Chapter 27 – Smashing the Theater
Xie Jing hooked a stool toward him with his foot, sat opposite Master Cheng, and tapped the Eight Immortals table with his knuckles. “Since Master Cheng seems dissatisfied with the price,” he said evenly, “then let’s talk a bit more.”
Master Cheng sneered. “Talk about what?”
“Li Yuan.”
Master Cheng gave a short, scornful laugh but didn’t answer.
Xie Jing said, “I heard from him that he said something wrong, got punished, and was hurt so badly he might not be able to play dan roles anymore.”
Master Cheng tucked his hands into his sleeves and snorted. “Yeah, he caused trouble before. I planned to have him act in monkey plays next.”
Xie Jing shook his head. “He’s too old for that.”
“Whether he can or can’t isn’t for you to say. You should ask the bamboo whip in my hand first.” Master Cheng smacked his lips. “My troupe may be small, but I’ve got a few talented kids. None of them were born knowing how to tumble. You think anyone comes out of their mother’s belly already knowing stage flips? Of course not. They learn it through beatings. Get beaten enough, and they’ll know how to act.”
That wasn’t wrong—but if it went on like that, never mind how well they performed, the person would be broken long before the art was learned.
In troupes like this, there were always children who “ran away.” Some got out alive, others died inside. It was nothing new.
Master Cheng had founded this troupe himself. For over twenty years, his word was law. Few ever escaped—not because they didn’t want to, but because they couldn’t.
He looked at Xie Jing, grinned, baring yellow teeth, and clicked his tongue. “I really am curious—what kind of magic soup did that Li brat feed you, to make you willing to spend so much to ransom him?” He leaned in, lowered his voice. “Let me guess—he told you how that old master beat him, didn’t he? Did he also tell you he volunteered to offer the Rejuvenation Soup?”
“‘Rejuvenation Soup’?”
Master Cheng slapped his belly below the navel, leering. “It’s the thing every man’s got—morning water, the piss he takes at dawn.”
Xie Jing frowned.
“He went to offer the soup,” Cheng went on mockingly, “but didn’t expect that old man wanted him to deliver it with his mouth. He got scared, went limp, refused. Hah!” The two walnuts in his hand rolled with a clack-clack sound. “He refused—so who had to take his place? Once you enter the room, you’d better think clearly what kind of suffering you’ll face.”
“The wounds on his body—”
“Some from that day, some from before. That old man has plenty of silver needles and barbed whips. Beats people where it doesn’t show. That boy’s body’s almost ruined. The marks on his back? Those were from me. He yelps nonsense whenever he’s in pain, said he was my son, wanted me to pay the old master back with the troupe’s earnings! Who does he think he is? My son, ha!” Cheng spat. Then he sneered again. “Don’t go thinking Li Yuan’s some helpless victim. He’s beaten others too. He bullies plenty, not less than he’s bullied himself. Whatever sob stories he told you, don’t believe too much. Except for the beatings—everything else is lies.”
Xie Jing said calmly, “Better to be a dog in peaceful times than a man in chaos. The world’s troubled now—life’s hard for everyone.”
Master Cheng’s tone turned mocking. “So kind-hearted of you.”
“It’s not kindness,” said Xie Jing quietly. “I owe him.”
“He’s just a poor brat—how could you owe him anything?”
“I owe him three copper coins.”
Master Cheng laughed so hard he wheezed. “Three copper coins? That’s enough for you to go this far? Young Xie, are you mocking me? What a joke!”
Xie Jing shook his head. “Not the same. They were life-saving coins.”
Those three copper coins had once saved his life—redeemed an old regret from a past lifetime. The sesame cake he’d bought that day for three coins—he’d never taste again in this life.
Something flickered across Master Cheng’s face; his grin vanished, replaced by a dark look. “So I wasn’t wrong about you,” he said through gritted teeth. “A sentimental fool.”
Xie Jing drummed his fingers lightly on the table. “What you want isn’t money.”
The walnuts stopped rolling in Cheng’s hand. His eyes swept over the two hulking men standing silently behind Xie Jing, then returned to him. “Young Xie, that’s nonsense. I make a living performing. If not money, then what? Even if I wanted revenge, it wouldn’t fill my belly—am I right?”
