"Xiao Wu, Xiao Liu!"
He Buning's face was filled with anger as he shouted loudly, but outside the courtyard, the leaves rustled, and no one responded.
The storyteller slowly brought his fist to his mouth, "Cough, cough~"
As soon as he coughed, He Buning immediately became tense as if facing a formidable enemy, his whole body tight, standing frozen at the door, not daring to make a move.
The storyteller was often plagued by illness during his stories, much like the rising and falling action of a tale. The closer it got to the climax, the more severe the torment, and the greater the burden on his body. Only when the story reached its conclusion would the storyteller's ailments disappear.
But even when the pain disappeared, the consumption of his lifespan could not be compensated. The time passing in the story would double, fivefold, even tenfold, drain the storyteller's life.
The deeper the story's impact on reality, the more intense this consumption would become.
