Chapter 12 - 12 12 The Birth of All Things

12: Chapter 12 The Birth of All Things 12: Chapter 12 The Birth of All Things Lv Mingkun explained that Taiping Prefecture has a group called Mr. Bai Yun, comprised of influential and wealthy people. Mr. Bai Yun loves to do good deeds, such as building schools, constructing temples, and organizing charity banquets; their presence is seen everywhere. Among them is a gentleman named Dai Siming, whose charitable activities are quite unique, focusing mainly on the prisons of Ping Shui Prefecture. He funds the purchase of fitting clothes for the inmates and improves their meals. This time, he has spent a substantial amount of money to perform a play for six death row inmates, claiming—with his modest effort—to let the convicts feel love from society in the last journey of their lives. Is there such a naive saint? “But if these death row inmates understood what love is, why would they end up beheaded?” “Those gentlemen have read too many books; I don’t understand them either, but as long as there’s money to be made, there’s work to be done.” Lv Mingkun was open-minded about it. The two chatted for a while longer when an aged voice came from Silent Hall. “Xiao Lv, come give me a hand, today we’re having spicy pot noodles and sauce-cooked pork bones.” Hearing the call, Lv Mingkun hastily excused himself from Zhou Xuan: “Junior brother, Elder Yuan is calling me. I’ll go help out. It’s time for supper; you should have some later too.” “I won’t eat, I’ll just wait for my sister.” Zhou Xuan wasn’t hungry and really didn’t want to eat. But Lv Mingkun, being polite, after serving Yuan Buyu with pots and dishes and arranging the masters’ meals, also filled a bowl of noodles and plated some sauce-cooked pork bones for Zhou Xuan. “The night is still long, you might get hungry, better eat something.” Ah, you’re being so polite, would it be civil to refuse? Zhou Xuan devoured the food, and although there were some flaws in taste, it was still good for filling the stomach. “Slow down, careful not to choke yourself.” The tone was harsh. Zhou Xuan looked up and saw Yuan Buyu, the cook from Zhou Family’s Troupe. Chefs are usually temperamental, being around the stove and smoke every day, it is hard for them not to have a fiery temper, thus they speak bluntly. “It’s far from choking; your cooking skills have really fallen off today.” “Scoff.” When Yuan Buyu wrote the book ‘Living Doll’ about Liang Zhi, he had a high respect for Zhou Xuan, thinking that the current Zhou Xuan, after coming back to life, improved a lot, became braver, and much more resilient. But now, he thinks that Zhou Xuan is still the same as before, mediocre in everything, but always nitpicking and arguing. He picked up some melon seeds, cracked two, and couldn’t be bothered with Zhou Xuan. Zhou Xuan kept talking to himself. “This spicy pot noodles looks simple— just roll some eggs and scallions in the pot, then add some noodles, but it’s not that simple. To make it tasty, you need a lot of scallions, fry them thoroughly so the flavor comes out, and when boiling, need strong heat so the noodles absorb the broth and become fragrant. Your noodles lacked enough scallions and needed more heat, missing the mark.” This critique surprised Yuan Buyu, hitting the nail on the head. Insufficient scallions were due to Elder Yuan getting distracted while frying, losing precision and indeed adding too few. Not enough heat was a procurement issue. For a large stove, firewood is needed for strong flames. These days, due to disaster in Firewood Production District in Mulin East District, firewood prices soared. The procurement, reluctant to spend much, bought less firewood and more straw. Straw is cheaper and does burn, but produces weaker flames, which made Yuan Buyu curse the procurement several times. Luckily, weak flames could still cook food, nobody complained about the straw, but Zhou Xuan noticed it when eating. Yuan Buyu bowed to Zhou Xuan in admission, saying, “Didn’t expect it, but you really know food!” “Just talkative.” Zhou Xuan chuckled. In his past life, he lacked in many skills but maxed out in leisure and gastronomy, with good restaurants everywhere, and frequently traveling across the country for work, tasting most of the delicacies from north to south. Tasting food simply means eating, broadening vision, and definitely enhancing taste buds. Plus, the nationwide explosion of shop explorations and cooking tutorial videos, often featuring state banquet chefs teaching cooking, helped hone theoretical skills greatly. But it was only theoretical; if Zhou Xuan really cooked, being “edible” was over-performing. “I’ll cook some dishes and bring them to your room tomorrow, we can discuss more then; you understand the art of eating, unlike those blockheads in the troupe.” Yuan Buyu was very impressed with Zhou Xuan. Those who earn their living with skills often have a pure mindset, acknowledge a skill defeat, and learn from anyone better. Skill learning knows no seniority; those who achieve are teachers. “Sure, make some substantial dishes next time; I’m not used to too bland ones,” Zhou Xuan continued eating his noodles. Before he had much, Sha~ Sha~ Sha. seaʀᴄh thё NovelFire.net* website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality. It came, the white noise again. He quickly set down his chopsticks, opened his notebook, and recited several segments from the book about Liang Zhi, suppressing the noise. Zhou Xuan, wary of people nearby, reduced his volume a lot, but Yuan Buyu still heard him clearly. “Do you also like storytelling?” Yuan Buyu was like an old child, accepting losses but always thinking about making a comeback. Storytelling, however, was his home turf. “Just listening to a few segments, I