That day, Yi Shuyuan was telling stories in a village. Though small, it had a thatched ancestral hall, where listeners crowded together, engrossed in his tale.
He was telling "The Ghost Seeks Redress," the famous case that had once taken place at the Yuanjiang County yamen.
"The executioner rolled his shoulders, then gripped the long handle of the Execution Blade with both hands. Gathering every ounce of strength in his body, he suddenly pressed down."
Yi Shuyuan's voice abruptly stopped, but the listeners around him waited without daring to interrupt. They thought the storyteller had paused deliberately; after all, he had done so many times before.
Yet they waited a long while without hearing him continue.
"Sir, what happened next?" "Yes, did Jia Yuntong die?"
Yi Shuyuan seemed to come back to himself only then and looked at the villagers gathered around him in the ancestral hall.
"The Execution Blade came down, and the head fell to the ground. Jia Yuntong died, of course... Well, that's all for today. It's getting late. Everyone, head home."
With that, Yi Shuyuan closed the folding fan in his hand and picked up the Ritual Ruler.
It was the busy farming season, so everyone had squeezed in some time after supper to hear his stories. By the time he finished, it was dark, and they naturally went their separate ways.
Pitter-patter...
A light rain began outside. Yi Shuyuan stood beside the hall's entrance porch, watching the villagers carry their stools and chairs away one by one.
"Mr. Yi, don't sleep in the ancestral hall tonight. Come spend the night at my humble home!"
The old village head came over carrying a bench and offered the invitation, but Yi Shuyuan smiled and shook his head.
"No, I have something to attend to and must leave.