“Ugh, it won’t be exactly what I’m thinking, will it? The magistrate getting…” “This story will take about two hours to finish,” Qi Shejiang remarked. Sure enough, without realizing it, it was almost nine o’clock; they needed to wash up and go to bed. Everyone reluctantly stood up. “Then tomorrow, okay? You’ll continue the story tomorrow night!” “Wait!” Qi Shejiang suddenly shouted. Everyone paused, looking at him in confusion. Qi Shejiang lifted the pot lid. “Everyone, the pot is waiting to be opened at home.” “Puhaha.” Everyone laughed, but coming over, they hadn’t brought much money with them; it was all money earned on the spot, squeezing out five or ten yuan to put into Qi Shejiang’s pot lid. The villagers who came to visit did the same, tossing in thirty or fifty yuan.
Qí Shèjiāng finished his round and collected about seventy or eighty bucks, feeling pretty happy as he put it away. “Thank you, everyone! We’re having meat to eat tomorrow.” …… Life in the countryside flies by quickly. Before they knew it, there were just three days left, and soon it was time to go back. One guest sighed, “I have no regrets being here, but one thing—I really want to hear how Jesse’s story ended! I’ve been thinking about how it was left hanging for the past few days.”
He just wouldn’t say what happened next.” Everyone else agreed. They had intended to continue the story the next day, but with the daily activities and needing enough footage, they never had the chance to sit together like that again to listen to a story. Just like the audience at the teahouse who heard Qí Shèjiāng’s half-told story, they were itching to know how it turned out. That punchline really trapped them! Qí Shèjiāng didn’t mind sharing; it’s just that solo performances can be a bit of a trick—the art of street performance relies on excitement, punchlines, and keeping the audience hooked.