Xie Jing’s brow twitched slightly.
That last sentence was spoken softly, but it struck like a hammer.
Li Yuan had been missing half a year. Being caught now—surviving two whole days—was already a miracle.
Yet Xie Jing didn’t get angry. His voice remained calm. “If Master Cheng doesn’t want money, then make it clear what you do want. I’ve learned some trade tricks from my lord lately, and I can tell—you’re not walking an honest path.”
Master Cheng sneered. “And if not?”
“Then it must be changed.”
The eastern suburb theater troupe was smashed.
No one went to the magistrate—no one dared step outside the ruined theater.
The old stage, carpets, wooden boards—all torn up. Furniture shattered to splinters. Master Cheng was tied to a pillar, gagged with a rag, whimpering through it. Whether from the stink or from the tight ropes, his eyes bulged with fury and tears streaked down his face.
The troupe was made of half-grown children, raised under the terror of Cheng’s bamboo whip. Fear had long replaced courage.
Now, with their master bound, they huddled together in a shadowy corner. The smallest ones wanted to cry, but the older ones clamped hands over their mouths—afraid even a sob might bring trouble.
The men who’d smashed the place were terrifying; their fists were like sandbags. Who knew if one of those fists might land on them next?
Years of hunger and beatings had taught them only fear.
A runner who served Cheng stood trembling in the courtyard. The water tank beside him—where golden fish once swam among lotus—was cracked by a bullet, water spilling out in steady streams.
Dragged before Xie Jing, the man’s knees buckled the moment the guard released him. He fell with a thud, crying, “Spare me, master! Spare me! I’m just hired help—I know nothing about the troupe’s business!”
Xie Jing holstered his gun, called over one of the apprentices, confirmed the man’s story, and let him go.
Once the place was thoroughly wrecked, Xie Jing stood before Master Cheng. He didn’t remove the gag or loosen the ropes. He simply said, “Master Cheng, I didn’t want it to come to this. But I asked nicely before—you refused. So now we’ll reason another way.”
Master Cheng had seen all kinds of bullies in his life, but never someone this ruthless. Fury made his bound body twitch upward; his muffled howls turned into sobs.
Xie Jing said, “I hit you because you hit Li Yuan. You hid him, so I came to you.”
Cheng glared murderously.
Xie Jing narrowed his eyes, took out a silver, and forced it slowly into Cheng’s gagged mouth. The man’s face went red.
“You beat him, I beat you,” said Xie Jing quietly. “Fair, isn’t it?”
“Tomorrow, same time, same place—I want to see him.”
“If he’s gone,” his voice turned cold, “I swear you’ll never leave Qinghe County alive.”
Leaving the troupe, Xie Jing ordered one of his guards to change clothes and tail Master Cheng secretly. He knew Cheng’s nature—cunning as a fox, vengeful but timid.
Smashing the troupe had served another purpose: to smoke the man out.
Cheng was greedy and cruel. He wouldn’t give up the captive or the money easily. Ideally, he’d keep Li Yuan hidden, bleeding Xie Jing for ransom again and again. But bullies like him feared one thing most—those with nothing to lose.
After a scare like today’s, he’d definitely try to flee by night. And once he ran, he’d lead them straight to the hiding place.
That was the fastest way to find Li Yuan.
Night fell.
A group of people hurried out from the ruined troupe, some tall, some short. At the crossroads they hailed a carriage—some climbed in, others followed behind.
The guards from the Bai household followed from afar. Under the dark sky, the fleeing troupe members were wrapped in cloak-like stage robes, their faces hidden.
At the bridge, Guard Yuan stopped them, lifted the carriage curtain—only to find a group of half-grown children, two with paper flags tied to their necks, trembling speechlessly.
The guard scanned them again, pushed aside the kids, and his face changed. “Damn—it’s a diversion! He’s gone!”
He grabbed a boy and demanded Cheng’s whereabouts. The child only shook his head. Pressing harder only made a few burst into tears, and he learned nothing.
