Volume One: A Scroll of New Rain Chapter Fourteen: The Storyteller

It was an open stretch of land in the small town.

At the center of the field stood a banyan tree with twisted roots, its vast canopy unfurled against an evening sky awash with violet and crimson clouds. Behind the tree, the sinking sun cast the old tree’s shadow long across the ground, like a giant’s silhouette.

In the subdued twilight and within the shadow, a dozen or so townspeople sat scattered—adults and children, some cradling bowls of food, others holding grasshoppers caught in the fields.

Yet at that moment, it seemed as if some magical force had drawn them in; every pair of eyes gleamed, quietly fixed on the figure seated beneath the tree, listening to the voice that spoke.

“Let me tell you about Cheng Ying—how, in one night, his black hair turned white from worry, how he kept vigil by a lonely lamp until dawn, finally deciding to sacrifice his own child to save the orphan of the Zhao clan…”

In the half-lit dusk, Ye Mingke led Qiao Qiao by the hand, the two of them stooping low, quietly weaving between the silent, seated figures to settle themselves in the front row.

“That’s Da Bai, my favorite storyteller,” Mingke said softly, turning with pride to Qiao Qiao.

Qiao Qiao gazed with curiosity and excitement at the person beneath the tree—but was startled.

The figure sat upright against the trunk, and all around, people listened in reverent silence, their faces turned toward him. His square jaw and dignified expression radiated focus and solemnity—he seemed like a proud emperor.

Yet he possessed only half a body.

He was as proud as an emperor, but only half of him remained.

Sword Uncle’s legs were paralyzed; this man had no legs at all.

But Qiao Qiao soon forgot about this detail. Like everyone else, she was captivated by Da Bai’s story.

“The villain Tu An Jia kept demanding another search, insisting that every infant in Jin under six months, over one month, every newborn, be rounded up—each to be executed with three strokes of the blade, for surely among them was the orphan of Zhao…”

“When Cheng Ying carried his child to Gongsun Chujiu’s house to plot in secret, the child had no idea his father would send him to his death. In his father’s arms, he laughed and giggled, breaking his father’s heart and drawing tears like rain…”

“The villain raised his sword and cut the innocent child into three pieces, his laughter echoing in the night…”

“Twenty years later, the orphan Zhao Wu, now grown, finally slew the villain beneath the palace, and himself became a renowned minister of his age.”

“But that is another story…”

As Da Bai’s voice faded, silence enveloped the crowd. Bowls of food and grasshoppers remained suspended in midair; everyone was lost in the thrilling tale.

After some time, murmurs and chatter began to spread among them.

“How tragic.”

“That villain is hateful.”

“How much the parents must have grieved.”

Amid the commotion, people rose and began to leave, some smiling and exchanging words with Da Bai beneath the tree before departing, leaving food and supplies at the banyan’s side.

Da Bai responded with cheerful laughter, his bushy beard quivering on his square face.

But really, in a town of only a few dozen households, how could there be a true storyteller? To some, he was just a beggar with a knack for performance.

“So pitiful.”

Ye Mingke and Bai Qiao Qiao didn’t rise with the others, but remained seated on the ground. Mingke turned distractedly to Qiao Qiao and murmured,

“So pitiful, the child who was killed.”

Qiao Qiao noticed a shimmer, almost like tears, in Mingke’s unfocused eyes.

“He didn’t know anything, had no say in anything, and died just like that. To the very end, he didn’t understand—how tragic.”

It wasn’t Mingke’s first time hearing this story, but this time he felt as if he could touch the face of the child killed within it.

That face was his own.

He understood now why he had to seek out the painful secrets.

The lurking threat, the worsening strange illness, and his own ignorance—he didn’t want to die without knowing, without a chance to choose.

Perhaps some people would rather not face the knots in life that cannot be untangled—but he wasn’t one of them.

Because he was the child raised by Sword Uncle, with the clearest eyes, a child of the mountain’s shadow.

“Mingke, what’s wrong?” Sensing Mingke’s odd mood, Qiao Qiao gently shook his arm.

“I’m fine.”

Ye Mingke shook his head, dispelling his melancholy, and smiled again at Qiao Qiao.

“Come on, I’ll take you to see Da Bai.”

By now, the crowd had mostly dispersed.

