During the daytime performance, several young actresses, eager to step onto the stage carpet, all got a chance to appear. A demon transformed into Jinlian, and then three different people appeared, a scene known as "The Four or Five Flower Caves," a playful comedy of one real and three fake characters, quite lively and entertaining. —These young actresses, not yet established stars, were all teenage boys, some of whom had just recovered from choking on cigarettes, their voices sweet and clear.
Zhi Gao listened as the man sang: "Pan Jinlian couldn't help but feel angry, since childhood she had been paired with Wu Da, whose stature was short..."
He nudged Huaiyu with his elbow: "Huaiyu, look, Brother Jinbao gave us a wink."
Then the two children greeted each other at the entrance. The play on stage continued, and the young actress pretended to be nonchalant.
The two glanced at the front desk and, seeing it was a little empty, secretly walked from the back to the front desk.
As soon as they arrived, the empty seats were already taken, so they had no choice but to stand aside and watch. There was a wooden board and a high stool against the wall downstairs at Guanghe Tower. The two of them stood on tiptoe one after the other.
After the play ended, Zhigao clapped enthusiastically, only to suddenly realize that Huaiyu was not beside him. Zhigao slipped back into the backstage area from among the departing audience.
Huaiyu was behind his "master" Li Shengtian, watching him paint his face, seemingly mesmerized.
In the evening performance of "Yan Yang Lou," also known as "Na Gao Deng," Li Shengtian played Gao Deng. He was the martial arts actor in the class, in his forties or fifties, but his martial arts foundation was the most solid, and his appearance was extremely dignified. The weapon he wielded in the play was the Seven Star Broadsword. Huaiyu couldn't lift that sword, but he thought, "There will be a day when I can lift it."
Li Shengtian had already changed into his water-resistant clothes, then bound his forehead with a fine cotton cloth and applied white powder as a base. He then applied black ash to his eye sockets and the area under his nose, and finally positioned his eyebrows, which Gao Deng had drawn as mantis eyebrows.
Huaiyu was dumbfounded. Each time, a blurry face appeared before the colored box, outside the large mirror, with a stroke and a rub, red, black, yellow, blue, white, gold, silver… Gradually, it changed, like a painting, its face full of stories, colorful and dazzling, settling into a shape, finally a long strip of oily red was drawn on its forehead, and the master was an ancient person from thousands of years ago. He was the son of the good minister Gao Chu, who relied on his father's power to oppress the villagers… Later, he died on the Yanyang Tower.
Li Shengtian began to act. Although he could see this clever, ambitious, and hardworking young man in the mirror, he never revealed his feelings. He trained him based on the fact that he saw potential, but he also wanted him to understand that there was no precedent for someone to fly to the sky on their own.
Li Shengtian changed his clothes, tied his belt, put on thick-soled boots, tightened his trouser legs, put on a padded jacket lining, and then put on a thick protective collar. Er Nongxiang dressed him in a slingshot and tied a wide belt. He fastened a net and a weight strip to the helmet, inserted ear hair, put on a headscarf, and wore a beard.
Finally, they went to the trunk to dress Fuzi and gave her a large fan.
—This outfit is finally complete.
"Master!" Huaiyu finally dared to call out respectfully.
"Hmm." Li Shengtian responded, then focused on his role and ignored him.
Huaiyu, sensing the situation, stepped aside.
He retreated backstage, retreated to a corner outside the stage entrance, and kept retreating. He was still a novice, not yet ready to go on stage. — His only stage was the street stalls on the overpass.
After the night performance ended, Huaiyu told Zhigao about his master's performance report:
"The eldest brother's playbill, bright red paper sprinkled with gold flecks, had 'Li Shengtian' and 'Yan Yang Lou' written on it. All the other names paled in comparison to my master's, shrunken and placed to the side. Did you see that? So red! Hey, you can read, right? You recognize the character 'Tian'..."
Zhigao couldn't find an opening to intercept the attack.
