Strange Tales

Storyteller

The setting sun was setting and the clouds were heavy at dusk. Under the big banyan tree in the east of Ruyang City, which was big enough for four people to hug, there were still many figures.

"Seeing that he had already exposed his hands and feet, the sycamore spirit let out a mournful cry, and let the yellow-robed Taoist priest take it away without any resistance, but the last glance shocked the elegant scholar."

Mr. Storyteller straightened his clothes, squinted his eyes as if pretending to be mysterious, and said, "Foretell the future, hurry up tomorrow."

Everyone was enjoying listening to this, when they heard this, they couldn't help making a fuss, but they had always known the rules of the storytelling business, so they dispersed in the end.

"Hey, wait a minute, what happened to the sycamore spirit? Is it dead?" It was a young man in a yellow shirt who spoke.

The storyteller didn't answer, and still walked away at his own pace.

"How can you be like this?" The yellow-shirted boy stomped his feet depressingly, but there was nothing he could do.

In other words, this boy in yellow shirt was passing through Ruyang City, because he heard people talking about the absurd and absurd stories of this storyteller on the way, but they were fascinating. , Then come here admiringly.

It's just that the rumors among the people of this world are not just spreading rumors. This story is really wonderful, but, the goblins in this world would never be so stupid. He looked at his clothes, and the corners of his mouth curled up. radian.

One day, Mr. Storyteller looked around, but he didn't see the boy in yellow shirt from yesterday. He felt melancholy, even he himself didn't know why.Forget it, it's just a meeting by chance, even though I thought so, it was a dark time, Fang thin lips parted slightly, and said: "Yesterday we said that the Taoist priest took that sycamore essence..."

The storyteller has a wonderful voice, and the sycamore spirit is left alone in the world. Most of the people who heard it wiped their tears with their shirts. They all know how crazy this monster is, why people are weaker and timid than the scholar, and they have emptied their sincerity.

After the story was told, the crowd of onlookers had dispersed. The boy in the yellow shirt leaning on the tree trunk hidden in the luxuriant branches looked at the storyteller under the tree for a long time, and there was something warm on his face. Knowing why I feel empty in my heart, I am clearly telling someone else's story, but I feel like I am leaving.

"Hey, storyteller, where did you read this story?" The yellow-shirted boy jumped down and looked up to meet the other's pair of silver eyes.

The storyteller was overjoyed when he saw it, he was stunned for a while, and then he said: "I thought, I thought you wouldn't come." There was a bit of loneliness and sadness in the words.

The boy in the yellow shirt's earlobes were red, and he didn't know how to answer, so he brought him back to the original topic.

"It's just some weird books I read when I was young." The storyteller replied.

After chatting with each other for a few more words, they broke up just now.

The boy in the yellow shirt has heard many stories, but every time, the story of the storyteller still makes his heart flutter, and he cannot get out of the trap.

That day, he closed his eyes among the leaves of the banyan tree, and from a distance, he felt a gaze from among the crowd sweeping towards him. It was very fierce, but it was a veteran in yellow robes, quite capable.

He sighed, it was time to leave.

Taoism and monsters are not inseparable, Taoism guards the world, and monsters escape from the realm of no one, so that the well water does not violate the river water.

"Hey, storyteller, tomorrow, I'm afraid I won't be able to listen to your storytelling anymore."

"That's fine." The storyteller's body was visibly stiff, and he said lightly for a long time.

"Then leave it alone."

"Ah."

The unfinished story from yesterday continued tonight. When the storyteller's eyes touched the yellow shirt, the spring was just right, and it was bright and dazzling.

"Didn't you leave?" The storyteller looked surprised.

"Haven't finished listening to the ending, how can you be willing to leave?" The yellow-shirted boy's smile was even worse than the spring of March.

The story of Mr. Storyteller has not come to an end yet. There is a strong wind, and the spring light dissipates for a while, and the lightning flashes and thunders for a while, the darkness is dark, and the day seems like the night.

For about a quarter of an hour, everything returns to its original state, and the spring breeze is ten miles away.It's just that the gentleman who just told the book is no longer seen.

Outside the long pavilion, the scenery remains the same.

"You already know that I'm a demon, right?" The yellow-shirted boy raised his eyes weakly and asked.

"Why do you still come here knowing that there is a net all over the world?" Mr. Storyteller stroked his pale face and asked in a daze.

It's a pity that the boy in the yellow shirt no longer came to answer his question, and there was only a sycamore leaf in his hand, as graceful as a butterfly. Seeing this, the storyteller felt as if struck by lightning, and fell to the ground crying.

It is a pity that people in the world talk about that storyteller, since the situation changed that day, that storyteller has never told a book again, just murmured a name all day long, and wrote the next page of the story like a fool .

Dozens of years later, someone with good deeds in Ruyang City compiled it into a book and named it "Small Story of Wutong" after the first article. Everyone who read it cried for the boy in yellow in that story. What he was waiting for was the ending of the story.