Chapter 43
Grandpa stood beside Chi Lin, his back straight, his voice filled with pride.
“This is our Xiao Lin. She might be young, but her Danzhou opera skills are exceptional! I’m not exaggerating. Few can match her.”
Chi Lin, cringing at his praise, forced a smile.
Lou Mi, adding fuel to the fire, said, “It’s true. I can vouch for her.”
Mr. Yan, a seventy-something-year-old man with a surprisingly full head of dark hair, let out a booming laugh that could probably be heard three blocks away.
He looked at Chi Lin, then shook his head, smiling.
“Not that I doubt you, Lao Lou, but this young lady… Danzhou opera is about the suffering of the common people. It’s a tragic art form. It requires a certain level of… life experience to truly understand its essence. Just knowing the songs isn’t enough.”
Mrs. He agreed.
“That’s why so few young people appreciate Danzhou opera. It’s too… demanding. They have so many other forms of entertainment. Why bother with our old folks’ sad songs?”
Mr. Yan sighed. “A young person singing Danzhou opera is just… imitation. It lacks depth. Even my grandson can sing a few verses after hearing it a few times. He even turned it into a rap song.”
Everyone laughed.
“That’s not Danzhou opera,” he continued. “That’s just… noise. Even at my age, I wouldn’t dare claim to be a true master of Danzhou opera.”
The guests had been invited under the pretense of meeting a young Danzhou opera prodigy, a potential torchbearer for the dying art form.
And it had been a while since their last gathering. They were all retired, busy with grandchildren or health issues, some even traveling abroad for months at a time.
Getting them together wasn’t easy.
Grandpa had been planning this gathering for a while, his excitement growing after his duet with Chi Lin.
He and Grandma had spent weeks contacting everyone, finally managing to assemble most of their opera enthusiast friends.
He wanted to enjoy a good performance and, more importantly, show off their newfound prodigy.
Even though Lou Lixing and Peng Ziyuan weren’t married yet, and Chi Lin wasn’t technically part of their family, they couldn’t resist bragging.
They had always lamented the lack of young people interested in Danzhou opera, fearing it would be lost forever.
Especially Mr. Yan, who never missed an opportunity to express his concerns.
Now, with a young prodigy in their midst, they had expected him to be thrilled, but his initial reaction was… dismissive.
Why was he resisting now, after all his complaints about the lack of young talent?
Mrs. He, always supportive of Mr. Yan, echoed his sentiments, the atmosphere growing tense.
“I’m not criticizing you, Lao Lou,” Mr. Yan said. “I’m just stating a general observation, explaining the… nuances of Danzhou opera. I haven’t heard this young lady sing yet, but I applaud her interest in this art form.”
Grandpa looked at Chi Lin, a nervous smile on his face.
The room was filled with awkward silence.
Lou Mi, momentarily forgetting her annoyance at Chi Lin’s earlier coldness, stood up and refilled the teapot, then, returning to her seat, said with a smile, “So there’s an age limit for appreciating Danzhou opera now, Grandpa Yan?”
“Of course,” he replied.
“I don’t know much about Danzhou opera,” Lou Mi continued, “and I can’t sing it. Even at your age, I’d probably just be a… hobbyist, not a true master. But art is about talent. Not everyone is created equal. Didn’t you see that news report about the ten-year-old prodigy whose painting sold for millions? He had never even taken a lesson. Apparently, he started painting before he could even walk. That’s not just talent, that’s divine intervention. And some people paint their entire lives, and their work is still… worthless. A talented person can achieve in three years what an ordinary person takes a lifetime to achieve. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Her words, though seemingly reasonable, held a subtle barb.
A hobbyist, not a true master?
And who’s the “ordinary person”?
Mr. Yan, who had just claimed he wasn’t a true master, now felt insulted.
But he wouldn’t argue with a child. “So you’re saying this young lady is a divinely inspired genius?”
The Lou family was used to Lou Mi’s sharp tongue and unwillingness to back down, even against elders.
But Peng Ziyuan was nervous.
