Bi Feiyu - The Moon Opera

Now Xiao Yanqiu understood. She sized up her student before inclining her head and asking, “What is it you don’t want to do?”

Again the girl fell silent, leaving Bingzhang to explain things to Yanqiu. “One of the TV stations needed a host, so she applied. That was a month ago. She had her interview, and she got the job.”

Xiao Yanqiu recalled seeing ads placed by the TV station in the evening paper during the narration phase. It had, in fact, been a month, and the girl had, without a word, gone about securing the job. Stunned by the news, Yanqiu swayed, as if being pulled off her feet. Not knowing what she ought to do or say, she reached out for Chunlai’s shoulder, but quickly withdrew her hand. By then she was breathing heavily. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?”

Chunlai looked out the window, but said nothing.

“Don’t even think about it!” Xiao Yanqiu said, raising her voice.

“I know how much time and energy you’ve spent on me, but I’ve worked very hard to get where I am today. So don’t stand in my way.”

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Then I’ll quit the academy.”

Yanqiu raised her hands in a meaningless gesture. She looked first at Bingzhang, then at Chunlai. Her hands began to tremble; heartbroken, she grabbed the girl’s lapels. “You can’t,” she said softly. “Don’t you know who you are?”

“Yes, I do,” Chunlai answered, her eyes lowered.

“No, you don’t!” Yanqiu said, shooting pains stabbing her heart. “You don’t know how good a Qingyi you are. I ask again, do you know who you are?”

The corners of the girl’s mouth twitched, like an attempted laugh, but there was no sound. “The Chang’e understudy.”

“I’ll go talk to them. You’ll be Chang’e and I’ll be your understudy. Please, you mustn’t leave.”

Chunlai looked away. “I can’t take the role away from my own teacher.”

She sounded as determined as she’d been a moment before, but now seemed to leave a bit of room for negotiation.

Yanqiu grabbed the girl’s hands. “You won’t be taking it from me. You have no idea how wonderful you are, but I do. It’s not every day a Qingyi is born. Wasting talent like yours would incur heaven’s wrath! You’ll be Chang’e, and I’ll be your understudy. Promise me.” She covered the girl’s hands with her own and repeated urgently, “Promise me.”

Chunlai raised her head to look at her teacher, something she hadn’t done in a long time. Xiao Yanqiu returned her gaze, studying the look in her student’s eyes; she saw doubt and misgiving, which told her she was prepared to make a fresh start. Yanqiu fixed her attention on the girl, as if the look in Chunlai’s eyes would vanish if her gaze left the girl’s face. Bingzhang, who was also watching the girl, detected a subtle change. He was sure he was right; he now knew exactly what to say to the girl and how to say it. So he gestured for Yanqiu to leave, but she was immobile, trance-like. Not until he laid his hands on her shoulders did she return to reality. On her way out the door she stopped to look back. “Go on, now,” Bingzhang said softly. “Go on.”

Xiao Yanqiu returned to the rehearsal hall, where she stared at the window in Bingzhang’s office. It was now the window to her life. The rehearsal was over and the hall was deserted, leaving her the lone figure in the large, now empty space to wait anxiously. Late afternoon sunlight streamed in, filling the air with a soft orange glow and a filigree of dust motes that lent an uncanny warmth to the hall. Leaves on the potted plants seemed to grow bigger under the setting sun, their outlines blurred. Yanqiu paced up and down, hugging herself; then the window opened to reveal Bingzhang’s head and arm. She could not make out his face, but she saw him wave vigorously. Then he balled up a fist, which was the sign she’d been waiting for. She steadied herself by holding on to the practice bar against the wall, tears wetting her eyes, before she slid to the floor, where she sat and cried. How close she’d come to seeing all her efforts wasted; she felt as if she’d survived a disaster. They were happy, comforting tears. Supporting herself with her hand on a chair to stand up, she then sat down and sobbed, savoring a feeling of consolation. As she dried her eyes she reproached herself for not having been more upfront with Chunlai when the opera cast was formed. If the girl had had a role to play, she’d not have gone looking for other work. Xiao Yanqiu asked herself why she hadn’t handed over the role at the beginning; why, at her age, she was still fighting over a Qingyi part. Why had she refused to accept the role of understudy? This was so much better. Now Chunlai could take her place. Chunlai was her second self. As long as Chunlai gained the fame she deserved, Yanqiu’s lifework could be passed down through her. As these thoughts coursed through her mind, she felt she’d shed a heavy burden; the pressure and the gloom in her heart vanished. Give it up, give it up completely. She heaved a long, deep sigh, feeling suddenly reinvigorated.

Dieting is a lot like ilness. Getting well can be like extracting thread from a silkworm cocoon, whereas falling ill is like the toppling of a mountain. Xiao Yanqiu had been off her diet only a few days when the red needle on her scale bounced back, dredging up more than a pound, like a free gift with each purchase. She’d been in a better mood for days, but as her weight returned, so did her regrets. An opportunity she’d fought so hard for was lost almost before she knew it, a realization that led to a new and crippling sadness. She would stare at the needle on her scale, and her mood would plummet if it edged upward. But she knew she mustn’t allow herself to grieve over the results; she had to beat back the sorrow as soon as it began to form, pinch off every last trace of it. At first, she had thought that her promise to give up the Chang’e role would have a calming effect. But no, her desire to be on stage was stronger than ever. Be that as it may, she’d made a promise in front of Bingzhang, and that promise was like a sword that cut her in two. One half remained on the shore, while the other half was submerged in water. When the water self tried to come up for air, the shore self unhesitatingly pushed her down even farther. The shore self could feel the underwater self fighting for air, while the water self witnessed the cold cruelty of murder. The two women’s eyes turned red from anger as they glared at each other. Xiao Yanqiu struggled both in the water and on the shore until she was utterly exhausted. So she decided to gorge herself, like a drowning person gulping down water. Her weight shot up; the regained pounds not only betokened her promise to Chunlai, but effectively stopped her from coveting the role. For the first time in her life Yanqiu realized that she could really eat, that she had an amazing appetite.

Everyone spotted the changes in Xiao Yanqiu, a taciturn woman who had given up dieting just when her efforts were beginning to show results. No one recalled hearing her talk about what she was up to, but they saw her face regain its luster and her voice rediscover its depths. Some assumed she had not recovered from “tattooing” her voice that time, for a proud woman like Xiao Yanqiu did not give up easily. But the abandoned diet was not the greatest change in her. Nearly everyone noticed that she took herself out of the picture once the full cast rehearsal started. For all intents and purposes, Chunlai was the only one rehearsing now, while Xiao Yanqiu sat in a chair facing the girl to prompt and occasionally correct her. Xiao Yanqiu looked happy, too happy, in fact, as if she had snatched the sun out of the sky and stored it in the fridge at home. Given the circumstances, she had no choice but to put on a show, to overact. As she devoted all her energy to Chunlai, she looked less like a performer and more like a director, or, to be more precise, Chunlai’s personal director. No one knew for sure what she was up to; they had no idea what was ripening and flowering in her head.