In this day and age, transportation was far from convenient, and the transmission of information was inevitably slow and obstructed. Under such circumstances, a good storyteller who wanted to improve could not remain holed up in one place. He had to travel far and wide, visiting every prefecture and circuit to gather local lore and ancient tales. Only then could he become learned and well-informed, building up a bellyful of stories.
Guo Dongyang was over fifty, yet his feet hardly ever touched the ground. Like a diligent little bee, he was forever traveling to various places to collect all sorts of strange anecdotes and amusing tales. That was how he had honed his storytelling skills.
If it had been an ordinary person, they would have found it difficult to pick up Guo Dongyang's thread. Even a scholar who had read the Classics and History cover to cover might not have had experiences as rich as his.
Fortunately, Xu Qing was no ordinary person. Ancient and modern, Chinese and foreign, the theories of every field—he could pluck them straight from his mouth.
The two chatted about heaven and earth along the way, discussing ancient and modern matters.
Yet as they talked, the conversation inevitably began to veer toward brewing wine and debating heroes.
This seemed to be the dead end men most easily wandered into when chatting and shooting the breeze.
Guo Dongyang drank the fake liquor steeped with Wine Bug, and his whole person grew as excited as if he were in heat.
He gave the famous figures of ancient and modern times a thorough whipping, barely stopping short of declaring, "Among all the heroes under heaven, there are only Xu Jun and me..."
Fortunately, there was only one living person in the carriage. No matter how heated Guo Dongyang's