Storytelling

The girl in the white skirt looked at Ding Songyan with both anticipation and worry. “If you’re unwell, you’d better go back and rest first. I, I’m not in a hurry.” Her voice was soft and sweet, very pleasant to hear. Ding Songyan chuckled. “It’s fine, it’s fine. I’ve been idling outside Duokang Temple for over two hours. It’s just this head of mine—feels like it’s been filled with paste, and I’m still a bit dull. If later I stumble over my words, speak clumsily, or forget my lines, I hope the young lady will forgive me.” This was him covering his bases first. After all, he had never done storytelling before and didn’t know if he could pull it off smoothly. While speaking, he suddenly felt a wave of wistfulness. Back when he was in school, he had most disdained social niceties and most disliked cultivating connections, thinking that relying on his own intelligence and deep grasp of matters could solve all problems and bring success. But after being beaten down by reality, and his personality pieced back together bit by bit, guessing others’ thoughts, befriending useful people, and desperately maintaining relationships had all become instinct. In the last year or two, with career success and self-fulfillment initially satisfied, he from time to time felt mentally and physically exhausted, that he wasn’t suited for the cutthroat business world, and might as well return to the ivory tower to do some research he enjoyed that didn’t involve much intrigue, and in his leisure drink with friends, boast, and play games—wouldn’t that be delightful? Of course, he knew this was a bit sentimental. Without having already amassed a large fortune, if he truly did research seeking no reward and only satisfying his preferences, he would mostly be very anxious and unable to enjoy life. Amid these sighs, Ding Songyan came to his own open space. There were no chairs or stools, nor any eating utensils. He gathered his thoughts, pondering which story to tell. His gaze swept over the girl in the white skirt and her maid in a blue-green gauze skirt, and Ding Songyan had an idea. He smiled slightly and said: “Ladies and gentlemen, today I will tell the tale of ‘The Legend of the White Snake.’” No sooner had he spoken than he began observing the expressions of the girl in the white skirt, her maid, and the plaster seller nearby, to see how they reacted to the storybook title “The Legend of the White Snake,” and thus judge whether this world had similar stories. But it didn’t matter if there were. Ding Songyan had already covered his bases earlier—this was a newly learned legendary tale, not a newly written one. If the audience said it wasn’t quite like the original, then naturally it was him discarding the old to bring forth the new, with some adaptation. Besides getting inspiration from the colors of the girl’s and her maid’s clothes, the reason Ding Songyan chose “The Legend of the White Snake” was that he had watched the corresponding TV series many times with his parents as a child, and as an adult was familiar with various adaptations. He knew the story’s framework very well and remembered the key points; making up detailed plots and character dialogue on the spot was of similar difficulty to presenting a PPT to investors while telling a story. This was also one reason Ding Songyan wasn’t too worried about being accused of stealing someone’s script. Aside from key plot points, the rest had to be made up on the spot by him, so no one could possibly make it the same. Seeing the few onlookers all show curious expressions, Ding Songyan secretly breathed a sigh of relief. At least, in Dingjiang Prefecture there was no “The Legend of the White Snake.” Just now, listening to the dramatized legend, there had been only a celestial descending to earth and falling in love with a human—no grudges, affections, and entanglements between demons and humans. The current open space was relatively quiet. Around it, no one was gonging and drumming to perform variety acts, nor were there hawkers constantly shouting while showing martial arts and selling skills. This was also the market owner’s intention: trades needing a quiet environment—“cultural” trades—were grouped together, noisy “martial” trades on the other side, separated by those in the middle that needed neither quiet nor made noise, so as not to affect each other. Standing in the open space, Ding Songyan had little nervousness, as skilled as if bringing up a projection and opening a PPT, once again facing investors. This feeling was very strange, as if from another world. It was indeed another world. Positioning the girl with upturned eye corners and a cute pointed chin as the possible “investor,” Ding Songyan slowly opened his mouth: “In ancient times, in the southwestern region, below Mount Qingcheng, there was a little white snake…” He propped the whole thing in ancient times right at the beginning, so that later nitpickers wouldn’t be able to ask where Mount Qingcheng, West Lake, or Jinshan Temple were. I don’t know either—after all, this all happened in ancient times. Ding Songyan started from the first Xu Xian saving the little white snake’s life. To supplement details, having long forgotten how the TV dramas and movies portrayed it, he sewed in the scene of the frozen-stiff snake being placed inside clothing to be warmed by body heat. Afterward, the white snake cultivated for a thousand years in the cave, finally attained the Dao, could shed her snake form and take on a human shape, then received guidance from a Bodhisattva, took Xiaoqing with her, and planned to find the reincarnated Xu Xian to repay her kindness and settle the karma. Ding Songyan watched the girl in the white skirt’s expression as he spoke, and found her listening very intently, her breathing seemingly lighter, her pair of clear black-and-white eyes, even without tears, still looked watery and bright. The effect was not bad…the possible “investor” gave good feedback…Ding Songyan grew ever more confident. He felt that between the White Lady finding the reincarnated Xu Xian just to repay kindness and developing into offering herself in marriage, some plot filling was needed to sketch emotional changes, but he couldn’t think of too many details, so he could only take a few things his ex-girlfriend had found very moving in his own dating experience, give them a new look, and add them in. First, they met at West Lake, avoided the rain on the same boat, she gave an