Chapter 2: Local Bullies Grab the Stage; the Storybook Shows Its Power

The moment Shen Zhiyan crossed the threshold of the Storytelling Venue, a biting cold wind slashed through her collar, creeping up her spine like a swarm of tiny needles probing the skin. Out on the porch, a dim lantern thrashed violently in the gusts, casting jagged, long shadows that warped against the wall. Two bone-carving knives, gleaming with a cold, sinister light, lay stark across the threshold. Black cloth was wound tightly around the handles, twitching slightly in the wind, radiating a threat that promised violence rather than bloodshed. Zhao Si Ye’s enforcers blocked the path with smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. They were broad-shouldered and barrel-chested, their leather jackets puffing out with a rancid grease smell, completely shutting off the light from within.

Zhao Si Ye let out a scoff that sounded like sandpaper grinding against glass. He flicked a copper coin into the air, tracing an arc as it flashed a chill in the shadows before landing squarely back in his palm. His gaze was full of contempt, looking at her like she was just an ant that didn’t know her place. He gave a nonchalant jerk of his chin, signaling his men to clear a small gap. However, the enforcers merely sidestepped, still dripping with mockery and provocation, their eyes locked on Shen Zhiyan, ready to strike the instant she overstepped.

“It’s not walking into a trap; it’s handing over the knife,” Shen Zhiyan’s eyes flashed, a sly grin surfacing. “If Zhao Si Ye wants to ban me from the stage, he obviously wants me to leave in disgrace, isolated from everyone. The more desperate he is, the more he needs to prove to those scattered ticket agencies and small script shops clinging to him that the Black Dragon Gang’s intimidation power is still intact. Sun Quezi has been a follower for years, but he’s always resented Zhao Si Ye for skimming off the top of his cut. Now that Zhao Si Ye’s tree has grown too big to hide, and he’s become the target of every arrow, Sun Quezi probably hasn’t even tasted the bitterness of that situation yet, let alone daring to openly offend him.”

“He can’t afford to,” Shen Zhiyan straightened her robe and stood tall. “Lu Yanzhou’s words have drifted far, but the shadow of the Court of Judicial Review still looms over the Capital City. If Zhao Si Ye moves against me on Sun Quezi’s turf right now, he’s publicly challenging order in front of Lord Lu himself. He just announced he’d ‘refund the money.’ If he makes a scene now, it’s an admission that he’s in the wrong and feels guilty. He’ll only send men to monitor from the periphery, sit back and watch me fail, then laugh at how ‘a hero has no place to wield his blade.’”

Shen Zhiyan looked out at the pitch-black streets, the corner of her mouth lifting. “But I’m going to make sure he knows that ‘nowhere to perform’ is just a shackle they *think* they’ve put on me. As long as the audience’s heart is still there, the stage is everywhere. And Sun Quezi? He’ll turn a blind eye for the sake of a few jars of wine and potential profit. In fact, he might even use the chaos to ‘accidentally’ injure some of the men Zhao Si Ye sends to spy, using it to declare his loyalty to Zhao Si Ye and secure better cuts down the line.”

The audience below shifted from fear to anger, churning with shouts of “black-hearted” and “give us our money back!” The waves of noise grew higher and higher. The Color Sound surged into Shen Zhiyan like a tide, her body temperature spiking, her voice growing even more resonant and forceful. Her words pierced the heart, trapping Zhao Si Ye in a dilemma where he could neither advance nor retreat under the collective gaze of the crowd. Shen Zhiyan landed the final blow, pointing out that if he made a move today, by tomorrow the streets of the Capital City would be buzzing with scandal about the Black Dragon Gang bullying the good and fearing a female storyteller.

At a crucial juncture, Shen Zhiyan pivoted her rhetoric abruptly. She deployed the newly unlocked “Word Trap,” speeding up her pace and tightening her logic, publicly dismantling the holes in Zhao Si Ye’s gang’s secret ledgers. Her voice wasn’t loud, but every word was a pearl, exposing how he had skimmed off the members’ dividends and used violence to line his private pockets. Every number, every transaction, felt like a venomous snake burrowing out of the earth, flicking its tongue to strike Zhao Si Ye’s soft spots.

