Since the Elf King had not brought up the alliance, Shilke did not rush to mention it either.
For now, it was clear that Great Zhou and the Elf race would not become enemies. The focus moving forward was how close an alliance they could forge with the Elf race.
To achieve that, they first had to make the Elf race interested in Great Zhou.
Hadn't the Elf King wanted to know how they had been doing all these years?
Shilke simply followed the Elf King's lead and began describing their life in Great Zhou.
He chose things the elves had certainly never heard of or seen before—and were even less likely to have eaten.
The Elf race stayed within their own little corner of the world, and their lives often changed very little over the course of decades, or even centuries.
They could endure solitude—or rather, they had grown accustomed to such a life—but that did not mean they had no interest in novel things.
Shilke was not exactly silver-tongued, but at least he had eaten at restaurants before.
And in Great Zhou, whenever one dined at a restaurant, one was sure to hear a storyteller performing.
Shilke had a decent memory. He simply used the words that storyteller had used back then.
The storytellers of Great Zhou were all professionals.
Especially that rascal Wang Pengfei. He could chatter and boast endlessly, and his tongue was frighteningly nimble.
Their task was to whet the listeners' appetites, drawing their attention over so they would listen to what came next.
And back when Shilke had been in Black Moon City, the stories he had heard most often were Wang Pengfei's.
Where had the elves here ever seen such a scene? After only a few words, every elf remaining in the palace,