Chapter 33 – The Shangyu Troupe
Two days later, Qinghe County welcomed another group—this time, visitors from the provincial capital.
They arrived in two donkey carts. The first cart, covered with a black canopy, was piled high with all kinds of stage equipment—gongs, drums, and bits of props poking out. Several long spears wrapped in silver paper were tied to one side, their tips pointed skyward, shafts swaying limply with every jolt of the cart.
The smaller cart behind them carried four or five people, followed by three or four more riding donkeys alongside. Thus, the troupe made its bumpy way into Qinghe County. After presenting their visiting cards, they were admitted to the Bai residence.
The visitors were from the Yucheng Troupe of the provincial capital, led by its proprietor, Shang Yulou. He was about twenty years old, of medium height, with neatly slicked-back hair glistening from pomade. His face was strikingly handsome, with eyes that shone with intelligence and vigor.
Whenever he met someone, he would first smile—a practiced, charming smile—and greet each person with a polite bow.
“Thank you for receiving us. May I ask, where is the household stage located? We arrived half a day early to arrange some of our backdrops and familiarize ourselves with the space. It’s our first time performing in your esteemed household, and I must admit, I’m a little nervous.”
Housekeeper Zhou hurried to lead him there, flattered and beaming.
“What are you saying, Boss Shang! Though our master doesn’t often attend plays, he’s heard of your name. Why, even the old governor himself invited you to perform three full operas at the provincial hall last year! Everyone here in Qinghe has been hoping to see your talents with their own eyes.”
As they walked, Shang Yulou responded with polite compliments of his own—smooth, practiced exchanges. Between the two of them, they traded enough flattery to fill a basket, and in the process, Shang Yulou gathered quite a bit of information about the Bai family.
Old Master Bai didn’t care for opera. The Second Young Master, however, was a theater enthusiast—practically lived in the playhouses, spending his days among a group of half-grown youths. Apparently, he had a fondness for modern plays and “artistic” pursuits.
Housekeeper Zhou, unwilling to admit that his young master skipped classes, described him as “art-loving” in an effort to save face. But even with that, Shang Yulou got the picture.
He made quick calculations in his mind.
Old Master Bai and the eldest son would likely tire after one or two acts and leave. The womenfolk were easy to please—a few classics like The Battle of Changban or Meeting by the Xiang River would win their applause. As for the Second Young Master… he probably preferred livelier performances.
By the time they reached the stage, Shang Yulou was already thinking about which martial actors he could borrow for the show. But as they approached, the sound of gongs and drums could already be heard. Looking up, he saw a group of children with faces painted like little monkeys tumbling and flipping about. Their movements were surprisingly solid, their basic skills well-trained.
On the stage, an Eight Immortals table was set up. A few of the children were performing a human pyramid. The lead boy somersaulted down gracefully, landed silently, rolled to the side, and scratched his head like a real monkey—lively and mischievous.
Shang Yulou blinked, amused, and asked, “And this…?”
Housekeeper Zhou chuckled.
“These are children our Second Young Master rescued some time ago. He’s got a kind heart—brought them home when he saw they had nowhere to go. They’ve been rehearsing this play as a birthday gift for him!”
Housekeeper Zhou stepped forward to clear the stage—after all, the professionals were here now, and the stage needed to be readied. The “little monkeys” had used it for a month straight and probably knew every brick by heart.
Shang Yulou, ever the gentleman, waited patiently for them to finish. Before long, he saw the children filing out in a neat line. Each carried something—some lugging small ladders, some holding costumes, one boy running along with a basket of peaches.
At the head of the line was a tall boy of about fourteen or fifteen, carrying the Eight Immortals table alone. The tabletop half-covered his face, hiding his features.
Shang Yulou stepped aside to let them pass.
The boy with the peaches stumbled—one peach rolled out of the basket and stopped at Shang Yulou’s feet. The boy rushed over, picked it up, and when he looked up, his eyes met Shang’s gleaming white shoes.
He hesitated for a second, then smiled shyly, dug out the biggest peach from the basket, and pressed it into Shang Yulou’s hand.
“Please have this,” he mumbled before darting off to catch up with the others.
Shang Yulou, long accustomed to gifts and flattery, accepted it without a thought and slipped it casually into his pocket before heading onstage to set up.
He was a skilled painter—trained in both fine brushwork and Western perspective—so his stage designs were unique and striking. Once the scenery was set, he gathered the troupe to rehearse and handed the performance list to Housekeeper Zhou.
They were professionals, performing year-round for both public theaters and private halls. The repertoire was steady and well-practiced.
