Bi Feiyu - The Moon Opera

Downstairs, a shopkeeper wondered what all the noise was about. Sticking her head out the door, she muttered, “What’s going on up there?” Her husband, who was counting cash, grunted without looking up, “Renovating, I suppose.”

Around noon, the pearl slid from Xiao Yanqiu’s body. With the bleeding the pain stopped, and with the disappearance of the pain she was more relaxed; she experienced an intoxicating relief. Exhausted, she lay down on the bed to savor that intoxication, the respite from pain, and the fatigue. Intoxication took her to a different realm, the respite from pain brought understanding, and the fatigue was itself a sort of beauty.

She fell asleep.

Xiao Yanqiu slept for a long time and was visited by fragmented dreams, disconnected bits and pieces, like moonlight reflected on the surface of water, flickering, crowding, and refracting, impossible to piece together. She knew she was dreaming, but was unable to wake from her dreams.

“Slam!” Miangua was home from work. That afternoon, now that he was back home, he began acting strangely. He was careless, and nothing pleased him. Banging into this and dropping that, he filled the house with loud noises. Yanqiu thought about getting up to talk to him, but she had to abandon the idea. For she was too weak. She rolled over and went back to sleep.

She could tell that something was seriously wrong. But the truth of the matter is that by the time someone sees that something is seriously wrong, the severity of the situation has already progressed further than anyone could have imagined. Yanqiu’s daughter finally drew her attention to the problem. That evening she came into the bathroom and asked, “What’s up with Daddy these days?” She said it with an innocent look, which could only mean that she knew everything. The question shocked Yanqiu back to reality. She saw, in her daughter’s eyes, her own lack of focus and the potential crisis the family faced. So after rehearsal the next day, she dragged herself to the market to buy an old hen and some imported ginseng. It was getting cold, and Miangua, who was out in the elements all day long, needed special nourishment. So did she. She decided she’d talk to him after dinner.

Miangua returned home, the wintry wind on his purple face. Yanqiu greeted him at the door, but was oblivious to the fact that her display of emotion was so uncharacteristic, so unlike a typical wife. He cast a suspicious glance and then looked away with increased apprehension. Before slouching over her homework on the balcony, the girl eyed her parents and then left them alone in the living room. Yanqiu looked over at the balcony before filling a bowl with chicken broth and carrying it to the dining table. Like a seedy tavern owner, she urged him eagerly, “Here, have some of this. It’s especially nourishing in cold weather. Chicken broth with imported ginseng.”

Miangua, sunk down in the sofa, didn’t move. Instead, he lit a cigarette. There was laughter in the movement of his chest, but not in the odd expression on his face. Tossing the cigarette lighter onto the coffee table, he muttered, “Nourishing? Chicken broth? Imported ginseng?” Then he looked up and said, “Just what do you mean by nourishing? What for? So I can go out and walk the streets on a cold night like this, is that it?”

His words stung. And he knew it as soon as they were out. They implied that a man and a woman came together only for what they did in bed. His words had touched a nerve, though he’d blurted them out without thinking, because he was in a bad mood. He tried to smooth things over with a smile, but that made it even worse, for it gave him a harsh look. Like being splashed with cold water, Xiao Yanqiu was faced with the basest, most vulgar side of life. Wearing a long face, she spat out, “Suit yourself!”

She glanced again at the balcony and met her daughter’s eyes. The girl quickly looked away and raised her head, as if lost in her own thoughts.

The dress rehearsal was a roaring success. Chunlai performed the greater part of the opera and Xiao Yanqiu took over at the end, a sort of grand finale. It was a major event for teacher and student to appear on the same stage. Bingzhang, who was sitting in the second row, was so excited he had to strain to calm himself as he watched two generations of Qingyi perform. He sat there with his legs crossed, his fingers wildly tapping out the rhythm, like five little monkeys scampering down off a mountain. A scant few months earlier the troupe had been in terrible shape, and now they were actually putting on a performance. He was pleased for the troupe, for Chunlai, and for Xiao Yanqiu; but most of all, he was pleased for himself. He was, he believed, the big winner.

Xiao Yanqiu did not watch Chunlai’s rehearsal. She stayed in the dressing room to rest, feeling unwell, until it was time to go on stage and sing the longest and most splendid aria, “The Vast Cold Palace,” which Chang’e sings after flying heavenward and is alone in the palace of the moon. Moving from meandering and slow to a lyrical rhythm, and then to a strong beat that leads to a crescendo, it lasted a full fifteen minutes.

Chang’e is now in the celestial realm, where, with the Milky Way and the Morning Star disappearing, she looks down on the human world, as loneliness surges through her, highlighted by the green ocean and blue sky. Amid boundless heavenly benevolence, the loneliness fosters a bitter remorse. The remorse and the loneliness prey on each other, spurring the other on as, in the eternal night of the vast universe, stars sparkle, off into infinity, year after year. People are their own worst enemies; they want not to be human, but immortal. They are the cause of their own problems, not the solution. People, where are you? You are so far away. You are on the ground. You are deep in your own thoughts. You ingest the wrong elixir and live a life that cannot bear any reflection or reminiscence. Ingesting the wrong elixir is Chang’e’s fate, it is a woman’s fate, and it is humanity’s fate. Humans are what they are. If they are fated to have only this much, they must not quest for more.

The Erhuang aria was followed by a flute dance, with Chang’e holding a flute brought up from the human world, and celestial fairies floating around her. Circled by the fairies, she projects helplessness, pain, remorse, and despair, as she gazes all around. Chang’e and the fairies strike a pose, and with that the curtain falls, ending The Moon Opera .

Bingzhang’s original idea had been for Xiao Yanqiu and Chunlai to share half of the play during dress rehearsal, but Xiao Yanqiu was not sure her body was up to it. For, after taking the elixir, Chang’e has a brisk-tempo aria followed by a water sleeve dance with gestures that require exaggerated movements. Strength is essential for both the song and the dance. In the past, that would not have been a problem for Xiao Yanqiu, but today it was. It had only been five days since the abortion, which, though medically induced, had caused much bleeding. She was still frail and worried that her voice might not be up to it. Besides, it was only a dress rehearsal.

She had made the right decision, for the flute dance alone proved to be too much for her. As soon as the curtain fell, she collapsed. The “fairies” were frightened, but she put on a brave face. Seated on the rug, she smiled and said, “I tripped, I’m all right.” Then, instead of answering a curtain call, she headed for the toilet with a feeling that her body had taken a turn for the worse; something warm was dripping from down below.

When Yanqiu emerged from the toilet she was at once surrounded by cast members. Standing in front, Bingzhang smiled and gave her a thumbs-up. It was a heartfelt compliment. His eyes were moist. Xiao Yanqiu’s Chang’e had been magnificent. He laid his hand on her shoulder. “You are Chang’e,” he said.