leonardwarren Chapter 116 Amateur Performers, Tea, and That Half-baked "Civil and Military Scholar"
Chapter 116 Amateur Performers, Tea, and That Half-baked "Civil and Military Scholar"
Chapter 117 Amateur Performers, Tea, and That Half-baked "Civil and Military Scholar"
Zhao Sihai left with the boxing manual he had lost and found. His back view revealed the desolation of a fallen martial artist, but also a renewed sense of vitality.
backyard.
The spring breeze carried the distinctive dusty smell of Qianmen Street, which clung to Lu Cheng's moon-white long robe.
He lightly dusted off his sleeves, as if brushing away his江湖 (jianghu, a term referring to the world of martial arts and chivalry) air.
"Master, your 'borrowing fire to return the lamp' technique is truly brilliant!"
Shunzi came over, his face full of admiration, his thumb almost pointing to the sky.
"When that guy surnamed Zhao left just now, his eyes were red, and he almost wanted to kowtow to you. That would make him more convinced than if you broke both his legs."
Lu Cheng turned around, slammed the folding fan shut, and lightly tapped Shunzi on the forehead.
Stop being so cheeky.
"In the world of martial arts, fighting and killing are the worst strategies; winning people's hearts and minds is the best strategy."
"Besides—"
Lu Cheng narrowed his eyes, looking at the old locust tree that had just sprouted green leaves not far away.
"We are the Qingyun Troupe, we perform opera."
"What kind of talk is this, always brandishing swords and spears? Don't let it dilute your theatrical flair."
"Go and tell everyone to put away their weapons."
"There will be no martial arts practice this afternoon."
"Oh, not practicing anymore?"
Lu Feng, holding the newly polished single-edged sword, froze, looking utterly unwilling.
"Master, I'm not tired. I can still chop five hundred more times!"
"What are you chopping for? All you know is how to chop."
Lu Cheng glared at him, but it was a mocking laugh that came from disappointment.
"That's the kind of knife work you use to butcher a pig, not the kind of knife work a professional actor uses."
"This afternoon, everyone, please change into decent clothes."
"Come with me to the overpass."
"Where are we going?" Little Bean's eyes lit up. "Are we going to eat tripe?"
"Eat, eat, all you ever do is eat."
Lu Cheng shook his head helplessly and walked into the house with his hands behind his back.
"I'll take you to listen to audiobooks, take a bath, and go to the bird market."
"Go and learn from the men of Beijing how they 'live' their lives."
"Drama originates from life."
"If you can't even manage to live your lives properly, this play—can't possibly survive."
The overpass was bustling with activity in the afternoon.
This area is the "backbone" of old Beijing, a place where all sorts of people from all walks of life gather.
Before you even go inside, the noisy atmosphere hits you right in the face.
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The shadow puppeteer, nicknamed "Big Gold Tooth," was shouting at the top of his lungs: "Look inside, look inside, Western beauties on a giant steamship—"
The man selling miracle pills stood shirtless, breaking a large rock with his chest. With a loud "bang," he drew cheers from the crowd.
Lu Cheng, along with his apprentices, did not venture into the circus performances, but instead went straight to the "Yu Lai San" teahouse.
This teahouse isn't big, but it's famous in the Tianqiao area.
Because the storyteller here, Liu Mazi, has a truly "poisonous" and "clever" tongue.
Upon entering the teahouse, a rich aroma of crushed tea mixed with the smell of tobacco and the smoky scent of sunflower seed shells wafted into my nostrils.
"Hey, isn't this Master Lu?!"
As soon as they entered, the waiter, with his sharp eyes, shouted, startling half the people in the teahouse.
"Oh my, what a rare guest! A truly rare guest!"
The tea drinkers who were chatting and listening to stories suddenly stood up as soon as they heard the name "Master Lu."
In this southern city, Lu Cheng is now a living legend, a "guardian talisman" in the hearts of the people.
"May Master Lu be blessed."
"Master Lu, please have a seat here; it's bright and airy here."
Even some elderly men, trembling, were about to bow with their hands clasped in greeting.
Lu Cheng quickly stepped forward and helped the old man up, his face bearing a gentle and refined smile, showing no airs whatsoever.
"Please sit down, everyone."
"Today I've just brought my apprentice here to listen to some storytelling. We're all neighbors, so don't be shy."
3
His smile, with its warmth, instantly melted away everyone's awkwardness.
This is a true star.
On stage, he is a god; off stage, he is a human.
Lu Cheng found a corner by the window and sat down. He ordered two pots of strong tea, several plates of melon seeds and peanuts, and also ordered the most famous "noodle tea" and "tea soup" for his apprentices.
The tea was made from millet flour, sprinkled with brown sugar and sesame seeds, and was sweet, soft, and sticky.
