บท 11: Chapter 11: One Month Later
Next to the Town Square
"... Later, Alibaba revealed the secret of opening the stone door to his son, who told his grandson, and generation after generation, they all lived prosperous lives."
"Alibaba's descendants cherished their fortune and never became arrogant or extravagant, which is why they remained prosperous and were long remembered by later generations."
Ino sat on his small stool, vividly narrating a story from "One Thousand and One Nights."
A large group of children had gathered around him, including some elderly people and a few adults who happened to have free time.
"Another story, Ino!"
"Yes, tell us another one!"
"I haven't heard enough for today."
As the story ended, the children eagerly clamored for another, even before Ino could speak. Ino, the storyteller, faced their noisy requests with composure, waiting silently, a classic case of not working until paid.
His demeanor made the children restless; they knew what Ino was waiting for but were powerless to help.
The standoff lasted for a few minutes.
Finally, a basket of freshly baked whole wheat bread was placed on the ground.
"Little Ino, tell another story. I think this basket of bread should be enough to pay for it."
The speaker was an elderly woman with silver hair. Her plump, round body and the faded linen dress she wore gave her a somewhat comical appearance.
Ino glanced at the basket and quickly made a judgment. Instantly, he put on a warm smile and said, "Oh, Aunt Aisha! This basket of bread is worth at least three stories."
Fair trade was important to Ino. Even for a few loaves of bread, he didn't want to take advantage and unknowingly nurture greed within himself. Moreover, valuing paying listeners was a principle for all troubadours, as their livelihood depended on them.
Ino never tried to fool or cheat Aunt Aisha because there were very few people in town willing and able to pay for his stories.
While speaking, he swiftly picked up the basket, opened it, and put the bread into his bag, then politely handed the empty basket back to her.
"Since I've been paid, let's begin, little guy!" Aunt Aisha urged as she took the basket.
"Ahem... Next, I'll tell a story about a tailor, a genie, a treasure, and a princess."
Ino cleared his throat and began, once the crowd was quiet: "This is a story from a faraway land, a long, long time ago..."
On an Abandoned Street
Unlike the bustling town square, an old, somewhat deserted street lay on the other side of the town.
Under a simple shed, a piece of worn canvas spread on the ground, displaying various leathers, cloths, and nails.
Despite having no customers, the owner continued to work, hammering away at something.
The sound of his hammering could be heard from afar. This was Old John, the town's last remaining cobbler.
Observant people might notice that unlike before when he would sit idly without business, Old John had been busy for nearly a month. Regardless of the weather or the presence of customers, he either hammered nails or crafted wooden shoe soles daily.
Day after day, he repeated this work, even if no one seemed interested.
Evening at the Town Center
Time always slips away unnoticed.
At the town center, after Ino finished his last story, the crowd gradually dispersed. It wasn't that they had heard enough, but life wouldn't allow them to waste an entire day on entertainment. Even the youngest had to return home before dinner to help their hard-working parents gather firewood.
Once the crowd had mostly left, Ino stood up and stretched. He packed his belongings and ended his day's work.
"Time flies; it's already been a month..."
He looked at the 31 marks made with a pencil on his old canvas bag and couldn't help but sigh at how time had flown by.
Quietly, he had already spent a full month in this ordinary town and had made significant gains.
He practiced magic on the mountain behind the town in the mornings and told stories at the square fountain in the afternoons to earn his keep. Each day was filled with purpose.
Now, Ino could perfectly cast seven first-year spells, including the somewhat difficult Levitation Charm.
While his magic skills improved, his stock of stories dwindled rapidly. An afternoon's storytelling was not easily satisfied with just three or five stories. Over a month of high-intensity storytelling, even a mind full of stories couldn't keep up.
Like today, he had told "Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves," but the original story was quite short. He had to embellish it with details like scorpions, poisonous insects, and cave-dwelling larvae, turning a brief tale into a desert version of "Ghost Blows Out the Light," stretching it out for another half hour.
Despite these daily routines, what puzzled him most was that he still couldn't feel any sign of returning home.
Dusk---
Ino walked alone through the streets, his shadow stretching long and thin behind him.
As he walked, he nodded and greeted the townspeople, making everything seem warm and welcoming.
Honestly, nothing was more persuasive than time. Without notifying anyone, time silently changed everything.
Time had quietly integrated him into this town, but he hadn't truly become part of it.
It was like loneliness not being in the mountains but in the streets, not within a person but among many people.
"Logically, a story ends in one place, and there's no reason to stay this long," Ino muttered to himself.
Usually, he would stay in a town for one or two weeks before returning to his original world. But now, he had been here a month without any sign of returning, making him feel a bit weary.
"Sigh, let's take it one step at a time..."
With a light sigh, despite his many doubts, he could do nothing about it.
Back at Old John's House
After ten minutes, Ino returned to Old John's house, finding him crouching by the makeshift stove, struggling with broken fire stones to light some wood, clearly preparing to cook.
"Old John, stop fussing! We have fresh bread today."
Hearing the call, Old John dropped the fire stones and walked towards the table.
"I could smell the tempting aroma of wheat from afar, but I wasn't sure you'd invite this old guy to share it."
Ino retorted without mercy, "Come on! As if there's ever anything you don't get to eat. You always eat the most."
After a month of living together, Ino and Old John had become friends, often joking harmlessly.
A dinner of wild vegetable mushroom soup, two boiled eggs, and a basket of whole wheat bread was considered a middle-class meal by the town's standards.
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