Three years ago, when Gou Dan wanted to sell himself to learn embroidery, Li Cuimei thought to herself: Gou Dan’s mother was a skilled storyteller—why not set up a storytelling hall in the rental district? During the idle winter months, there would surely be no shortage of listeners. If they invited her to perform, she could earn rewards, and their own business would benefit as well—a win-win for both. Initially, Gou Dan’s mother hesitated, fearing her blindness would be inconvenient. But Li Cuimei assured her that she only needed to come and perform daily; everything else, from security to attendants, would be taken care of. All the rewards would go entirely to her, and if the earnings fell short, the hall would make up the difference, guaranteeing at least three taels of silver per month.
Gou Dan toiling alone for a year might not even earn three taels. With that in mind, Gou Dan’s mother no longer hesitated and agreed. Over the past three years, the silver she earned not only cleared their debts but also allowed them to rebuild their home. Gou Dan no longer had to sell himself and even enrolled in school, now attending elementary classes in town. The boy was naturally kind-hearted—despite no longer living in poverty, he still took care of everything at home, personally tending to his mother inside and out.
Hearing that the host family had come to listen to her performance, Gou Dan’s mother didn’t need assistance. Groping her way, she walked to the seats of the Da Lang family and knelt with a thud, startling Li Cuimei, who hurried to pull her up. But Gou Dan’s mother refused to rise, insisting she had a request.
Seeing her determination, Li Cuimei had no choice but to ask, “Sister Guo, what is it? Speak freely. If it’s within my power, I won’t refuse. Please stand up—if you stay like this, I’ll be at a loss.”
Only then did Gou Dan’s mother rise, helped to her seat by a maid, before saying, “Madam, my Gou Dan has started school but still lacks a formal name. He’s mocked daily by his classmates. Though I can tell stories, I don’t know how to read. You’ve been so kind to our family—I beg you to bestow a name upon him.”
“This cannot be!” Li Cuimei was shocked. “Naming is a serious matter, requiring the approval of family elders and ancestral records. I’m an outsider and a woman—how could I take on such a responsibility? Please reconsider, Sister.”
“Ah,” sighed Gou Dan’s mother. “Our family has always been outsiders—just my husband and me when we arrived. After Gou Dan was born and his father passed, it was just the two of us again. We have no elders. We were wanderers, with no known lineage or ancestral hall.”
Li Cuimei suggested, “Then, perhaps ask the schoolmaster to name him. He’s respected and wise—his choice would carry weight.”
Gou Dan’s mother shook her head. “I’ve asked. The schoolmaster said one must not forget their roots, and that the name should come from someone else. After much thought, my son and I owe everything to your kindness, Madam. Aren’t you our root? I beg you to name him.”
“Well…” Li Cuimei hesitated. Inviting Gou Dan’s mother to perform had been a spur-of-the-moment idea, not some grand gesture. Being held in such esteem made her uneasy.
“Madam,” she was about to decline again when Da Lang spoke up. “Madam, Sister Guo makes sense. Just give the boy a proper name. He’s already old enough—delaying further would be unwise.”
Gou Dan’s mother added, “Master Lin is right. Please, Madam, grant my son a name.”
“Very well, let me think.” Li Cuimei stopped refusing and pondered.
After a moment, she asked, “Sister, how about Guo Mian? It carries the meaning of diligence and encouragement. You’re perceptive—no need for me to explain further.”
Gou Dan’s parents shared the surname Guo, so Li Cuimei named him Guo Mian.
“Wonderful! Guo Mian it is. A fine name. Thank you, Madam.”
As Gou Dan’s mother moved to kneel again, Li Cuimei swiftly stopped her, smiling wryly. “Sister Guo, if you keep thanking me, we’ll miss the start. If the audience gets impatient and withholds rewards, you’ll lose out today.”
“Heh, I’ll go now. For the name you’ve given today, I’ll tell the story well.” With a bow, Gou Dan’s mother—now Guo Mian’s mother—headed to the stage.
Daytime performances at the hall differed from evening ones. Evenings featured long serials, ending each night on a cliffhanger—”Stay tuned for the next installment”—leaving the audience eager for the next day. Daytime performances, however, were short, self-contained tales, requiring no lingering suspense. But with years of storytelling, where could one find so many short tales? Guo Mian’s mother was clever—she segmented long epics into standalone stories, delivering them with vivid flair, captivating her listeners.
Today’s tale was a historical biography, one of Lin Fang’s favorites. Though she’d heard it many times, she listened with undiminished delight. Just as the story reached a critical moment, her view was blocked. She shifted left—still obstructed. Shifted right—no better. Annoyance flared.
Their family had reserved an upstairs booth. Even servers refilling water took care not to obstruct guests—a strict training requirement. Visitors, if familiar, would stand to the side to greet them. Standing directly in front of someone was simply rude.
Lin Fang looked up to see a boy about Lin Wu’s age, as handsome as her second brother—destined to be a heartthrob. Yet this future charmer stood oblivious, blocking her view, his two maids equally unmoved, shielding her completely.
Just as Lin Fang prepared to ask him to move, the boy bowed and said, “Young master Shi Binhua greets Uncle and Aunt. I’m Lin Wu’s classmate, son of Shi Liaoliang of this town.”
By convention, Da Lang and Li Cuimei should have occupied the central seats, with their children on the sides. But these doting parents had placed Lin Fang front and center for the best view, flanked by them for immediate assistance. Thus, when Shi Binhua bowed, Lin Fang had no choice but to accept the full gesture.
Shi Niaoliang? Shi Binghua? Lin Fang stifled a laugh—what amusing names.
Her parents had mentioned Shi Liaoliang, the town’s largest medicinal merchant. Unlike traveling traders, he was a local. She wondered how his wealth compared to her father’s, the town’s top real estate developer. Nearly forty, Shi Liaoliang had only one son, Shi Binhua, born to his principal wife. Other concubines bore no children, or if they had, the children died young.
Da Lang replied politely, “Young Master Shi, no need for formalities. Since you’re my son’s classmate, feel free to visit often.”
Li Cuimei instructed Xiao Qin’s wife, “Have the servers bring a seat for Young Master Shi and serve every type of pastry.”
Despite their hospitality, the boy and his maids remained rooted, likely waiting for the seat. Lin Fang glanced at Lin Wu, who wore a resigned look—clearly, his classmate lacked tact.
Lin Fang spoke up herself: “Young Master Shi, apologies—refreshments will take a moment. Would you mind sharing with my fifth brother? His pastries haven’t been touched yet.”
The girl before him wore a striking red dress with white gauze overlay, the latest fashion. Yet Shi Binhua had pretended not to see her, repelled by the blood tumors on her face. But her voice, sweet and soft, surprised him, drawing his gaze downward.
That sweet voice and crescent-eyed smile, however, soon delivered an embarrassing blow: “Also, could your lovely maids step aside? The breeze is blocked—it’s quite warm.”
Lin Fang’s hint was clear, yet Shi Binhua not only ignored it but stared rudely. Unable to endure further, she spoke bluntly.
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