal anymore.
He mainly listened to stories because he wanted to glimpse the secrets of this place through the legends of the Northern Territory.
He could tell a whole pile of ordinary supernatural stories himself. After all, his