Da Bai was seated with his back to them on a mat, arranging the townsfolk’s donations neatly. Then he grasped a rope tied to the tree, skillfully pulling himself closer to the banyan.

“Da Bai, Da Bai!” Ye Mingke laughed, leading Bai Qiao Qiao over as he called out.

Da Bai, just pulled up to the banyan, turned at Mingke’s voice and smiled at the two approaching children.

“It’s you, Little Leaf. No moon tonight—you were so far away I didn’t recognize you.”

“Who did you bring with you today?”

Now that night had fully fallen, Ye Mingke and Bai Qiao Qiao could see Da Bai more clearly as they drew near.

Da Bai looked curiously at Bai Qiao Qiao, whom Mingke led by the hand. Qiao Qiao, wide-eyed and dreamy, peered at Da Bai beneath the tree.

Without his storyteller’s aura, Da Bai seemed gentler. His eyes and brows always bent in a smile, his long white beard quivering, hair and beard tangled with leaves—like an old sprite from the forest.

Da Bai sized up Qiao Qiao, then turned to Mingke with a thumbs-up and a nod.

“Your little bride’s not bad.”

Qiao Qiao blushed and hid behind Mingke.

Mingke wasn’t fazed; he squatted down to meet the old man’s gaze, and Qiao Qiao quickly followed suit.

“Don’t mess with me—that’s my sister.”

“I’ve got a question for you.” Mingke said accusingly, “Did you give me a fake last time?”

“What fake?” Da Bai blinked, a bit guilty.

“You lost a bet and promised me your most gentle and beautiful fairy portrait.”

“My aunt spent ages trying to dress up like the fairy in that portrait, but no one thought she looked gentle or virtuous. You must have given me a fake, right?”

“No way—it was real.” Da Bai blinked and swore earnestly.

“Keep pretending, will you?”

Ye Mingke squinted and scowled.

“I know you wouldn’t give it up so easily. Just wait—I’ll find a way to get that precious fairy portrait from you one day.”

“Heh heh.” The old man smiled sheepishly, neither confirming nor denying, his bent eyes blinking.

“I’ve got to go now. Should I carry you home first?” Ye Mingke asked.

“Home?” Bai Qiao Qiao peeked out from behind Mingke, curious about what this magical old man’s home might be like.

“Ha ha, that’s right. Your little bride hasn’t seen my home yet? Come.”

Da Bai laughed heartily, reaching for the rope tied between himself and the banyan.

Qiao Qiao now noticed that the rope wasn’t tied directly to the tree; following its path upward, she saw it led into a large hollow in the banyan.

The old man, half using the rope and half his nimble arms, deftly climbed up into the tree’s hollow.

Inside, there was a soft sound, and a gentle glow of firelight spilled out.

Qiao Qiao leaned closer, her dreamy eyes reflecting the glow—a magical beauty.

“How wonderful, how beautiful!” she exclaimed.

In the soft light, she saw a tree hollow that wasn’t especially large—just enough space for Da Bai to sleep, and beside him, a small box of books.

The floor was layered with soft, pale yellow straw, and from the ceiling hung strings adorned with lovely leaves, pretty stones, and shells.

It was a little house she’d never even seen in her dreams.

“Girl, you have good taste—I like that.” Da Bai carefully shielded the candle flame in his hand, smiling at Qiao Qiao’s praise.

“Come see me anytime. Da Bai has plenty of stories to tell you.”

“Ah, but you’re too big now, otherwise you could stay at my house.”

Da Bai said regretfully.

“Little Leaf stayed here once—and wet the bed, too!” Da Bai burst out laughing.

Ye Mingke’s face was a picture of embarrassment, wishing he could stuff straw into Da Bai’s laughing mouth.

Qiao Qiao pressed her lips and tried not to laugh, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Mingke.

“Oh dear, I’d better put out the candle, or I might accidentally burn down my house.”

Da Bai, seeing the candle shaking from his laughter, hurriedly blew it out.

The hollow plunged into darkness, and Da Bai patted the little box beside him.

“By day, I read my precious books; at night, I don’t use candles. I look at the stars instead.”

“Stars?” Qiao Qiao turned, following Da Bai’s gaze.

Beyond the banyan’s canopy, the night sky glittered with countless stars, a shimmering river across the heavens.

Tonight, the moonlight was dim, but the galaxy shone bright…