Volume One, Chapter 23: The Little Page Tells Stories So Well That the Young Masters Are Completely Enchanted!

Chen Pingchuan stepped forward silently, took the stone from Zhang Jinbao’s hand, and arranged a simple, honest smile on his face, his voice clear and bright.

“Young masters, though this stone cannot fly on its own,” he began, “it is nonetheless extraordinary, for it can ‘speak.’ Today, if I may be so bold, I wish to tell you a wondrous tale: ‘The Monkey King’s Great Havoc in Heaven.’ I wonder if you, young masters, would care to listen?”

Liu Ming arched his handsome brows, a trace of disdain on his lips, clearly not taking this little attendant seriously. Sun Yong, even more boisterous, shouted, “Havoc in Heaven? Hmph! I’d like to hear what tricks a little page like you can conjure up!”

The other children, full of mischief, chimed in, eager for amusement.

Without further words, Chen Pingchuan merely smiled and began his performance.

His voice was not loud, yet it carried a peculiar rhythm and allure—at times soaring and impassioned, at others soft and winding.

“Now, in the Eastern Continent, across the seas, there was a kingdom called Aolai. Near the ocean rose a mountain called Flower and Fruit Mountain…”

He recounted how Sun Wukong burst forth from a celestial stone and established himself as king in the Water Curtain Cave, ruling over his tribe of monkeys.

He described how, in pursuit of immortality, Sun Wukong crossed the seas, endured countless hardships, apprenticed himself to the venerable Patriarch Bodhi, and mastered the seventy-two transformations and the wondrous Cloud Somersault.

As he spoke, he raised the river stone, painted with the Monkey King, high above his head, as if the Monkey King himself stood proudly amidst the clouds. At times, he concealed the stone artfully, as though the Monkey King had vanished from sight.

He told how Sun Wukong, wielding the golden staff, wreaked havoc in the Dragon Palace beneath the Eastern Sea to claim his divine weapon, and how he stormed the Netherworld, erased his name from the Book of Life and Death, and threw the Ten Kings of Hell into utter confusion.

At his wit’s end, the Jade Emperor yielded to the advice of the Grand White Star, inviting Sun Wukong to Heaven and appointing him to a minor post as Keeper of the Imperial Horses—Bimawen…

At this point, Chen Pingchuan expertly mimicked the monkey’s mischievous scratching, leaping about, and the flustered, helpless expressions of the celestial soldiers and generals faced with this irrepressible rogue.

In his hands, a simple stone painting seemed to come alive, transformed into the fearless, unbridled, and supremely powerful Monkey King.

Where the hall had been lively and noisy, at some point it had fallen into utter silence—so quiet one could hear a pin drop.

Every child’s gaze was riveted to Chen Pingchuan and the small, vividly painted stone he held.

Liu Ming, once all disdain and arrogance, now sat, lips parted, eyes unblinking, barely breathing, having forgotten to close his mouth.

Sun Yong stretched his neck, eyes wide and round, as if afraid to miss a single detail. Qian Yue, treasuring his nine-ring puzzle above all else, had tossed it aside on the table, utterly engrossed. The other boys, too, held their breath, entranced, as if transported into the tale itself.

Just as Chen Pingchuan reached the part where Sun Wukong stole the peaches of immortality, disrupted the Queen Mother’s banquet, and was thrown into the Eight Trigrams Furnace by the Supreme Lord—his fate seemingly sealed—a maidservant hurried in, bowed, and announced, “Young masters, the ladies have summoned you to the front hall to pay your respects to the Magistrate’s wife on her birthday.”

At once, Chen Pingchuan fell silent, returned the Monkey King stone to Zhang Jinbao, and bowed to the group. “That is all for today, young masters. Thank you for your attention.”

He made to withdraw.

“Wait! Don’t go!” Liu Ming was the first to recover, darting forward and, forgetting all propriety, grabbed Chen Pingchuan’s sleeve.

“That monkey—the Monkey King—what happened to him? Was he truly burned to death?” Sun Yong, sweating with anxiety, pressed urgently.

“Exactly! Tell us what happened next!” Qian Yue echoed, nodding vigorously.

The others crowded around, clamoring, their faces full of impatience and unfinished longing.

Chen Pingchuan lowered his eyes, hiding the faint smile that flitted across them.

Excellent.

The first step was complete.

The legend of the “Stone Journey to the West” would soon spread from the lips of these young masters to their circles—prime clientele, every one.

Zhang Jinbao, seeing how easily Chen Pingchuan had won over these usually haughty boys, was awestruck, basking in shared glory.

He threw an arm around Chen Pingchuan’s shoulder and declared, “Let me tell you! The Monkey King on this stone was painted by my elder brother! And that story—he made it up himself!”

At these words, the children who had been peppering Chen Pingchuan with questions all stopped abruptly. Their eyes, brimming with astonishment, turned upon him anew.

A servant boy, and yet such remarkable talent?

Chen Pingchuan only smiled, neither confirming nor denying, his air growing even more enigmatic.

Sun Yong could no longer contain himself. Forcing his plump body to the front, he cried, “Zhang Jinbao, have your brother paint one for me! No—ten!” He waved his chubby fingers for emphasis.

“I want a Monkey King too!” Qian Yue squealed, desperate not to be left out.

Liu Ming, though more reserved, could not hide the longing in his bright eyes.

Feigning difficulty, Chen Pingchuan replied slowly so all could hear, “Young masters, I have no painting tools at hand; I’m afraid I cannot paint for you now. Besides, it grows late—if you miss paying respects to the Magistrate’s lady, that would be my fault.”

At this, the boys seemed to awaken from a dream, recalling their true purpose today.

“Then it’s settled! Next time, you must bring us more stone paintings!”

“That’s right! No backing out!”

The young masters chorused their demands, reluctantly leaving the hall with the maid, looking back at every step.

Meanwhile, in another pavilion within the county magistrate’s garden, a group of elegantly dressed young ladies sat together, each showing off her latest treasure.

“Look at my bracelet—my father had it brought all the way from the capital, pure mutton-fat jade!” one girl in a pink silk dress exclaimed, raising her snow-white wrist.

“Mine is just as fine!” retorted another, her hair adorned in two exquisite buns. “My mother had the city’s most renowned artisan craft this gold-and-pearl hairpin for me. See this Eastern Sea pearl? So round and lustrous!”

The girls chattered and boasted, the pavilion alive with jewels and laughter.

When it was Zhang Jingshu’s turn, she calmly drew a dainty embroidered sachet from her sleeve, decorated with elegant orchids.