The crowd’s emotion ignited instantly. Bystanders who had been watching dispassionately suddenly had their eyes redden, fists clenching. Anger and sorrow wove into a net that enveloped the entire Storytelling Venue. Inside her mind, in the Story Pavilion, a faint light slowly flickered on—that was the entrance to a niche storytelling technique. Shen Zhiyan was quick on the draw, seizing this surge of heat to redeem the technique.

The Arousal Block came down with a crisp “snap,” like pearls dropping onto a jade plate, instantly scattering the surrounding whispers. Shen Zhiyan began recounting an old tale from *City Crafts*, her voice low and magnetic. She spoke of a tyrant bullying craftsmen, seizing their property by force. The plot tightened step by step, each word a sharpened dagger, inadvertently mirroring every move Zhao Si Ye had ever made.

She paused, her tone dropping another degree in coldness. “And tomorrow, I’m not planning to perform in an official Storytelling Venue. Since the door is blocked, we change the location. Listening to Rain Studio is small, but it’s hidden and full of idle types who don’t want trouble. I’ll finish the last segment of *City Crafts* there—the chapter on ‘killing by borrowing a knife.’”

Shen Zhiyan slowly stowed the Arousal Block, her fingers tracing the dents in the wood worn smooth by sweat. She looked down at the floor. Sure enough, that general pass bearing the crimson seal of Bai Shouzhuo’s Storytellers' Guild had been torn in two. One corner was trampled into the muddy water by one of Zhao Si Ye’s men, the black ink spreading out like a stain of blood that wouldn’t wash off.

The audience below murmured to each other, the noise buzzing like swarming mosquitoes, the tension so tight it felt like a fully drawn bowstring. Ah He shrank behind the counter, gripping the teapot so hard the porcelain warmed from his body heat. His knuckles were white from the strain, a fine sheen of cold sweat on his forehead, afraid to even breathe loudly.

In the corner, Lu Yanzhou remained seated in silence. Dressed in plain robes, he looked completely out of place amidst the chaos. After listening to the whole thing, his brow furrowed slightly. He didn’t interfere, just watched Shen Zhiyan with a complex, unreadable gaze. As he rose to leave, his hem stirred a chill wind, as if it swept away the last bit of warmth in the Storytelling Venue.

As Shen Zhiyan was packing up, she sharply noticed the change in atmosphere. When her gaze swept across the table, her pupils constricted—the Storytellers' Guild pass that had been stuck there was secretly torn to shreds, white paper scraps scattering next to the tea stains, looking like broken pieces of snow. Alarm bells rang in her heart; she realized the real trouble was just beginning.

Zhao Si Ye ground his teeth, a flash of ruthlessness in his eyes, but in the end, he just let out a cold snort. He retreated with his men in a sour mood, their footsteps heavy, each step feeling like they were walking on shattered glass. The audience dispersed in bad mood, leaving behind a mess of broken reputations, the air still thick with unspent rage and anxiety.

Shen Zhiyan sat back at the table with supreme composure, picking up the Arousal Block. It was heavy, carrying the patina of years, yet holding it gave her a strange sense of security. She silently activated “Color Sound Condensation,” her consciousness sinking into the deep recesses of her mind’s Story Pavilion, preparing to face the incoming storm.

Zhao Si Ye’s face was blue-green with anger, veins bulging on his forehead, his hand already reaching for the short knife at his waist. However, the gaze of the entire crowd was like torches. The angry citizens had become the strongest wall, daring him not to make a move. If he drew his blade, he would admit his guilt and confirm that the Black Dragon Gang bullied the innocent.

The night wind suddenly strengthened, creaking the window lattice. Shen Zhiyan took a deep breath and tossed the last torn piece of the pass into the brazier. The flames surged, reflecting the dancing fire in her eyes—a light that was hot and dangerous, like a wildfire about to spread.

Shen Zhiyan walked to the table, tapping her fingertips lightly against the wood. *Tap. Tap.* The sound was bright, almost刺耳 in the stifling Storytelling Venue, standing out sharply. She called out Zhao Si Ye’s name to sit, claiming today’s story was specifically a public case involving him.

“Go. No need to look around; just go to the Drunken Immortal Pavilion.” Her voice was calm, as if giving a trivial instruction. “Buy every kind of wine you can from the shopkeeper and deliver it to the Listening to Rain Studio at the entrance of Echo Alley.”