Meanwhile, in a dark alley not far away, one “short” figure in a black stage cloak slipped into the shadows. Slowly, the cloak began to rise as the figure straightened. There was a faint cracking of bones—like twigs snapping—until a stooped adult shape emerged.
Master Cheng.
He’d survived so many years running this troupe because he had tricks. He didn’t really know “bone-shrinking” arts, but his bones were soft by nature. Aside from the hump on his back, he could contort himself small as a ten-year-old. With a cloak over him and knees bent, he could pass for a child from a distance.
He moved cautiously, circling several streets and changing clothes, then headed into the woods east of town—to an abandoned temple.
The temple hid a secret. From outside, it looked ruined, moss-eaten, deserted. Inside, however, the side rooms were curtained off with rags, tables and beds still intact, and stacks of stored grain.
Li Yuan was in one of those rooms.
He’d been brought here two days ago, tied up and half-starved. Weak but still conscious, he stirred at the sight of a shadow passing the window, gagged cries muffled in his throat. His arms and legs were thin, powerless, yet he still struggled with all he had, desperate for help.
The door creaked open.
Li Yuan’s eyes widened—but the sound in his throat died.
Master Cheng stepped in.
After the beating he’d taken from Xie Jing that day, Cheng was still sore and furious. The other man had guns, trained fighters—just three of them had smashed his place to pieces. He hadn’t even had a chance to fight back. His troupe full of half-grown kids had been useless—like mice before a cat.
He’d come now to pack valuables and flee. Earlier he’d wanted revenge and ransom money, but Xie Jing had refused to play by his rules—had gone straight for destruction.
Li Yuan tried to make himself smaller, silent, his eyes lowered—but this time, there was no timidity in them. They were dark, calm, bottomless.
Master Cheng stuffed a few valuables into a bundle. The pain in his body only stoked his anger. When a pearl rolled to Li Yuan’s feet, he kicked him twice, shouting, “You damned jinx! Nothing good ever happens around you—only disaster!”
Li Yuan curled aside with a muffled grunt.
Still unsatisfied, Cheng yanked his hair, slamming his head against the wall twice. Li Yuan, frail even after half a year of rest, grew dizzy, his vision swimming—but the gag loosened a little.
“Do you know who came today?” sneered Cheng. “That Xie Jing you kept whining about—he actually came looking for you!”
Li Yuan’s head snapped up, tears filling his eyes.
Cheng hated that look—grabbed his chin and spat, “My whole troupe’s ruined, my people scattered, and this is what I’ve got left. I’ll sell you back to that old master’s house. Lucky for you—he’s paying three hundred silver for your worthless life.”
The troupe had been on its last legs even before the new year.
Cheng beat the children, forced them to earn a set amount of copper coins—stealing, begging, whatever it took. Fail, and they were beaten bloody.
Later, he found another way to survive.
He picked the prettier ones—and sold them.
There was no filth he hadn’t sunk to.
They lived like dogs, with nowhere to rest, barely human.
Li Yuan was one of the few who’d survived.
He’d clung to life on sheer instinct, breath after breath, but he no longer even knew what living meant.
Cheng said coldly, “You know what expression he made when I told him you volunteered to offer that ‘Rejuvenation Soup’?”
Li Yuan whimpered, eyes bloodshot like a trapped rabbit, gasping through his nose.
Cheng laughed. “Didn’t you once do anything for a scrap of food? What, you’re scared now? Scared Xie Jing will despise you? Ha! As if you’re worthy of his pity!”
He lifted a hand to slap him again, but the movement tugged at his shoulder wound, making him grimace in pain. He stopped—but his venomous eyes stayed fixed on Li Yuan.
“Tell me,” he said softly, “what if I told him the two silver ingots Granny Kou pawned for medicine—you’re the one who stole them?”
Li Yuan’s head jerked up, eyes red with fury.
He hadn’t.
He had done many wrongs, was far from innocent, had lived by claw and instinct—but whatever he was, he had never touched a single coin that belonged to Xie Jing or Granny Kou.
Author’s Note:
Master Cheng: “Young people these days have no respect! Just smashing my place out of nowhere!”
Xie Jing: “Much obliged.”