Why create conflict at a friendly gathering?
She didn’t know much about Chi Lin’s opera skills.
But as her mother, she knew Chi Lin had never received any formal training. Her previous performance had likely been a fluke, a few memorized verses.
And now, her grandparents were hyping her up…
This gathering was filled with experienced opera enthusiasts. Pushing Chi Lin into the spotlight could be disastrous.
Peng Ziyuan hoped Lou Mi would downplay Chi Lin’s abilities, but Lou Mi, never one to back down, said, “She is.”
Mr. Yan burst out laughing. “Such confidence! Alright, alright, you’ve piqued my curiosity. Let’s hear this young genius sing. Show us what you’ve got.”
The other guests, though not entirely approving of Mr. Yan’s teasing, were also curious about Chi Lin’s skills.
They clapped and even started tuning their instruments, eager for a performance.
Peng Ziyuan’s heart sank.
Lou Mi, however, remained calm. She turned to Chi Lin.
“Are you okay with this?”
Chi Lin, her face serious, replied, “Fine.”
Lou Mi, caught off guard by her unexpected response, burst out laughing.
Grandma looked at Grandpa, concerned, but Grandpa seemed unfazed, even helping Chi Lin choose a song.
Mr. Yan, seeing their indecision, said, “Why so much trouble? If she’s a genius, let’s hear her sing the most difficult piece. How about ‘Capital Chatter’?”
Choosing “Capital Chatter” was a deliberate act of sabotage.
It was the most challenging piece in Danzhou opera, its complex rhythms and archaic pronunciation requiring years of training.
It was a monologue, with the performer imitating various characters of different ages, genders, and personalities, the plot culminating in a dramatic twist and a powerful finale.
Its rapid shifts in tone and emotion made it a daunting task for even experienced performers.
Many professional actors had failed to master it, so it was usually avoided.
Another guest, seeing Mr. Yan’s malicious intent, said, “Isn’t that a bit too much for a child?”
Mr. Yan, turning to Chi Lin, asked, “Have you heard of this opera, young lady?”
Chi Lin nodded.
“Then you know how difficult it is. We can choose something else if you prefer.”
Chi Lin smiled faintly. “It’s fine.”
“Good! I like your spirit!” Mr. Yan exclaimed. “Capital Chatter it is!”
Many of the guests had brought their instruments, anticipating a performance.
Lou Mi, without being asked, retrieved her erhu and joined the musicians.
Mr. Yan and Mrs. He sat back, sipping their tea, waiting for the show to begin.
Lou Lixing and Peng Ziyuan, with no available seats, stood with the younger guests.
Peng Ziyuan, looking at Chi Lin standing in the center of the room, felt a surge of anxiety.
Lou Lixing took her hand, trying to reassure her.
He had also been worried about Chi Lin’s performance, but…
He looked at his father.
Grandpa seemed calm and confident, unfazed by Mr. Yan’s provocations.
Lou Lixing knew his father well. This demeanor meant he was certain of victory.
He trusted his father’s judgment.
Lou Mi, however, couldn’t decipher Chi Lin’s expression.
She looked towards the balcony as she prepared to sing.
She hadn’t been able to understand Chi Lin lately.
Her actions were always unexpected.
She had initially found Chi Lin annoying, wanting nothing more than to avoid her.
But the new Chi Lin was full of surprises, her hidden talents seemingly endless.
Was there anything she couldn’t do?
The music started, the familiar melody filling the room.
Chi Lin was surprised by the accuracy of the music, despite the different instruments and setting.
“Capital Chatter,” after centuries, still resonated with her, her heart swelling with emotion as the first notes played.
She was transported back to Dayuan, walking the cobblestone streets of the capital with her sister.
Mr. Yan, his eyes initially half-closed, now stared at Chi Lin, his attention fully captured.
Mrs. He also froze, her teacup suspended in mid-air.
Chi Lin’s voice was clear and powerful, her transitions between registers seamless, the scene unfolding before their eyes.
