More than a dozen people took the stage in succession. Some stories were long, some short, and a few had barely begun before Mr. Jiang asked their tellers to step down.
From dusk until the new moon rose, the atmosphere in the square remained lively.
At last, no one volunteered to take the stage. As usual, Mr. Jiang clasped his hands and asked whether anyone had another story. As soon as he finished speaking, an aged voice called, "This old man does."
The voice came from behind. The crowd parted, and an old man with completely white hair and beard walked in. He looked to be over eighty.
His clothes were not luxurious, but they were silk, and a piece of jade hung at his waist. He hardly looked like someone selling stories for a mere three copper coins.
Mr. Jiang rose and bowed with clasped hands. "Thank you, honored elder, for coming to support me." It was plain the old man had not come for money, so Mr. Jiang owed him that courtesy.
As he spoke, he called for someone to bring over a chair. The old man was advanced in years; sitting on a cushion and then getting back up would be too much trouble.
The old man did not stand on ceremony. He sat straight down, stroked his silver beard, and said, "I have long heard of Mr. Jiang's fame. Your name rings like thunder in my ears. I have read your books, too. They open people's eyes and ears, spread far and wide, and serve to educate the world. I want nothing for the story I'm going to tell today, but I ask that you record it in your next book and pass it down to the world. I would be deeply grateful." With that, he