Although the children usually eat a lot of meat and fish while practicing martial arts, this was the first time they had ever eaten such street food so freely, and they all ate until their mouths were covered in slurry.
Lu Cheng ignored them and quietly drank his tea, his eyes looking out the window at the bustling crowd outside.
On the stage, Liu Mazi struck the gavel with a crisp "snap".
"As mentioned last time, Master Lu went to the meeting alone and broke into the Fengtai camp at night—"
Good guy.
This refers to himself.
Lu Cheng shook his head helplessly and picked up his teacup to cover half of his face.
Liu Mazi spoke with great enthusiasm, spitting as he recounted the events of that night in a fantastical and exaggerated manner.
What "Master Lu riding on auspicious clouds," what "Commander Zhang was so scared he wet his pants," what "flying sword taking a head"—
The tea drinkers below were astonished and cheered loudly.
Lu Feng and Xiao Douzi listened with great interest, occasionally stealing glances at their master with eyes full of admiration: So Master can also fly with a sword?
Lu Cheng gently kicked Lu Feng under the table.
Don't listen to his nonsense.
"That's storytelling, it's artistic embellishment."
"If I could really fly with a sword, why would I need to practice with a spear?"
Just then, a quarrel broke out at the next table.
"Hey, why are you so stubborn?"
A fat man in a silk jacket was pointing at a middle-aged man across the street who was as thin as a bamboo pole and wearing a long gown, and shouting at him.
"I say that Tan Xinpei's 'Dingjun Mountain' is a masterpiece, and that's universally acknowledged!"
"Why do you insist that Yu Shuyan's is more flavorful?"
The skinny man wasn't in a hurry. He slowly sipped his tea, pushed up his round-framed glasses, and exuded a pedantic, bookish air.
"Sir, you're just enjoying the show."
"Boss Tan's Huang Zhong is brave," he said, "possessing the heroic spirit of someone who is still vigorous in his old age."
"But Boss Yu's Huang Zhong is 'pale,' a tragic figure in the twilight of a hero."
"Although 'Dingjun Mountain' is a martial arts opera, its charm must be appreciated carefully."
"Take that phrase, 'the timing of this letter,' for example—"
As the skinny man spoke, he gestured and hummed a tune while shaking his head.
Although his voice was average, his posture, his eyes, and even his slightly trembling fingertips all exuded a sense of refinement.
This is a knowledgeable amateur.
Moreover, they are the kind of "drama fanatics" who get so engrossed in the play that they can't pull themselves out.
As Lu Cheng listened, the corners of his mouth turned up slightly.
This is the real Beiping.
No matter how chaotic the world is outside, no matter how the warlords fight.
The people in this city eat and drink as they please, and they can argue until their faces turn red over a single line in a play.
This obsession with and meticulous attention to detail regarding "trinkets" is the soul of Beijing.
"Master, what are they arguing about?"
Lu Feng chewed on a peanut, looking puzzled.
"It's just a traditional opera performance, right? Whoever has the loudest voice is the best."
Lu Cheng put down his teacup, looked at Lu Feng, and his expression became more serious.
"Fengzi, this is why I brought you out here."
"Martial arts emphasizes completeness; traditional opera emphasizes flavor."
"Look at that gentleman."
Lu Cheng pointed to the skinny man.
"Although he is weak and frail, he probably can't even withstand one of your punches."
"But he understands theater and he understands people's hearts."
"He could hear the sorrow behind the lyrics and taste the vicissitudes in the rhythm."
"Those of us who practice martial arts are prone to hardening our hearts and making them rough."
"To become a star, you not only need to be physically strong, but you also need a soft spot in your heart to hold all these feelings."
"Only when you understand these things can the hero you portray on stage be a flesh-and-blood human being, not just a killing machine."
Lu Feng was stunned.
He looked at the skinny man, then at his master.
He nodded, seemingly understanding but not quite.
But he kept those words in mind.
As I left the teahouse, the sun was already setting.
Lu Cheng took his apprentices to Liulichang.
For no other reason than to provide a good sword stand for that Green Dragon Crescent Blade.
That knife is too heavy to fit on a regular stand; it needs to be made of sandalwood, and it has to be old wood.
We entered an old shop called "Rongbaozhai".
The shopkeeper was an old man wearing a melon-shaped hat. He could tell from Lu Cheng's demeanor that he was a big customer, so he quickly came to greet him.
"Sir, what would you like to see?"
"I'm looking for a piece of old rosewood to make a knife holder," Lu Cheng said bluntly.
"Knife rack?"
The shopkeeper was taken aback for a moment, then smiled.
"Sir, you've come to the right place."
"I just acquired a large piece of timber the other day. It's an old beam salvaged from the former Prince Gong's Mansion during the Qing Dynasty. It's genuine golden-star sandalwood, and it sinks in water!"