Lou Mi, her gaze fixed on Chi Lin, her fingers moving deftly across the erhu strings, felt a surge of excitement.
Yes, this is it!
Grandpa, listening intently, almost sang along.
The familiar dialect filled Chi Lin’s ears, and she saw her father, practicing calligraphy in their courtyard.
The sounds of the city, the carriages, the voices, the temple bells, echoed in her mind.
The capital of Dayuan, her beloved city, came to life through her voice.
Her pronunciation was perfect, her phrasing nuanced, her breath control impeccable.
Except for a slight tightness in her voice, a sign of infrequent practice, her performance was flawless.
Mr. Yan, unable to contain his excitement, stood up and moved closer, not wanting to miss a single detail.
Chi Lin, lost in her own world, was oblivious to her surroundings.
The tempo increased, the music building towards a crescendo.
Lou Mi’s fingers flew across the erhu strings, her forehead damp with sweat, as Chi Lin’s voice soared, carrying them all to the dramatic finale.
The room fell silent.
Chi Lin slowly opened her eyes, the image of Dayuan fading, replaced by the familiar living room.
Thirteen pairs of eyes stared at her, speechless.
Chi Lin, slightly unnerved, smiled faintly.
“That’s all,” she said.
Grandpa started clapping, followed by Mr. Yan, then the entire room erupted in applause, their cheers echoing through the apartment building.
“That was… magnificent,” Mr. Yan said, struggling to find the right words to express his astonishment.
His mind, still reeling from the performance, couldn’t conjure up any eloquent praise, but a simple “magnificent” couldn’t capture the depth of his emotion.
“Truly magnificent!” he repeated.
Lou Mi chuckled. “Grandpa Yan, you’re a bit too excited.”
Mr. Yan, his earlier skepticism and condescension gone, was now a true believer. “Capital Chatter” had been one of the first Danzhou operas he had ever heard.
He knew its difficulty and appreciated Chi Lin’s flawless execution.
He wanted to express his admiration, but she was a young girl, and he couldn’t exactly clap her on the back like he would with a young man. He paced excitedly, pointing at her.
“You’re a genius! A true genius! You haven’t even practiced much, but your talent is… innate. I’m so envious! Lao Lou, you weren’t exaggerating!”
Chi Lin realized he was simply an honest and enthusiastic man.
He expressed his opinions freely, both positive and negative, even if it meant contradicting himself.
Grandpa, beaming, approached Mr. Yan and patted his back.
“Why would I lie? But Xiao Lin is still young. She has much to learn.”
Mr. Zhuang, who had been quietly observing from the corner, sighed deeply.
“Truly remarkable. I hope more talented young people like Xiao Chi will emerge and carry on this art form.”
Chi Lin, hearing him being called “Lao Zhuang,” remembered Grandpa mentioning his friend, Uncle Zhuang, who had helped him piece together the history of Danzhou opera.
This must be him…
Lou Lixing called him “Uncle,” so Chi Lin should address him as “Grandpa.”
Since her last visit, Chi Lin had been focusing her research on Danzhou opera, hoping to find clues about Dayuan, but information was scarce.
She had come tonight partly to glean more information from her grandparents and their friends.
Grandpa Lou and Grandpa Zhuang likely possessed valuable, unpublished materials. And this gathering of experts was a golden opportunity.
They had no idea how precious they were to her.
How could she quickly build rapport with them and extract the information she needed?
As she pondered this, Mr. Yan, still excited, asked, “What else can you sing, Xiao Chi? Have you heard of ‘Winter Solstice’?”
“Winter Solstice”?
Chi Lin had heard of it, another classic Yuqiang opera.
But it was much older than her father. He rarely sang it, so she wasn’t very familiar with it.
But to build rapport with them, she pretended to know it, humming a few verses.
“Is this the one, Grandpa Yan?”
“Yes! That’s it! You even know this rare piece! Amazing!”
Mrs. He, also excited, leaned closer. “Only a few fragments of ‘Winter Solstice’ remain. The lyrics have been lost. Where did you learn them, Xiao Chi?”
