"Is it pretty?"
"Pretty—not as pretty as you."
Zhigao is already singing:
How can they withstand my mighty dragon emerging from the sea?
Only Liu Bei, Guan Yu, and Zhang Fei managed to defend themselves on the left and right.
My name, Lü Bu, is renowned throughout the land.
Huaiyu slapped her thigh:
"They're praising him even more than before! He's his!"
The performance of "The Feast" ended amidst applause. Zhigao returned backstage; not bad, he was confident as soon as he stepped onto the Guanghe Tower stage. The girl with puffy eyes handed him a small teapot and even helped him wipe away the beads of sweat.
He teased, "With your strength changing like that, you'll hurt me if you touch me. Who would like you then? Go easy on me!"
A quick glance at his colorful box revealed two candied hawthorn skewers stuck in it beside the large mirror. They were probably specially made by her; the bamboo skewers were long and soft, strung with a dozen or so hawthorns, twice as many as usual. They were crystal clear and dazzling. Shaking them, weren't they his pair of feathers?
Just as he was about to burst into laughter but couldn't because his face was covered in greasepaint, a stranger suddenly brushed past him from backstage, head bowed.
There was nothing else in Zhigao's mourning period.
After the drinking session, he spat out a few tea leaves from his tongue, revealing a dark green hue—it had once been vibrant green. He carefully wiped them away, afraid of ruining his makeup, and then playfully compared the feathers on his head to the candied hawthorns, each trying to please the other.
Although he often argued with Bubble Eyes, his voice was now limp, and he no longer called her Bubble Eyes.
"Young Miss Qiao, you have such skillful hands! I am very pleased to meet you!" She reached out and poked her finger, which was then stained with powder.
Let them curse and complain; they're truly a worldly couple. Everything is preordained.
For a moment, nothing else mattered. Who would have thought that he too had once gone through a period of missing someone, feeling dizzy and in pain, with lingering attachments, yet still having to pretend to laugh louder than usual.
"Zhigao, congratulations!"
This was Master Li Shengtian, who, after the Shanghai incident, lost interest in the martial arts world and withdrew from the scene. It seems he has indeed grown old.
Master Li now only takes on apprentices at home. Those who follow him are all children from poor families, and they study Peking Opera for a full ten years. Even though he no longer sings, there are still people in the world who will take his place, and the essence of the stage will be passed down from generation to generation, just like the endless cycle of birth, aging, sickness, and death.
Master Li led two fellow disciples, about eleven or twelve years old, who looked quite spirited. Both were martial arts practitioners, and their gait was somewhat affected, with a pigeon-toed, tiger-like stride. However, they had bright, clever faces and whispered among themselves. Because their master was present, they restrained themselves, and because there was a star in the audience, they were also dumbfounded.
The two emerged from a dark corner. Zhigao turned around and saw them, and it was as if he were seeing himself and Huaiyu from many years ago in a graveyard. He was startled. Overwhelmed with emotion, he stood there for a while, speechless.
Shaking his head, he finally realized he should shout:
"Master Li!"
"Zhigao, if you get through this today, you'll be a star! Your skills are really hitting the mark. You're the most reliable one."
Zhigao just grinned:
"Master Li, please sit down. If you hear something wrong, don't get drunk on the spot, or you'll get a good scolding from me afterwards. Young man, are you here to watch the show for free? Do you have any gifts to offer?"
They invited Master Li to come up. Someone had indeed brought a gift.
He held it in his hand and fiddled with it. What was it?
Oh, it's an umbrella.
With a whoosh, she opened the umbrella, revealing a silk canopy as light as a cloud and as thin as a cicada's wing. She had probably never seen such a fine umbrella in her life.
The silk is dyed with "Spring Dawn on the Embankment," and the green water and emerald embankment represent a kind of hope for humanity.
"Whose gift was this?" Zhigao asked. "Who sent it? Where is the person?"
"I don't know?" she asked, staring with one round eye.
"Hey, find him for me—oh no, 'The Grand Banquet' is about to air. Get it done!"
The money and the small gong had already struck twice in unison, and the drum was already shattering and tearing its edges impatiently, the pace quickening to urge him onto the stage. A play is like life; there's no time to delay. Zhigao decided to perform first.
In a corner near the entrance, a figure with their head bowed stared intently as he intimately instructed another girl—that their relationship was not ordinary. This figure, upon closer inspection, was also a woman, dressed in thick, heavy clothing; her cotton-padded coat wrapped around her body like faded rouge applied to a waxy face. Her bangs framing her forehead resembled a tattered veil used by an ancient bride to conceal her youthful beauty, and her eyes peered out through the gaps, unusually timid and humble. It was a posture of insisting on watching others, insisting on not being watched.
If you look closer, you'll be surprised to find that she was actually a beautiful woman, but inexplicably sloppy and also very uneasy.
No one ever heard her utter a single word. It was fortunate that they did, otherwise they would have been even more astonished. Her voice was rough and hoarse, deep and aged. Opera singers called this kind of voice "cloud-covered moon," like a bright moon in a clear sky suddenly covered by dark clouds. No matter how hard she tried, she could not escape, and no one ever saw its true face again.
Not only has his voice changed, but his face has changed too. His face is thinner, his nose is pointed, his lips are stained with soot, and his youth has long since flowed away like water. What remains is just a tattered shell.
Dandan.
Although the weather was cold, the backstage area was bustling with people and a bit humid. However, she was holding a hot water bottle in her arms, trying to keep warm by hugging it tightly to her hands.
And so, upholding her promise, she came to see the "Cut Cake Bro's" success. She saw his genuine happiness. He's truly a good person; this is his good fortune.
"I'm not a good person, this is my retribution." Dandan looked at the receptionist at Tuikang. She was in the shadows, he was in the light.
When Dandan woke up from her darkest moment, Shi Zhongming was by her side.
He was saved, and they did everything they could to keep him alive.
But how corrupt has her heart and soul become? She keeps crying out in pain, almost fainting from the pain. She looks fine on the outside, but inside she's rotten.
The pain was so severe that Shi Zhongming had no choice but to let her smoke opium. After smoking it, she recovered and everything was calmed down.
Mr. Jin's grand funeral took place a month later.