“Spread the word,” she said, her voice low but crystal clear. “Tomorrow at noon, Listening to Rain Studio. Bring all the ‘anger’ you can muster. I want the whole Capital City to know that Shen Zhiyan’s story is just flipping to its most exciting page.”

Shen Zhiyan didn’t answer immediately. She walked back to the desk, pulling two silver ingots the size of her thumb from her sleeve, placing them gently next to the wreckage of the torn pass. Under the lamplight, the silver gleamed cold, reflecting her serene face.

“Clever move,” Shen Zhiyan laughed lightly, though her eyes showed no warmth. “You tore the pass and cut off the retreat. Even if the report to Lord Lu goes through, without this document, the official venues will stay shut tomorrow.”

Shen Zhiyan smiled, picking up a scrap of paper and twirling it between her fingers. “The knife is dead, but words are alive. If the Fourth Master dares to move, tomorrow’s joke around the Capital City won’t be about the Black Dragon Gang.”

Shen Zhiyan sighed softly, looking in the direction Lu Yanzhou had left. “Face is borrowed; it has to be repaid eventually. Fourth Master, go check your books and see how you plan to pay back the ‘voice’ you’ve owed.”

The assistant nearby was sweating profusely. “Miss Shen, what do we do? That Zhao Si Ye has dozens of enforcers under him. If he blocks the door tomorrow, we might not make it out alive.”

Lu Yanzhou said calmly, his voice drifting on the wind but clear to the ear. “The Storytellers' Guild pass has been filed according to protocol. Zhao Si, if you defy it, the Court of Judicial Review is waiting for you anytime.”

Zhao Si Ye huffed, his back to the crowd, his voice lowered but full of threat. “You spout a mountain of lies and dare to open your mouth in the Capital City? I could shut your mouth right now.”

Shen Zhiyan felt a chill in her heart, but her face remained smiling as she looked down at the mess on the floor. “Thank you for the tip, Your Honor. But this pass seems to have been deliberately torn by human hands.”

Zhao Si Ye’s voice finally dissipated into the night, leaving only the solitary lamp at the alley’s entrance, swaying in the yellowish haze of the night wind, looking like an eye ready to go blind at any moment.

Zhao Si Ye muttered resentfully, veins pulsing on his face, but finally suppressed his anger. “Does the Minister of the Court of Judicial Review really have to meddle? Fine. I’ll give Lord Lu some face.”

Shen Zhiyan patted the Arousal Block, her gaze following his retreating back. “The story isn’t over, Fourth Master. If you’re scared to hear the ending, you still have time to turn around now.”

The assistant froze. “Listening to Rain Studio? That’s Sun Quezi’s turf under Zhao Si Ye. If we deliver wine there, aren’t we walking into a trap?”

Ah He trembled, poking half his body out from behind the counter, his voice as thin as a mosquito’s. “Young Master, that knife… the tip is pointing at us.”

Zhao Si Ye sneered, not stopping his pace, looking back with a vicious glare. “Then let me show you what a real ‘refund’ looks like.”

Shen Zhiyan looked up, her voice steady. “The Fourth Master didn’t take the front row today. Is the story too fake for your taste, or are you just too guilty to face it?”

Lu Yanzhou cut in coldly, his voice clear as ice. “Zhao Si, the laws of the Capital City don’t allow you to bark orders in public like you’re running a court.”

Zhao Si Ye narrowed his eyes, vanishing before the alley’s end, leaving one last phrase behind. “The Shen Family has fallen. Your little tricks won’t make big waves.”

Shen Zhiyan shrugged, a cold smirk curling her lip. “The wave might not be big, but it’s enough to drown those standing on the crest.”

Zhao Si Ye ground his teeth, his voice emerging from the darkness with a final warning. “Wait and see. Tomorrow, you’ll have nowhere to perform.”

The assistant hesitated. “But if Zhao Si Ye finds out you’re causing trouble on Sun Quezi’s turf, won’t he just strike directly?”

“That tyrant… named ‘Zhao’, lives in South City, likes to exploit people, has connections up high…”

The assistant shivered and left to carry out the order. Shen Zhiyan stood alone at the desk, tapping the table with her finger, the rhythm steady and powerful, like a drumbeat. She knew the real hunt had just begun.