The streetlights were being lit by men carrying small wooden ladders, adding kerosene to each lamp and starting them up. Each man was in charge of several dozen lamps, some of which were suspended high on the iron wires in the alleyways, requiring considerable effort to climb.
The vain young Huaiyu, perhaps his only wish is for his boss's playbill, a bright red paper sprinkled with gold flecks, with the three characters "Tang Huaiyu" written on it.
Street vendors were calling out their wares again. The radish seller, his voice crisp and charming, cried, "Better than a pear, radish better than a pear, change it if you want it spicy!" The roasted sweet potato seller, however, called out in a somber tone, "The bottom of the pot! —Chestnut flavor!"
This aroused Zhigao's craving.
He reached into his pocket, but it was already empty. He used the few coins Huaiyu had left to buy soy milk and tripe. Seeing Zhigao's helpless expression, Huaiyu said:
"Want to eat something again?"
"Yes, I'd rather die a full-fed ghost! If I had money, I'd eat roasted sweet potatoes every day and devour all the sweet potatoes in his stall."
"Why do you only think about eating this kind of rubbish? You have no ambition at all, yet you call yourself ambitious!"
"Oh, of course I want to eat chicken, I want to eat duck, and stir-fried shrimp. Where would I get the money?"
"Close your eyes."
"What are you doing?" Huaiyu shoved the things into his bag and ran away immediately.
Upon closer inspection, it turned out to be about ten crispy broad beans, probably a handful given to him casually backstage at Guanghe Restaurant. Huaiyu hadn't eaten any; he'd kept them in his bag until the crucial moment, when he finally gave them to Zhigao to satisfy his craving. That Huaiyu, he was truly a worthy guard. Zhigao walked along the night road, biting open the broad beans. The beans were fragrant, crispy, and crunchy, a delightful and satisfying experience. He chewed slowly, swallowing slowly, not even wanting to spit out the shells. He thought to himself: "Hey, if I had money, I'd eat crispy broad beans, fragrant nuts, strange-flavored melon seeds, roasted pine nuts… every single day!"
The moon has risen.
The crescent moon in early spring appeared especially yellowish-brown, the sounds of the city gradually rose, and voices began to murmur. Arriving at Qianmen, south of Dashilan, north of Zhushikou, and east of Hufangqiao—this was the place Zhigao least wanted to return to. Even if he had no other choice, he wouldn't come back. And the only reason he had no other choice was money.
Rouge Alley is a short, narrow alley. It is as famous as Stone Alley, Baishun Alley, Hanjiatan Alley, Shamao Alley, Shaanxi Alley, Pitiaoying Alley, and Widow Wang's Alley.
When people mention the "Eight Great Hutongs," they know what they're talking about, and they all smirk, barely able to suppress their laughter, as they slide down the alley, sinking into the mud. Rouge Hutong was full of brothels with signs.
From within the simple house, one could faintly hear a woman asking:
"Is it over yet? Is it over? Let's go, no more rest. Is it over yet? Sigh—"
The faint sound of a man answering could be heard again:
"Damn it! You...you think you're some kind of water carrier, coming in and dumping water right away! Never mind!" He walked around, his phlegm rattling.
The woman urged again:
"Hurry up—okay, okay, it's done!"
The loud screech of pants being pulled up—it's really over.
As soon as Zhigao entered, he saw the guest lifting the curtain and throwing the guest's tattered cotton-padded coat out from inside.
The customer placed the money on the tea tray and was about to leave when he saw this rascal and immediately became smug. He grabbed Zhigao by the neck with one hand and ordered:
"Call me Father! Quickly call me Father!"
Zhigao struggled, but his rough, calloused hands wouldn't let go. The grime on them was deeply ingrained, impossible to remove with any brush. How could he imagine such hands moving across his mother's face and body, like a sandstorm whipping up sand? Zhigao desperately tried to break free, using all his strength to resist the force, but he was always no match.
Sometimes he pulled rickshaws, sometimes he emptied bathwater, mined coal, shoveled dirty soil, or worked as a porter…