am not as obsessed as those amateur enthusiasts brag about.” “What’s written in the script, Liang Zhi?” “Yes.” “Let me correct some errors for you, I am a professional enthusiast after all.” Yuan Buyu almost wore out Zhou Xuan’s notebook from his eager scrutiny. Zhou Xuan didn’t take it seriously and handed it over. Yuan Buyu, unable to contain his eagerness to find faults, flipped open the notebook and immediately pointed out, “First of all, the way this Liang Zhi is written isn’t right. To write a good script, you need to list out the hero, the villain, and the comic relief—the characters who add humor. Highlighting their characteristics can really move the audience.” In some storytelling sessions, the comic relief receives a warmer reception from the audience than the protagonist. By listing the main characters first, the structure of the script naturally becomes clear, and enriching it further can make it a great story. This is a rather traditional approach. However, there are thousands of ways to be human, and there are thousands of ways to write a Liang Zhi. Some master teachers also have the habit of not writing “hero, comic relief, villain.” Yuan Buyu, being knowledgeable, wouldn’t dwell on the “incorrect way of writing”; a slight mention would suffice. He read a few more segments and commented, “This book’s introduction is too thick.” “Thick skin” is also a term in storytelling, meaning the story enters the main theme too slowly, what netizens call a slow start. Hard to find any spirit in it after watching for a long time. “A thick introduction is a big problem. When telling a story, whether in a teahouse or on the street stalls, the audience is always new. They also understand that having listened to you once, they still don’t know what happens next. If you spend the first session on just the introduction, people will get unhappy. Those in a good mood might just scold you on the spot and boo you, and those with a hot temper might even flip tables and beat you. So, whether you’re telling stories as a hobby or as a livelihood, you’ve got to thoroughly figure out one thing— how to capture the audience’s attention in the shortest time…” Zhou Xuan writing scripts was merely to drown out his own white noise, not for setting up a stall, and certainly not as a livelihood. A rich second generation idler, relying on storytelling for a living? But he still listened very attentively. After all, having this hobby since childhood, listening more about the skills of storytellers, taking it as a tale, accompanied by sizzling noodles, it’s like listening to an audio documentary. Quite interesting. But as he listened, Yuan Buyu suddenly stopped, right when it was getting exciting. Old man, why did you stop? “Old Man Yuan? Old Man Yuan?” Zhou Xuan pushed aside his bowl of noodles, reminding Yuan Buyu to continue. The two were so close they could touch arms, yet calling out several times went unnoticed. Yuan Buyu seemed to be in a trance like an old monk – if not for his eyeballs still slowly moving downwards, Zhou Xuan would have thought his system had hung. “It’s just a romance storytelling, got addicted? You really haven’t eaten much good pork.” Zhou Xuan, uninterested in managing Yuan Buyu, continued to scrape up the few remaining noodles in his bowl. Indeed, Yuan Buyu was captivated, partly by the story of “Lu Mountain Love,” but not entirely. Just now, as he was reading the script, the more he read, the more intriguing it became. Previously, he used to impart the tricks of storytelling to his disciples—A good story isn’t gripping at first read but is like a pot on the stove, starting lukewarm. As the heat increases, it slowly gets exciting, and eventually, when the pot starts bubbling, it’s boiling hot. “If you guys can encounter such a story in your lifetime, that’s luck accumulated from past good deeds, regardless of the cost, you must tell the story well, perform well.” The “Lu Mountain Love” script had the qualities of a good story Yuan Buyu once described. Started lukewarm, then became exciting, and finally boiling hot. But it wasn’t so intense, lacking the final fire in all aspects. Having qualities is one thing; being a good story is another. This kind of script could make Yuan Buyu like it, but not to the extent of being obsessed. What truly made Yuan Buyu entranced was a feeling— —everything awakening, persistent spring rain. When he had read halfway through the script, the two “heroes” in the book came to life, as if alive. The delicate and graceful female protagonist Zhou Yun and the young, vigorous male protagonist Geng Hua seemed to step right out of the notebook. As he silently read further down the script, more and more characters and scenes came to life. Mountains, waters, cars speeding on the roads, and the heartbeats of Zhou Yun and Geng Hua orbited around him. When it rained in the script, he could hear raindrops hitting the tiles; when it was spring in the script, he felt warm. These feelings made him very comfortable, totally relaxed. “It’s been a long time… It’s been a long time…” Yuan Buyu, excited and lost in emotion, understood what this long-missing feeling represented! But soon, his sensations disappeared. Because the script was abruptly snatched away by Zhou Xuan. “Hey, why are you taking my script?” The conscious Yuan Buyu shouted at Zhou Xuan. “Old Man Yuan, have you no shame? What do you mean by taking? It’s mine, my written script!” Zhou Xuan was almost amused by the outrage; this book was regarded as yours just because you read it? Not even a stick can beat your stealing prowess! “It was careless of me to speak, little… Class Leader, could you… erm… lend… lend me that script to read overnight, I’ll return it tomorrow.” Yuan Buyu, now speaking, was noticeably more humble.