PLT | Chapter 11

Red-Maned Steed

Yan Chao: “……”

He lost. Lost utterly and completely.

After three seconds of stunned silence, everyone let out a collective gasp. “So ChenyuLuoyan is actually real!”

Yan Chao said, “Was that last line Bao Cai Ming or something? That’s against the rules.”

Zhou Chenyu stuck out his tongue. “That whole stretch at the end was started by you. If anyone broke the rules, you broke them first.”

Yan Chao said, “This is called bringing forth the new through the old, twenty-first-century hardcore Bao Cai Ming.”

Zhou Chenyu gave him a thumbs-up. “Impressive. When I get back, I’m writing that into my new notebook.”

Xu Jing asked with a look of admiration, “I remember the full version of Bao Cai Ming is more than a thousand characters long, right? You know the whole thing?”

Chen Shuo widened his eyes in shock. “More than a thousand characters? How did you memorize it?”

Zhou Chenyu nodded. “It’s all wawa tui’er[1], child-training basics. Ever since I was little, I recited it from morning to night.”

Zhou Shuangshuang added, “Outsiders don’t know this, but for those of us who trained in the arts from childhood, it was actually pretty hard. Compared to that, trainee life is much easier.”

When Zhou Shuangshuang was little, what she studied was Jingyun dagu[2]. Later, in the hot-headedness of youth, she went off to an entertainment company behind her parents’ backs, so she never continued down the path of traditional quyi. With her saying this now, she was obviously the one with the most right to speak.

Zhou Chenyu went on, “When we practiced as kids, we got up before daybreak. After finishing morning practice, we were checked one by one. At six or seven in the morning, you’d still be sleepy as hell, your brain full of mush. If you recited even a single word wrong, a few slaps would come down over your head and face, and you’d wake up right away.”

Xu Jing said in shock, “Oh my god, how could they hit children?”

“If they don’t get hit, they won’t remember. Only when it hurts, only when they’ve suffered, will they avoid making the same mistake next time.” Zhou Chenyu was very calm about it. “That’s how all traditional trades came up. Our younger generation already has it much better. Back in the old society, when people learned a craft, they had to sign a guanshu[3]. It was written very clearly on it: during the apprenticeship, natural disasters and man-made calamities had nothing to do with the master. If the apprentice was unruly and disobedient, even if beaten to death, there would be no consequence.”

Yan Chao had heard a little about the old troupe system in the liyuan[4] world. Back then, there was a saying: “When parents have no prospects, they sell their child to go into opera.” Only when poor families truly could not afford to raise a child anymore would they sign a “bill of sale” and send the child off to do work in the so-called lower nine trades.

Back then, the masters in the troupe were all extremely strict and ruthless. The children would perform onstage all day, then come offstage and be beaten until their skin split and flesh tore over all kinds of minor faults. Beating someone to death was nothing unusual either.

A hundred years later, in the present day, this kind of much-criticized feudal dregs-style method of education had of course long since disappeared. In the age of new media, any quyi performer with a bit of fame was more or less like a celebrity. But what Yan Chao had not expected was that even someone like Zhou Chenyu had been brought up under the rod.

Yan Chao had received only ordinary school education from childhood. On top of that, he had been a model student, so let alone getting slapped, he had never even received a particularly harsh scolding.

Back when he was in school, every time he saw a teacher using the classroom broom to hit someone, he felt it was inhumane. Now, imagining Zhou Chenyu getting slapped across the mouth day in and day out as a child, he found it simply unbelievable.

Yan Chao asked, “Someone as good-tempered as Zhou-laoshi could actually bring himself to hit you?”

Zhou Shuangshuang answered, “My dad liked him so much he couldn’t bear to touch even a finger of him. The one who hit him was my grandpa. And it wasn’t as exaggerated as he made it sound. In our whole family, everyone else’s beatings added together still didn’t come to as much as his alone.”

The “grandpa” Zhou Shuangshuang was referring to naturally meant Zhou Maoqin’s father, the old troupe leader of Liao Feng Pavilion, Old Mister Zhou Yinchun.

Old Master Zhou was a famous master of both xiangsheng and opera. Now that he was over seventy, he no longer performed onstage very often, but his great name still rang loud wherever one went.

Yan Chao asked curiously, “Why did the old master beat you?”

Zhou Chenyu did not seem very willing to talk about the subject. He only smiled vaguely and said, “What else could it be? I was the most mischievous.”

Zhou Shuangshuang could tell he was hiding something, and said with a laugh, “One time Grandpa was teaching him opera singing, and he refused to sing, so he got beaten. Then Grandpa locked him in a little dark room. He wouldn’t be allowed to eat until he learned to sing it. He’d been stubborn as hell since he was little, and he just held out no matter what. I was only five or six at the time, I think. I felt sorry for him and secretly brought him food, but Grandpa found out, and I got beaten too.”

As Zhou Shuangshuang told this part, her face lit up and her brows danced vividly, making the whole scene easy to picture. Childhood experiences like these from siblings born into a quyi family were things outsiders had never heard of before. It all sounded novel and interesting, and everyone could not help bursting into laughter.

Talking about something this entertaining, Yan Chao could not help glancing toward Zhou Chenyu, hoping he would continue for another couple of lines. Unexpectedly, Zhou Chenyu did not pick up her words at all, completely unlike usual. He only smiled faintly, with a soft curve of the lips.

Yan Chao did not know whether he was just being oversensitive, but he felt that Zhou Chenyu’s smile at that moment was somehow different from the usual kind. Although he was smiling, there was a trace of unreadable emotion in his eyes, as if that smile had not come from the heart.

