The aroma of tea lingered, curling upwards.
The teahouse was bustling, a sea of people.
On the right side of the main hall on the first floor, there were ten tables, each seating eight people. On the left side, chairs were arranged in pairs with tea tables in between, ready to serve tea and snacks.
The performance had yet to begin, and there was a clamor of voices.
"Good thing I booked a private room yesterday; if I tried now, there'd be none left."
Shen Zhiyi gently fanned herself: "The teahouse's star performer came from Jiangnan and has been singing for nearly thirty years. Her voice is still as melodious as a warbler's, never tiring to listen to. But a few days ago, she lost her voice and hasn't performed since."
"However, the teahouse owner personally went to the East Street troupe to invite someone over to sing. At first, many regulars weren't pleased, and the teahouse's business went downhill."
