abnabooks Chapter 138: With absolute power in the concession, the opera troupe can be withdrawn at will!
Chapter 138: With absolute power in the concession, the opera troupe can be withdrawn at will!
Chapter 139: With absolute power in the concession, the opera troupe can be withdrawn at will!
In March, the sea breeze in Tianjin always carries a lingering chill.
On the third-floor balcony of the National Hotel, Lu Cheng, dressed in a plain gray cloth robe, held the newly acquired red coral rosary in his hand and was breathing in the direction of the Haihe River.
"call-
'
With each breath, a faint rumble of thunder could be heard from his chest.
His internal energy and blood were already as thick as mercury. After the initial marrow cleansing, his skin and flesh looked even more smooth and warm, like a piece of beautiful jade that had been washed by the river for hundreds of years.
"Master, the car is ready."
Shunzi strode in, his face beaming with barely concealed excitement.
"The place outside has been blown up."
"The theater staff said that the black market ticket prices have increased tenfold, and even the big boss of that foreign firm sent people to beg for seats. Our performance of 'The Chariot Chariot' today is sure to make the Haihe River boil."
Lu Cheng slowly opened his eyes, the golden light deep in his pupils dimmed for a moment, and then returned to calm.
"Let's go. The show is the most important thing; don't keep the audience waiting."
Chinese Theatre.
The bright red sign at the entrance, bearing the name "Lu Cheng," stood out starkly against the drab street.
Inside the theater, all two thousand seats were already packed to capacity, and even the aisles were filled with enthusiasts carrying stools.
The luxurious private room in the center of the second floor.
Song Ziqi crossed his legs, swirling a half-empty glass of red wine in his hand, glancing sideways at Lin Yudie beside him.
"Yu Die, look at these peasants, they're practically risking their lives for an actress."
Song Ziqi scoffed, his eyes full of disdain.
"Lu Cheng made a little noise in Beiping, and now he thinks he's a savior? In Tianjin, in the French Concession, his skills are nothing compared to real power."
Lin Yudie took a sip of coffee, didn't say anything, and just quietly looked at the crowd below.
She always felt that the man in white standing upright at the entrance of the police station didn't seem like the kind of person who was vain and only knew brute force.
Just then.
Suddenly, a piercing car horn blared outside the theater gates.
"Beep—! Beep—!"
Immediately following was a series of chaotic footsteps.
Dozens of police officers dressed in black leather uniforms and carrying Mauser pistols rushed into the theater like wolves and tigers, roughly pushing through the crowd.
"Get out of the way, all of you get the hell out of my way!"
"The French Concession Consulate is here on official business; all irrelevant personnel are to get out."
The team leader was a detective with a fierce face, who swung his baton with a loud whooshing sound.
The once noisy theater became so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
Manager Zhao of the theater stumbled and crawled out of the back room, sweat pouring down his forehead like a waterfall.
"Oh dear, Detective Zhang, this—this hasn't even started yet, what are you up to?"
The detective snorted coldly and ignored him completely.
He turned around, facing the main entrance, his back slumped three inches, and he put on an extremely obsequious smile.
"Welcome, Mr. Gu."
At the entrance, an elderly man wearing a black silk cloak and a top hat, surrounded by a retinue, slowly entered the theater.
Although the old man had white hair, his eyes, which were sunken in wrinkles, exuded a kind of majesty that could see through people's hearts.
Gu Weishen.
A retired elder statesman of the Nanjing government and a Chinese director of the French Concession Municipal Council, his word carried more weight than the law in this area.
"Mr. Gu?"
In the private room on the second floor, Song Ziqi was so startled that he stood up, almost spilling the red wine in his hand.
"Why is he here?"
"I heard that after he retired, he hated Northern-style martial arts operas the most, finding them too noisy, and only liked listening to the soft Wu dialect of the Southern school."
Lin Yudie's eyes flashed: "It seems that tonight's show won't be going to happen."
really.
Mr. Gu stood in the center of the hall and tapped the ground three times heavily with his gold-inlaid cane.
"Thump! Thump! Thump!"
"It's noisy. Too noisy."
Old Gu stretched out his withered hand and waved it in front of his nose, his face full of disgust.
"These martial arts performances in the North, besides fighting and killing, have no elegance whatsoever. They're a complete waste of this prime location."
He turned to look at Manager Zhao, who was already slumped on the ground.
"I heard you hired a martial arts actor from Beiping tonight? What's his name, Lu Cheng?"
Manager Zhao nodded tremblingly: "It's...it's Boss Lu, he's...he's getting dressed up backstage."
"They've withdrawn."
Old Gu uttered two words calmly.
"What?!"
Manager Zhao's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. "But—but all the tickets have been sold, this—"
"I said, we're leaving."
Old Gu's eyes turned cold, and Detective Zhang, who was standing next to him, immediately drew his gun and cocked it with a "click".
"Don't you understand what Elder Gu is saying? Get that guy surnamed Lu out of the backstage area."
"Tonight, I'm going to listen to the Southern School Kunqu Opera, 'The Palace of Eternal Life', here."
