"Ah, recalling the past..." Babbitt settled himself on the ground next to Xiang Shan. "Great Hero, do you have many past stories?"
Xiang Shan gave him a glance, "Nothing of great importance."
It wasn't the time to "proclaim the rebirth of the Martial God." Xiang Shan had no intention of revealing his true identity.
The moment to "illuminate the stage" was not now.
Babbitt said, "Yes, yes, I love to listen to stories. I search for them every day. If you are willing to share some of your past stories, Great Hero, I wouldn't have to worry about what to broadcast today."
"Heh," Xiang Shan smiled, "Would you fret over that? O. Henry and Maupassant are masters of the short story. And after them comes Flaubert—there were many authors in the Old Era, an inexhaustible supply."
"But the stories of the Old Era are, after all, stories of the Old Era," Babbitt said. "Our era has far too few stories."
Xiang Shan looked up again at the waning moon.