umbrella and left her name. Next, the White Lady used the excuse of going to Lin’an to enter a Buddhist temple to copy sutras and fulfill a vow, but didn’t dare really go, so she used poor health as a pretext. Xu Xian pitied her “frailty” and deliberately went to the temple, spending many days copying the Buddhist sutras. Later, after various events, the now emotionally moved human and demon went to a big tree said to be very efficacious for praying for marriage to make wishes, looked up, and happened to see each other. By this point in the telling, Ding Songyan planned to quit while ahead. After all, to truly build a connection and develop some affection, he definitely had to whet the white-skirted girl’s appetite. How could it be finished in a few days? Seven or eight days wasn’t too many; ten days or half a month was more suitable. Only by meeting every day could they become familiar people. By then, if something really happened and the other side had the ability to help, would they be more willing to help a stranger or a familiar person? The answer went without saying. At the conclusion stage, Ding Songyan felt that today’s telling had gone too smoothly, with no major twists in the plot. Although he had already attracted several dozen onlookers, it was mainly because his language was interesting and the theme of human-demon romance was also novel. If today he let Xu Xian and the White Lady marry smoothly, then the audience wouldn’t have much expectation for tomorrow. Considering this, especially considering he needed the white-skirted girl to be willing to come again tomorrow, Ding Songyan shifted gears, and before the wedding directly had Fahai appear, muttering to himself at the inn where the White Lady and Xiaoqing had once stayed, “There is demonic energy.” Seeing all the audience simultaneously show tense and worried expressions, Ding Songyan made a quick decision and said: “As the saying goes, ‘West Lake’s beautiful scenery in the third month of spring, spring rain like wine, willows like mist. With fate, a thousand miles to meet; without fate, hand hard to hold even face to face. To know what happens next, tune in for the next installment!’” The girl in the white skirt opened her mouth, a look of reluctance on her face. At the critical moment, how could there be no continuation? Ding Songyan looked around, cupped his hands with satisfaction: “I didn’t bring my rice bowl today, so no need for rewards, everyone. If you’re inclined, come again tomorrow.” He hadn’t planned to take the white-skirted girl’s silver today; he wanted to leave her a special impression. But this couldn’t be special treatment—offering kindness for no reason makes people suspect he’s either a swindler or a thief, raising their guard. Therefore, he treated all the same and took nothing from anyone. “Ding Erlang, you’re too kind!” an onlooker exclaimed. The white-skirted girl, who had been holding silver money planning to give it to Ding Songyan, also couldn’t give it anymore. She hesitated in place, waiting until the onlookers had mostly dispersed, then approached with her maid: “Ding Erlang, will that monk named Fahai find the White Lady and Xiaoqing?” He certainly wouldn’t find them—revealing the backstory this early, how would he continue the story? How to let the White Lady and Xu Xian open a pharmacy peacefully, be loving and have children? How to let the White Lady and Xiaoqing use demon magic to solve problems and create satisfying moments? Tomorrow he would just feint and press this down without comment, and at the ending throw out a new crisis as a hook…Ding Songyan smiled and said: “We’ll resolve it tomorrow.” The white-skirted girl puffed her cheeks: “Alright.” She didn’t ask further, and asked with concern: “Are you still feeling unwell? I know several very good physicians.” She simply had to come tomorrow. “It’s fine now.” Ding Songyan, shifting his thoughts, said, “I was murdered by someone before, but I don’t know who did it. I’ve been anxious and fearful, and my mind isn’t working too well, so today I didn’t dare come out to do storytelling.” He was taking the opportunity to mention this, not seeking any response from her, just wanting to leave the impression of such a matter in her heart. The white-skirted girl’s watery eyes immediately lit up. She turned her head and exchanged a glance with her own maid. Her thoughts seemed written directly on her face: Finally, I’ve caught an opportunity to play the hero and uphold justice! She cleared her throat, smiling at Ding Songyan: “Mm, I know a bit of martial arts. If there’s anything I can help with, come find me at Tianyang Guildhall. Just say…say you’re looking for…” The girl hesitated a bit, glanced at the maid in the blue-green gauze skirt, then broke into a bright smile again: “Just say you’re looking for Xiaoqing!” Ding Songyan was overjoyed: “Many thanks, heroine. I’m endlessly grateful!” The girl smiled even more brightly, but was too shy to say more. Waving her hand, the corner of her eye swept over and discovered an old man selling candied hawthorns nearby. She immediately took out copper coins, went to buy two strings of bright red candied hawthorns, and handed Ding Songyan one string: “Although you’re not taking silver today, I can’t listen for nothing. This string of candied hawthorns is yours—it’s sweet!” As she said this, she licked her candied hawthorn, turned and left blissfully, not giving Ding Songyan a chance to refuse. Not even asking if I like candied hawthorns…Ding Songyan chuckled to himself. He directly bit one off, held it in his mouth, and began chewing. It was nearly noon, and Ding Songyan felt obvious hunger. He thought for a moment, believing that after that person earlier was frightened away, nothing had changed, probably because outside Duokang Temple people came and went, it was a key area monitored by the watchtower, and the people behind the scenes didn’t dare act directly and bluntly. Having thought this through, Ding Songyan went in the direction away from Duokang Temple, acting as if he intended to find a cheap eatery, but only walked into quiet streets and alleys. In less than the time to finish a cup of tea, just as he turned into a pedestrian-less small alley, clear footsteps suddenly sounded behind him. Ding Songyan spun around and saw the red-nosed man in the cloth head wrap again. Anger and fear mixed in the man’s face as he glared at Ding Songyan: “Ding Erlang, why have you come back again?”