"Go and invite Boss Qin from the Desheng Opera Troupe in the foreign concession. Give him half an hour. If he can't get into character, your theater is closed."
Manager Zhao's face turned ashen. This wasn't just watching a play; it was a blatant slap in the face to Lu Cheng, and an attempt to undermine the Qingyun Troupe.
Less than five minutes.
The gold-lettered sign with "Lu Cheng" written on it at the main entrance was roughly torn down by several police officers.
With a loud thud, it was thrown into the ditch and then heavily stepped on by a large leather boot.
Instead, a piece of white paper was pasted on.
[Encore performance tonight: Qin Sufeng, a renowned artist of the Southern School of Kunqu Opera – "The Palace of Eternal Life"]
Backstage.
Lu Cheng was facing the mirror, finishing the final stroke of the tragic overlord makeup.
He had just taken the twenty-pound Overlord Helmet into his hands.
"Master, something terrible has happened!"
Shunzi rushed in like a madman, his eyes bloodshot, his hand almost crushing the single-edged sword.
"Those bastards—those bastards smashed our water sign."
"An old official came along and said he thought our martial arts performance was too noisy and insisted on listening to some Southern Kunqu opera."
"The police have their guns pointed at the door. They want us to get out of the theater within 15 minutes."
The room full of apprentices and martial arts practitioners all stopped what they were doing, and there was a deathly silence.
In this city of Beijing, in Tianjin, when has Lu Cheng ever suffered such humiliation?
This is not just about ruining one's livelihood; it's about spitting in the face of our ancestors!
Lu Cheng remained seated in front of the mirror.
He looked at the "Lord Guan" in the mirror, whose face was as red as a jujube and whose eyebrows were like silkworms, and his expression remained calm and unperturbed.
He unlocked the [Exquisite Heart].
With a clear mind, he instantly saw through the situation.
"Southern School of Drama — Gu Weishen"
Lu Cheng sighed inwardly.
This is the reality of our time.
No matter how high one's martial arts skills or how famous one is.
In the eyes of these powerful and wealthy people who hold the power of life and death and who consider themselves civilized and elegant, martial arts performers are nothing more than a useful knife, and actors are nothing more than playthings.
I want to praise you; you are the "shining light of Chinese martial arts."
I want to step on you, but you're not even as good as a water sign.
"Master, let's fight them!"
Lu Feng emerged from the shadows, his sharpened dagger gleaming coldly, his eyes fierce as a wolf's.
"spell?"
Lu Cheng slowly took off the Overlord Helmet from his hand and lightly placed it on the table.
"That's a theater, and there are thousands of unsuspecting people in the audience. If a gun really goes off, blood will splatter everywhere, and the reputation of the Qingyun Troupe will be completely ruined."
Lu Cheng turned around, his eyes frighteningly clear.
"Since he wants to hear something refined and finds our language too crude, then let him hear it to his heart's content."
"Shunzi, lock the suitcase. Let's go to the Fengsheng Restaurant across the street and book a private room."
"I'm not leaving. I want to stay there and watch how this old Mr. Gu listens to his 'refined' performance."
Watching a play from across the stage has always been a humiliating method.
Lu Cheng led the Qingyun Troupe and swaggered into the Fengsheng Restaurant, which was directly opposite the theater.
We got a window seat on the second floor, right in front of the main entrance of the theater.
Inside the theater.
Mr. Gu sat in a specially designed golden nanmu chair, his eyes closed, his fingers lightly tapping the table.
On stage, Qin Sufeng, a performer from the Southern School of Desheng Opera who had been hastily brought in, was also feeling cold in the hands and feet.
This is jeopardizing Master Lu's reputation! Who isn't afraid?
The show has started.
-
Although Kunqu Opera is beautiful, it emphasizes the "water-polished melody".
But this place is Tianqiao, in Nanshi.
Outside, the dockworkers were shouting their wares; inside, the rough men were used to Northern-style martial arts dramas and drinking large bowls of tea.
Sure enough, as soon as Qin Sufeng opened her mouth, her delicate singing voice couldn't be heard at all in the large venue with more than two thousand people.
"What is that singing? It sounds like a cat meowing!"
"We want to see Master Lu, we want to see him perform the 'Slippery Chariot' move!"
The audience below protested, booing loudly.
Mr. Gu's brows furrowed more and more deeply.
He wanted something "refined," but it was out of touch with reality, and even the most refined things became a joke.
Qin Sufeng's voice cracked on stage, and the more she rushed, the more mistakes she made. She even swayed on stage because she lost her balance.
"Get out of here, what kind of bullshit Southern School is this!"
A large teapot was thrown up and shattered with a "bang" next to the stage.
Mr. Gu's face was so gloomy it seemed to drip water.
The restaurant across the street.
Lu Cheng sat by the window, his sharp eyes seeing every mistake on the stage clearly.
Meanwhile, the [Exquisite Heart] within his body was operating at a rapid pace.
He was looking at the "gods" of the Southern School.
The Northern School emphasizes bone structure, while the Southern School emphasizes spirit.
The subtle shifts in each move, the delicate emotions conveyed in every precise gesture.