The shopkeeper led Lu Cheng to the back room.
As soon as I lifted the curtain, I heard a series of clanging sounds coming from inside.
There sat an old craftsman with a full head of white hair, dressed in coarse cloth and short clothes, sitting in front of a workbench, holding a small hammer and hammering something.
Several young people were gathered around the old craftsman, all watching intently.
"That is—"
Lu Cheng, with his sharp eyes, quickly spotted what the old craftsman was holding.
That's not wood.
That was a broken jinghu (a two-stringed bowed instrument used in Peking Opera).
The neck of the instrument broke in two, and the soundbox also cracked.
Judging from the material, it's old rosewood with a thick patina, clearly a fine instrument that's been around for quite some time.
"Whose instrument is this?" Lu Cheng asked casually.
"Hey, don't even mention it."
The shopkeeper sighed.
"This is the piano of Yang Baozhong, the 'Piano Madman'."
"Last night, he was accompanying Mr. Mei at the Jixiang Theater. It's said that he got excited because the key was too high, and he used too much force, snapping the neck of the instrument in half!"
"Look, he came here early this morning looking like he'd lost his soul, begging Master Lu here to fix it."
Yang Baozhong?
Lu Cheng's heart stirred.
He was also a legendary figure.
Originally a martial arts performer, he later changed his voice and switched to playing the jinghu (a two-stringed bowed instrument used in Peking Opera), eventually becoming a grandmaster and known as the "Master of the Erhu".
Lu Cheng looked at the middle-aged man standing next to the old craftsman.
The man was dressed in a long robe and had a tall, upright figure, but at this moment his face was full of anxiety, his forehead was covered in sweat, and his eyes were fixed on the broken zither, as if he were looking at his own child who was about to die.
"Master Lu, you—you have to slow down. This zither has been with me for twenty years; it's my life."
Yang Baozhong's voice was trembling.
"Don't worry, Mr. Yang."
The old craftsman didn't even look up; his hammer fell steadily, each strike perfectly timed.
"Although the neck of the instrument is broken, the core is still intact."
"I'll use dovetail joints to connect it for you, then glue it in place with fish glue, and finally apply a coat of lacquer."
"Not only are there no visible traces, but the tone could be even brighter."
This is what a craftsman is like.
Turning the rotten into the miraculous.
Lu Cheng watched quietly.
He was looking at the old craftsman's hands, and also at Yang Baozhong's eyes.
The respect for the objects and the reverence for the craftsmanship filled the entire back room with a solemn atmosphere.
"Sir, this piece of wood—" The shopkeeper pointed to a large, dark piece of wood in the corner.
Lu Cheng waved his hand.
He walked behind Yang Baozhong and spoke softly.
"Boss Yang."
Yang Baozhong was startled. He turned around and saw a young man with an extraordinary bearing. Although he didn't recognize him, the young man's aura made him dare not be negligent.
"You are—"
"My name is Lu Cheng."
"Lu Cheng?!"
Yang Baozhong's eyes widened suddenly, and his voice rose eight octaves.
"You are... that Master Lu from the Qingyun Troupe?"
Everyone inside was startled and turned to look.
Lu Cheng smiled and cupped his hands, saying, "I dare not accept the title of Grandmaster; I am merely a junior who sings martial arts roles."
"Oh my goodness, you're flattering me!"
Yang Baozhong was so excited that he didn't know where to put his hands.
"Your reputation is legendary! I missed the live performance of 'Riding Alone for Thousands of Miles,' but I've heard it was incredibly awe-inspiring!"
"Especially her figure, her eyes—absolutely stunning."
Yang Baozhong is a theater fanatic and also a martial arts expert.
He looked at Lu Cheng as if he were looking at a peerless piece of jade.
"Boss Lu, it's fate that we've run into each other today."
"Perfect timing, my instrument is almost repaired too."
"Would you do me the honor of having a friendly spar?"
"A friendly spar?" Lu Cheng was taken aback. "A martial arts contest?"
"No, no, no!"
Yang Baozhong waved his hand repeatedly, pointing to the jinghu that had just been repaired by the old craftsman.
"I mean—the civil and military fields."
"You sing, I'll play the piano."
"I want to try and see if I can match the murderous aura of your Green Dragon Crescent Blade!"
This is something new.
A master of the erhu accompanies a martial arts master?
If this gets out, it will definitely be a legendary story in the Peking Opera world.
Looking at Yang Baozhong's eager eyes, Lu Cheng felt a little itchy inside.
Since acquiring the "Exquisite Heart," his understanding of music has reached a new level.
Normally, only Ah Bing could keep up with his pace, but now that he has met this top master, he also wants to experience the feeling of "harmonious music".
