Bi Feiyu - The Moon Opera

Yanqiu smiled weakly, then spotted Chunlai, who was leaning against the factory boss, looking up and smiling radiantly as she said something to him. He walked with rapid, confident strides, a vibrant great man in disguise mixing with commoners. He smiled benevolently and nodded. Xiao Yanqiu knew at once that this was not a good sign, and her heart skipped a beat. But, with a smile on her face, she went up to greet them.

A snowstorm hit the city on the day The Moon Opera was to open. After the snowfall the sky cleared and bright sunlight shone down on the city, turning everything blindingly white. Like a gigantic cake submerged in thick butter, soft and warm, the snow-blanketed city was bathed in an unusual ambience, like a fairytale or perhaps a birthday. Xiao Yanqiu lay in bed quietly gazing at the gigantic cake outside her window. She puzzled over the bleeding, which wouldn’t stop. She was spent and needed her rest; she had to save energy for the stage, for every movement and gesture, for every word and every note.

By dusk the cake was ruined beyond recognition; the party was over, the guests had left, and messy, dirty dishes were strewn everywhere. The snow had melted in places, was piled up in others. Melted areas exposed the dirty, nasty, ugly, menacing face of the earth. After calling for a taxi, Yanqiu arrived at the theater ahead of curtain time. Makeup artists and technicians were there waiting. This was no ordinary day; it was the most important day of Xiao Yanqiu’s life. She walked around the stage, front and back, greeting the technicians before going to the dressing room to check the props. Then she sat down quietly at her dressing table.

Looking in the mirror and slowly regulating her breathing, she examined herself closely. Like a traditional bride, she had to make herself up and dress with such care that she could be married off in glitter and splendor. Who the groom was she did not know, but the red curtain that had yet to be raised would be her head cover, her veil. Suddenly she was overcome by anxiety. The audience on the other side of that veil would be a mystery to her and she would be a mystery to them. Hidden behind it, she would be caught up in a paradoxical relationship with the outside world, each side wondering about the other. That notion made her heart beat faster, causing her thoughts to run wild.

After taking a deep breath to calm herself once more she slipped on a long-sleeved gown and tied it around her waist before squeezing flesh-colored foundation cream into her palm and dabbing it evenly over her face, her neck, and the backs of her hands. This was followed by a layer of Vaseline. The makeup artist then handed her the red face paint, which she applied with her middle finger around the eyes and over the bridge of her nose. She paused to study the effect until she was satisfied. Then she brushed on powder and applied rouge on top of the heavy red face paint to highlight and brighten it. The outline of a Qingyi was beginning to emerge. Now for the eyes. With the tips of her fingers, she pushed the corners up toward her temples and painted both her eyelids and eyebrows. When she removed her fingers, the skin around the corners sagged, leaving the outline of the eyes higher and lending the area an oddly seductive, almost fiendish look.

That done, she turned herself over to the makeup artist, who moistened a band to raise the brows and, adding a bit of discomfort, pull the sagging eye corners up. Then she wrapped another band around Yanqiu’s head, over and over to hold the skin around the corners of her eyes in place, turning them into the bewitching and lively eyes of storybook foxes. The brows and eyes now done, the makeup artist pasted patches on Xiao Yanqiu’s cheeks to transform her face into an oval shape. The completed image of a Qingyi materialized in the mirror after the addition of the bangs, the sheer second layer of clothing, the headdress, and a wig. Xiao Yanqiu stared at herself, hardly able to recognize the beauty looking back at her. Clearly, it was another woman from another world. That, she believed, was the real Xiao Yanqiu, her true self. She thrust out her chest and looked over her shoulder, discovering to her surprise that the dressing room was crowded with people, studying her with looks of wonder. Chunlai was standing right beside her. She’d been there all along, transfixed, finding it hard to believe that the woman beside her was her teacher, Xiao Yanqiu. Like magic, Yanqiu had transformed herself into a different person, and she knew without question what Chunlai was feeling at that moment: the girl was jealous. But Yanqiu said nothing, for at that moment she was not just anyone; she was her true self, another woman from another world. She was Chang’e.

The curtain went up, raising the red veil. Xiao Yanqiu spread her water sleeves, prepared to marry herself off. There was no single bridegroom; she was marrying the world and everyone in it. The bridegrooms in the audience all fixed their attention on the one true bride. Xiao Yanqiu stood in the wings as the gongs and drums sounded.

She hadn’t expected the opera to be so short. She felt she’d just begun, had barely left the world, and now she had returned. At first, concerned about her stamina, she was somewhat nervous when she took to the stage; but she was quickly able to relax. She began to express, to confide, eventually forgetting herself, forgetting even Chang’e. Turning the grievances in her chest into a long thin thread, she slowly unravelled it, entwining herself as she moved freely. She revealed herself to the world and the world applauded her in return. Gradually she lost herself; she was enthralled, sinking further and further into the opera.

For her they were two hours of joy, two hours of sobbing, two hours of exhaustive emotion, two riotously high-flying hours, two intoxicatingly merry hours, two sad and plaintive hours, two unbridled hours, two hours of dazed confusion. It was like two hours spent frolicking in bed. Her body and her heart were opened up, spread out, elongated, moistened, softened, loosened, and filled to the point of near transparency, brimming, as if on the brink of a climax. She felt as if she’d turned into a ripe grape, whose sticky juice would burst from a gentle slit and flow unimpeded, like a wish fulfilled. But the opera was finished. It was all over.

That other woman departed cruelly, leaving Xiao Yanqiu to be just herself again. She had been in perpetual motion, and now she couldn’t stop; her body didn’t want to. It wanted to go on, to sing more and perform more. She could not recall how she’d answered the curtain call, except that the curtain had come down like a dark face, like a man withdrawing just as she is reaching orgasm. She was heartbroken; she wanted to shout to the people below, “Don’t go. Please don’t go. Come back. Come back now.”

The performance was finished and everything was over. For Yanqiu it was less a matter of exhaustion than of nervous energy still waiting to be released. Her anxieties were telling her to do something. Dejected and lost, she walked backstage, where Bingzhang stood waiting for her. He greeted her with open arms. She walked up and, like a mistreated child, threw herself into his arms. As she buried her face in his chest, she began to wail. He patted her on the back, over and over; he understood. He was blinking uncontrollably. But no one could know exactly how she felt, no one could know what she wanted to do at that moment; even she did not know. Chang’e had flown away, leaving Xiao Yanqiu alone in this world. At that moment she wished she could find a man and make passionate love. She looked up abruptly, unnerving Bingzhang with a face that, given the smeared face paint, was more ghostly than human. He did not expect to hear what she said next, and it was clear that he did not understand her after all. Looking at him coolly, she said, “I’m going to sing again tomorrow. Promise me I can sing again tomorrow.”