He had never really been exposed to the Southern School of martial arts in his life, but now, with the blessing of the Linglong Heart, these originally obscure techniques were instantly understood, absorbed, and utilized by him, like streams flowing into the sea.
"So, this gentleness, taken to its extreme, becomes transformation."
Lu Cheng suddenly closed his eyes and lightly ran two fingers across the table.
That instant.
His internal energy and blood actually followed the rhythm of the Southern School, creating a wonderful melody.
This is what is meant by "learning from the strengths of many".
Just then.
Manager Zhao, with a mournful face, ran to Mr. Gu again.
"Old Gu—it's no use, Boss Qin's voice is ruined. The guys downstairs are going to cause a huge uproar, the police station can't keep up."
Old Gu suddenly opened his eyes, a look of exhaustion flashing in them.
He ultimately underestimated the ferocity of this northern man.
"go."
Old Gu looked at the restaurant across the street with a complicated expression.
"Go and invite that Mr. Lu back."
"The young master says he's famous, so today I'll see just how tough his Northern School backbone really is."
"Tell him that if he can save this awkward silence tonight."
"I, Gu, will reward him with 50,000 silver dollars."
Fifty thousand silver dollars!
In the Republic of China era, this was a huge sum of money that could buy a small Western-style house and support a division for a whole month!
When Manager Zhao scrambled into the private room of Fengsheng Restaurant and knelt down at Lu Cheng's feet,
Lu Feng kicked away the broken bones on the ground and smiled coldly.
"Now you remember us?"
"Where did that arrogance go when you smashed the water sign?"
"Fifty thousand silver dollars? Do you think your Mr. Feng is a beggar? No acting! Get out!"
Manager Zhao cried with snot and tears streaming down his face: "Master Lu, my dear grandfather, help! All the opera fans in Tianjin are watching here. If it gets smashed, our theater will have to be demolished!"
Lu Cheng put down his teacup.
He stood up, his moon-white robe swaying slightly in the breeze.
-
Fifty thousand silver dollars?
He doesn't care about money.
But he gained a new understanding of the subtle "softness" in the Southern School of Kunqu Opera.
"A play is performed for people to listen to."
Lu Cheng turned his head and looked at the magnificent theater.
"Since Mr. Gu finds us too rough and wants to hear something more detailed..."
"Then we won't sing 'Picking the Chariot' tonight."
"Master, what should we sing?" Shunzi asked, taken aback.
Lu Cheng's lips curled into a shocking smile.
"Let's act out what he didn't hear earlier—"
"A grand Southern-style opera, 'Qingfeng Pavilion'!"
The entire Chinese Theatre.
Upon hearing the news that "Lu Cheng is cross-dressing as a Southern School performer in 'Qingfeng Pavilion'", a deathly silence fell for three minutes.
The foremost martial arts performer of the Northern School.
To sing the most demanding tragedy of the Southern School, "Qingfeng Pavilion"?
crazy.
The entire city of Tianjin thought Lu Cheng had gone mad.
Only Lu Cheng's heart pounded wildly the moment he stepped backstage.
He sensed it.
The membrane of the system.
This time, he is not challenging an enemy.
Instead—
Himself!
Chapter 139 [A Great Tragedy: Qingfeng Pavilion!] (4k)
The sweltering heat in the air at the Chinese Theatre hadn't dissipated yet.
More than two thousand mouths, who were originally clamoring for refunds and to smash the stage, were now choked up as if someone had stuffed a big steamed bun into their mouths.
The water sign has been put back up.
Red background, black lettering, powerful and vigorous:
[Final Highlight: Lu Cheng's Southern-style masterpiece, "Qingfeng Pavilion"]
"Qingfeng Pavilion? Am I seeing things?"
In the private room on the second floor, Song Ziqi's cigar was almost falling off his crotch.
"He's a martial arts actor, a master of gruesome martial arts, a killer who can pierce a man's chest with a wooden stick, and today he's playing Zhang Jibao's father, a white-haired man who cries and wails?"
"puff--!"
Several young men who had returned from studying abroad were laughing so hard they were doubled over.
"This is what they call insatiable greed. He thinks that just because he knows a few hand gestures, he can learn the delicate skills of the Southern school?"
The unique flavor of Kunqu and Peking Opera requires at least ten or eight years of dedicated practice; otherwise, your breath will carry a distinctly Northeastern accent!
Lin Yudie pursed her lips, her gaze fixed on the heavy side curtain.
For some reason, she felt a faint sense of anticipation.
That man always seemed to take the conventional path.
Backstage.
"Chengzi, you—you're really going to kill me!"
Zhou Daikui paced anxiously around the room, his shoes scraping loudly on the blue brick floor.
"That's the Southern School's 'Qingfeng Pavilion,' a story about ingratitude and a tragic end brought down by divine retribution! You want to play Old Zhang Shouxin, the one who froze to death in the pavilion?"
"With your build and size, you look like a tiger descending a mountain, not an old beggar!"
"And, that singing style—"
Zhou Daikui slapped his thigh. "That's the Southern style, which emphasizes clear pronunciation, pure tone, and proper rhythm. Your voice is like a mountain-splitting force; if you open your mouth, you'll surely send Mr. Gu to his grave!"
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