"good!"
Lu Cheng didn't mince words and readily agreed.
"Then, shall we take this opportunity—to make a visit to Rongbaozhai?"
Fifteen minutes later.
A vacant lot was temporarily cleared out in the backyard of Rongbaozhai.
The area was surrounded by people, including shop assistants, customers, and even the shopkeeper and the old craftsman put down their work to watch.
Lu Cheng stood in the courtyard, not wearing a theatrical costume, just a moon-white long robe.
But the moment he stood there, his aura changed instantly.
Deep and still, towering and majestic.
Yang Baozhong sat on a stone bench, holding the newly repaired jinghu (a two-stringed bowed instrument used in Peking Opera), and tested its sound.
"Zzz—twist—"
The voice was clear and resonant, indeed better than before.
"Boss Lu, which section should we go to?" Yang Baozhong asked.
Lu Cheng thought for a moment, then looked up at the distant sky.
The weather is nice today, with clear skies and a gentle breeze.
"Let's play a section of 'The Empty City Stratagem'."
The Empty City Stratagem.
This is a traditional opera about Zhuge Liang, emphasizing composure, calmness, and the ability to remain unfazed even when facing a massive army.
This coincides with Lu Cheng's current state of mind.
"good!"
Yang Baozhong's eyes lit up.
This play tests one's ability to "slow down".
The bow is drawn.
The "interlude" sounded.
It is melodious and gentle, yet it carries a sense of urgency, as if a thousand troops are pressing in.
Lu Cheng closed his eyes slightly and began to speak slowly, following the sound of the zither.
"I am viewing the mountain scenery from the city tower."
This is what I mean by "opening the mouth".
The entire room fell silent.
There was no thunderous sound like a martial arts performer, nor was there any deliberate attempt to be high-pitched.
Rather, it is a kind of voice that is rich, mellow, yet extremely penetrating.
It was a perfect combination of internal martial arts and opera singing.
Each word is like a pearl falling onto a jade plate, round and full.
Yang Baozhong's zither music immediately followed.
He played exceptionally well.
It is perfectly balanced and seamless.
When Lu Cheng's voice is high, the music plays high; when Lu Cheng's voice is low, the music plays low.
Like two streams of water merging together, each containing the other.
"I heard a great commotion outside the city—"
'
Lu Cheng gently twirled the folding fan in his hand.
Although he didn't have a feather fan, he perfectly captured the essence of Zhuge Liang's strategic brilliance and ability to win battles from afar.
His eyes were calm and deep.
It was as if he could really see Sima Yi's 150,000-strong army below the city wall, yet he regarded them as nothing.
This is not just acting.
This is Lu Cheng's reflection on his experiences during this period.
They experienced life-and-death battles, were admired by thousands, and were caught in intrigue and power struggles.
Now, his heart is as still as water.
"good!!!"
After singing a section.
Yang Baozhong abruptly pulled back his bow, and the music stopped abruptly.
He stood up and bowed deeply to Lu Cheng.
"I'm impressed."
"Boss Lu, this isn't opera at all."
"You've summoned the spirit of Zhuge Liang!"
"I've played the violin my whole life and accompanied countless famous singers."
"But you're the first person to give me such a satisfying and exhilarating experience!"
The applause around them was thunderous.
Lu Feng and his apprentices, including Shunzi, clapped until their hands were red, their faces beaming with pride.
Look, this is our master!
With pen, one can bring peace to the world; with horse, one can conquer the world.
Even a simple opera performance could impress this "master of the erhu".
Lu Cheng smiled and returned the greeting with a cupped hand.
At this moment, he felt the energy within his body flow more smoothly than ever before.
The lingering resentment from the killings completely dissipated in the music and singing.
A balance of strength and gentleness.
He was skilled in both literature and martial arts.
This is the path he wants to take.
It was already evening when I returned from Liulichang.
As soon as Lu Cheng entered the house, he saw the yard piled high with bright red gift boxes.
"This is----"
"Master, you're finally back!"
Zhou Daikui greeted them with a beaming smile, holding a bright red invitation card with gold lettering in his hand.
"Great news! It's a wonderful thing!"
"Just now, people from the Pear Garden Guild came."
"They say it's for this year's grand autumn performance," also known as a "thousand-person show," and they want to invite our Qingyun Troupe—Da Liang!"
"Moreover, they specifically requested that you be the star of this performance—the leading actor!"
The King of Opera!
Upon hearing those two words, Lu Cheng's eyes narrowed slightly.
This is the highest honor in the world of Peking Opera.
It means you are not only a star, but also the leader in this industry.
"besides----"
Zhou Daikui lowered his voice and said mysteriously.
"I heard that Mr. Mei is also coming to this performance."
"They said they wanted to share the stage with you!"
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