Chi Lin’s heart sank. If the lyrics were “lost,” even Grandpa Lou and Grandpa Zhuang wouldn’t know them. How could she possibly know them?
She glanced at Lou Mi, who was watching her intently.
“I… improvised the lyrics,” she said calmly. “They’re not the original words.”
“Oh, I see,” Mrs. He said, understanding.
Mr. Yan bowed to Chi Lin.
“Your talent is truly exceptional, Xiao Chi. Not only did you master ‘Capital Chatter,’ but you even know ‘Winter Solstice.’ And your improvised lyrics are… remarkable. I’ve tried to reconstruct the original lyrics myself, but none of my versions are as… fitting as yours. It should be this way. It should be this way.”
He paused, then said, “I have a… request. I hope you’ll grant it.”
“Please, speak,” Chi Lin said.
Mr. Yan bowed deeply. “Master Chi, please accept me as your disciple. Guide me on the path of Danzhou opera!”
His words stunned everyone in the room.
A man several times her age, bowing before a child, asking to be her student. It was unheard of.
But neither Mr. Yan nor Chi Lin found it strange.
Mr. Yan was a man of passion, unconstrained by social conventions. At his age, he simply wanted to enjoy life.
And Chi Lin, a prodigy in various fields, was used to having students of all ages.
She had been sought out as a teacher since childhood.
She also wanted to learn more about Danzhou opera, so after a brief exchange of polite formalities, she accepted him as her student.
Seeing Mr. Yan’s gesture, Mrs. He also asked to be her student.
And then, four or five other guests, intrigued by “Winter Solstice,” also requested to be her disciples.
Chi Lin accepted them all.
Lou Mi, though having anticipated a positive reaction, hadn’t expected this.
A teenager teaching a room full of elderly people? Wouldn’t that disrupt the hierarchy of the Danzhou opera world?
Thankfully, this small group of enthusiasts wasn’t exactly a formal organization.
Mr. Yan and the other newly appointed disciples, however, took their roles seriously, offering Chi Lin tea in a formal ceremony.
Some of the guests chuckled, but Chi Lin remained serious, accepting their gestures with grace.
Lou Mi whispered to Lou Lixing, “This feels like a cult.”
After exchanging WeChat IDs, the group dispersed.
It was almost 11 pm. Lou Mi and Chi Lin had to leave. They couldn’t stay overnight.
Lou Lixing and Peng Ziyuan left together, and Lou Mi and Chi Lin followed in Lou Mi’s car.
Lou Mi kept glancing at Chi Lin, who, feeling uncomfortable under her scrutiny, said, “Just ask.”
“No, I don’t have any questions,” Lou Mi replied, raising an eyebrow.
“You want to ask me how I know Danzhou opera, don’t you? I…”
“Shh,” Lou Mi interrupted, shaking her head. “Don’t tell me. Maintain the mystery.”
Chi Lin: “…”
Her tone was strange, sending shivers down Chi Lin’s spine.
“Like your attitude towards me,” Lou Mi continued. “Sometimes warm, sometimes cold, sometimes sweet, sometimes… terrifying. It’s… intriguing.”
Chi Lin: “…Are you making fun of me?”
“Did it sound like I was?”
Chi Lin’s own behavior towards Lou Mi had been inconsistent, a constant fluctuation between attraction and guilt.
Lou Mi was captivating, and Chi Lin couldn’t deny her attraction, her desire for closeness.
But every interaction felt like a betrayal of the Empress.
And Lou Mi, caught in the middle, was the innocent victim.
They arrived home and went to their separate rooms to freshen up and prepare for bed.
Chi Lin, in the kitchen, looked at the Fu Xuan Zi tea bags she had brought to the library.
Lou Mi and the Empress shared some similarities, didn’t they?
She brewed a cup of tea and walked towards Lou Mi’s room.
If Lou Mi likes the taste of Fu Xuan Zi, if she’s the Empress…
Her heart pounded with anticipation.
Leave a Reply