The next second, as if confirming Yan Chao’s suspicion, Zhou Shuangshuang saw Zhou Chenyu’s expression and seemed to realize something at once. The words that had just reached her lips were immediately swallowed back down.

The others were laughing too happily to notice the subtle change in expression between the siblings, but Yan Chao quietly observed them and quickly understood that Zhou Shuangshuang had probably said something she should not have, and made Zhou Chenyu unhappy. And clearly, both brother and sister knew it perfectly well.

Caught in the middle, Yan Chao only grew more confused. Zhou Shuangshuang had merely told a childhood anecdote about Zhou Chenyu, so what exactly was there that could not be said?

Just as he was thinking about it, he saw Xu Jing look at Zhou Chenyu in surprise. “Aren’t you a xiangsheng performer? You learned opera singing too?”

Old Master Zhou’s attainments in opera were also quite deep, and Zhou Chenyu was a young master who had grown up in a quyi family, so that in itself was not especially surprising.

Zhou Shuangshuang glanced at her and, before Zhou Chenyu could answer, vaguely cut in, “Well, we’re from a quyi troupe after all. The shige in our family can all sing a couple of lines.”

The moment those words were out, everyone naturally started egging him on. “Give us one!”

Zhou Chenyu’s expression stalled for a moment, and he smiled as he tried to put them off. “I don’t sing well. Besides, it’s been so many years since I last sang…”

Everyone only took it as modesty, but based on what he had learned about him these past few days, Yan Chao knew very well Zhou Chenyu’s straightforward temperament. If he was refusing now, that meant he really did not want to sing.

Although Yan Chao did not understand why for the moment, he still instinctively stepped in to smooth things over. “Come on, don’t force him.”

The others naturally refused to let it go. Right after that, several cameras nearby all began giving Zhou Chenyu close-up shots.

Now that things had reached this point, Zhou Chenyu paused for a moment, and in the end still compromised. “What do you want me to sing?”

Xu Jing clapped her hands with an eager look. “Sing the one you mentioned today, the Peking opera version of Xue Pinggui and Wang Baochuan.”

Zhou Chenyu had already returned to his usual smiling expression. “That’s called Red-Maned Steed.”

Xu Jing laughed. “I’m uncultured. As long as you understand, it’s fine.”

Zhou Chenyu smiled rather reluctantly. “There’s no accompaniment here, so I’ll just hum a couple of lines.”

There had been no such segment in the script at all. If Zhou Shuangshuang had not suddenly brought up the topic of Zhou Chenyu learning opera from childhood just now, no one would have egged him on to do one. The request had come far too suddenly, and Zhou Chenyu had not properly warmed up his voice at all. Yan Chao could not help feeling a little worried, afraid he might really sing badly just like he said.

After thinking it over, Yan Chao could only comfort himself inwardly. Even if Zhou Chenyu really sang badly, at worst they could cut this whole section out in post anyway. The audience would never see it.

While Yan Chao was thinking all this over, Zhou Chenyu had already begun. There was a rare look of seriousness on his face.

“Listening to what he says, I cannot help but ponder.

He does not look like a man who has suffered.

His earlobes hang to his shoulders, a face of noble bearing.

Dragon brows and phoenix eyes, the dignity of an emperor…”

Yan Chao could not help freezing slightly.

Zhou Chenyu usually always looked loose and careless, speaking whatever came into his head, and that inevitably left people with the impression that he was glib and unlearned. Added to that the very resistant attitude he had just shown, Yan Chao had naturally assumed that he probably did not sing very well.

Who would have thought that the moment he opened his mouth, he would dazzle the whole room.

What he sang was a passage from the scene “Cailou Pei” in Red-Maned Steed. It tells of Wang Baochuan and Xue Pinggui privately pledging themselves to each other, and her telling him that in a few days, when the cailou throws the ball to choose a husband, he must remember to catch her embroidered ball.

The lively tune of xipi kuaiban[5], the bright and graceful style of singing, together with Zhou Chenyu’s expressive, animated look, made for a stunning sight. Even though he was dressed in a modern sporty hoodie and still had the face of a handsome young man, in those short few minutes he nevertheless brought a young lady’s anticipation and bashfulness in her inner chambers to life with complete vividness.

“…On the second day of the second month, the matter is certain.

Do not by any means miss this moment.

If our marriage fate is blessed,

Then we shall be those at the Peach Banquet.”

Only after finishing that line did Zhou Chenyu withdraw from the absorbed expression he had worn just now, instantly returning to his usual loose, rakish young master self, then throwing Yan Chao a flirtatious wink.

Author’s Note:

The contents of the guanshu are drawn from relevant historical materials. The sung lines in the text are taken from the Peking opera script Red-Maned Steed, in the version included in Volume Three of Xikao.

Footnotes:

[1] Wawa tui’er (娃娃腿儿): Literally “baby legs,” a traditional opera/quyi term referring to foundational skills drilled from early childhood, similar to tongzigong.

[2] Jingyun dagu (京韵大鼓): A traditional northern Chinese storytelling-and-singing art form, usually performed with drum and sanxian accompaniment.

[3] guanshu (关书): A traditional apprenticeship contract stating that during training, injury, death, or punishment would not be the master’s responsibility.

[4] liyuan (梨园): An old term referring to the traditional opera world or theatrical circles.

[5] Xipi kuaiban (西皮快板): A brisk, lively rhythmic pattern in Peking opera, often used for bright, animated, or emotionally expressive passages.