Master Long drifted to the streets of Beiping, selling goldfish. Later, he went to Guanghe Tower to pick up his old zither again and took a liking to Song Zhigao, who was a "rookie." He wholeheartedly cultivated him, making him both an apprentice and a son-in-law. Song Zhigao seemed to have everything settled, single-minded, believing it was all fate, and that he was about to be included in this group.
The pair of feathers on his head, whether they resemble a woven field, a delicate touch on the water, two dragons playing with a pearl, or even a butterfly in flight or a swallow darting about, are all perfectly placed here.
In October, the autumn rains have ended, the winter sun is blazing, and the temperature is ambiguous. In sunny spots along the edges of the fields, the grass turns green again, and the mountain peach blossoms occasionally bloom with their last one or two pink buds, gracefully adorning the branches.
Zhigao hung clothes out to dry on one side and people out to dry on the other in front of his "good house".
Xiao Qiao called out from afar, "Aren't you afraid of looking hot when you turn around? Dressed like this, when you were little..."
"No, I wore it to dry in the sun."
"You're so lazy!"
Zhi Gao remained silent. He let her boss him around and scold him. "Dad said that you were too in sync with the drums yesterday, like a puppet, your body moving in unison with the four beats, but you had no heart. Hey, sit up straight, you're leaning to one side."
"What do you know?" Zhigao looked up at the sky with his eyes, which were warm from the sun, and said, "This time, it's actually a 'comeback,' and it can stay warm for a while. Bubble-eyed, pour me a bowl of sweet water."
It tastes so pleasant.
Zhigao understood that his own "counterattack" was nothing special.
Master Long would discuss a new melody with him, always saying:
"The style of singing should not be new in the way people imagine. People are used to listening to opera. They know how to adjust, steal, change, transport, and spray. If you want something new, it must be new within the familiarity."
So he understood even more.
He started his career by performing in theaters, not on the streets; he didn't sing the opening act, though he eventually made it to the second act. He was a rising star who steadily climbed the ranks.
They will become famous, but not overnight. Like fireworks, they'll be just drops of gold, never soaring to the heavens. However, there are exceptions; some people never achieve even that.
He was in his early twenties, and that continued until he turned thirty. He got married, had a baby, and life went on like that, until the end of time.
When winter arrived in Houda, everything changed, except for fate. Snowflakes fell heavily, the weather was chaotic, and the streets and alleys seemed paved with silver that Ding Zhong wasn't entirely sure about—because of impurities. Impure.
Zhigao felt that everything was going well. Both father and daughter hoped that he would make a name for himself and tried their best to train and discipline him.
Lying on the kang (heated brick bed) at night, with no fire in the house to keep warm through the winter, the joy of gathering around the stove was wonderful with three or five people, but one or two would suffice too. The fire gradually grew stronger, the water in the kettle hissed, and once it boiled, he brewed a pot of fine fragrant tea. With money readily available, he had the food stall deliver the copper hot pot and boxed dishes: braised pork, small sausages, white sausages, steamed chicken, and various meat dishes—all brought to this "fine home." The young shop assistant helped light the charcoal and fan the fire. Once the pot boiled, he placed it on the table, said "See you later," and left. —A proper feast, if only Huaiyu were here… if only Dandan were here.
How does Dandan address his wife? Does she call her "bubble-eyed girl" or "sister-in-law"? They haven't seen each other for three years, and they're quite estranged. If Dandan were here, he wouldn't know how to gracefully leave the scene after kissing her.
He tossed and turned in bewilderment and sorrow for a moment, then drifted off to sleep again.
Somehow, in my dream I was wearing a new suit—a white three-piece, a gray striped tie, and a clip with tiny diamonds. I also had a pocket watch and a diamond ring—it was incredibly luxurious. I was surrounded by a crowd, and a beautiful woman beside me was radiant and elegant. I never knew that even puffy eyes could look this beautiful with just a little shadow.
It's a beautiful dream of infidelity.
He sighed in his dream.
"well!"
A soft, long sigh echoed from outside Guanghe Tower, before the news of the play. As soon as he began to sigh, Duan Saoting would immediately grasp his hand tightly, clearly indicating that she was there.
The sun's brilliance, undiminished by the depths of winter, stubbornly hangs on the horizon, seizing this final moment to unleash its last rays. The ancient, centuries-old red walls, green tiles, and yellow glazed roofs are bathed in a golden glow, as if about to ignite a prairie fire, as if urgently summoning all straying life back home for the night.
He said:
"Read it to me!"
When she looked at the playbill, yes, it was bright red paper sprinkled with gold flecks.
She read aloud, "Is this it? Song Zhigao, from the scenes 'The Regular Banquet' and 'The Grand Banquet.' Lü Bu: Song Zhigao. Is this the 'sworn brother' scene you wanted to hear?"
He held up a gift in his hand, an umbrella he had made himself.
Tang Huaiyu later became a worker at the Hangzhou Dujinsheng Silk Weaving Factory.
Once the master bamboo selectors had chosen the bamboo from the bamboo-producing counties of Yuhang, Fenghua, and Anji, they would hand it over to the bamboo processing workers. The process involved rubbing the bamboo, splitting long ribs, weaving, shaping, splitting the green bamboo strips, milling grooves, splitting short ribs, drilling holes, and threading the umbrella tray. The first silk umbrella of West Lake was unveiled in 1934. Before that, no one had imagined that silk could be used for umbrella surfaces, and that springtime colors could be added to them. The entire beauty of West Lake was condensed into a single silk umbrella—a beauty unseen by the master craftsman.
He finalized the design: a silk umbrella with thirty-five ribs. The bamboo section had never been split into thirty-six pieces before, because he was in charge of the process.
No one knew his true abilities. In the past, he wielded knives, guns, swords, and double hammers. He mastered all weapons, making them his tools for defeating enemies and the source of his brilliant, meteoric rise to fame.
He never felt the urge to try his hand at handling or catching any bamboo stalks. It was always said that his poor eyesight was his only regret.
The gift for Zhigao was a "Top Scholar Bamboo," and the painting depicted "Spring Dawn on the Emerald Embankment." Winter was almost over. How could Huaiyu forget this three-year promise? Finally, at a twilight, melancholic hour, accompanied by the setting sun, he fulfilled his promise. His familiar footsteps carried him into the venue.
Once inside, Huaiyu took off his sunglasses. He closed his eyes, and many opera enthusiasts in the audience also closed their eyes to enjoy the performance; he was finally one of them.
He then asked:
Are there many people?
"It's all full."
Duan Muting pulled her deep purple shawl tighter and sat down beside him. A glance revealed a row of wooden planks against the wall, and children were standing on tiptoe to look. They were "looking," not "listening," their eyes filled with wonder.
Sure enough, it was "The Little Banquet." Huaiyu listened intently and recognized it immediately. "Huh, a different childlike voice now!" Lu Bu's high-pitched, exaggerated childlike voice was truly extraordinary.
"When I discussed the merits of my brothers in the Peach Garden, Guan Yu wielded his broadsword like a fierce tiger, Zhang Fei used his spear as brave as a Vajra, and Liu Bei wielded his twin swords as if a god had descended from the heavens..."
Huaiyu listened, saying "Good!" repeatedly. He was very pleased and hurriedly asked again:
What kind of costume should we wear?
She listened for a while, and then, realizing he might ask, she replied:
"Pink, in varying shades of pink, set against blue and silver. Oh, look at its feathers, one trembling while the other doesn't, just like a cockroach's antennae!"