Housekeeper Zhou, having earlier received a silver dollar from Xie Jing, naturally wanted to help him out. Clearing his throat, he asked,
“Boss Shang, have you prepared any monkey plays in your repertoire?”
Shang Yulou shook his head.
“Not in our lineup, no. But it’s a familiar piece—give me half an afternoon, and I can prepare it.”
In Qinghe, martial performers were easy to find, so that wasn’t a problem.
Housekeeper Zhou smiled meaningfully.
“You see, our Second Young Master—he’s a sentimental soul. He heard these children were preparing a monkey play to thank him, and now he’s eager to see it himself. So, about that…”
Shang Yulou immediately understood but didn’t want to agree too hastily.
“I’ll need to see them perform first. Yucheng Troupe has been around since my father’s time. Whether a play is well or poorly performed isn’t the issue—it’s the intention that matters. But if we’re to include it in the official program, I can’t decide alone. If my father hears later and objects, I’d be in trouble.”
Housekeeper Zhou grinned. That was as good as a yes.
“Of course, of course! I’ll fetch them right away. Please wait here, Boss Shang.”
Before long, the children came marching back in, lined up neatly once again.
At the end of the line was the tall boy who had carried the table earlier. This time, Shang Yulou could finally see his face clearly.
He was around fourteen, with fine, clean-cut features—but it was his eyes that caught attention: dark as ink yet glinting with a hint of amber brown. His black hair and dark pupils seemed washed by mountain snowmelt—cool, clear, and luminous. One look, and you couldn’t forget him.
Even Master Cheng, the troupe’s head actor, took notice.
“What a face,” he thought. “Give him two years of training and a role or two onstage, and the entire province would be talking about him.”
If his voice was good, just standing on stage would be enough to make the audience swoon.
Shang Yulou’s heart began to race.
While Housekeeper Zhou had the children perform their monkey play, Shang Yulou couldn’t take his eyes off that boy—Xie Jing, as he would later learn. The children’s act was simple, but lively enough. As long as the Second Young Master liked it, everyone would be pleased.
But Shang Yulou’s mind was elsewhere. The more he looked at Xie Jing—his posture upright, hands clasped behind his back, still as a pine—the more he itched to recruit him. He was already imagining the costumes, the painted faces, the roles this boy could play.
When the performance ended, the children lined up again to await his verdict.
Xie Jing turned to him and asked with a smile, “Boss Shang, what do you think?”
The sound of his voice made Shang Yulou’s heart melt.
So clear, so crisp—it lingered in the air, almost musical. Such a voice! What a waste not to sing on stage!
Xie Jing repeated, smiling politely, “Boss Shang?”
Shang Yulou snapped out of his daze and nodded eagerly, “Good—very good! I thought they were all excellent. I heard from the housekeeper that your name is Xie Jing? Since you’ve been training these children, might you have any interest in learning opera yourself?”
Xie Jing chuckled.
“Me? Not really. You should look at them instead. They’ve been practicing since they were small—each has their own little talent.”
He had once performed for a living, but now that he no longer needed to, he had no desire to return to that life.
Shang Yulou half-listened to the rest of the children’s tricks—truthfully, they were decent—but his mind was elsewhere.
That boy had spoken to him only five sentences, and Shang Yulou had already imagined what colors his costumes would be.
Damn fate, he thought miserably. Why must such a perfect seedling appear before me—only to say he doesn’t love the stage?
A maid came by to pour tea. Shang Yulou’s tea bowl was his own, containing herbs to soothe his throat. The maid, unaware, moved to pour it out and refill it.
Shang Yulou hurriedly stopped her.
“No, no! This fat sea needs to be steeped seven times—seven rinses, seven brews.”
The poor maid blushed scarlet, quickly setting the bowl back and refilling it with hot water, now treating him with even greater reverence. To her, everything a famous provincial actor did must surely be correct and elegant.
She even glanced curiously into his bowl, half in awe—certain those strange seeds must be precious treasures for the voice.
Xie Jing caught a glimpse and twitched the corner of his mouth.
Indeed, Shang Yulou lived up to his reputation as a miser. The malva nut in his tea had long since lost its flavor, yet he still sucked on the seeds as if they were rare delicacies. From the northern plains to Beijing, Tianjin, or even Shanghai, there was no one stingier than him.
People joked that getting a handkerchief out of Shang Yulou was harder than winning a medal from the emperor himself.
Author’s Note – Mini Skit
? Shang Yulou: “You there! Dare to take the stage? I’ll have Yucheng Troupe tailor you a robe and a full set of costumes today!”
? Bai Mingyu: “Wait, you used to do music?”
Xie Jing: “Heh… for a few days, I was an idol.”
