Chapter 165: Readers All Have Weak Kidneys

Naturally, they flew to Kyoto. The troupe director reimbursed their airfare.

This was Shen Xian’s second trip to Kyoto, and his mood was entirely different from the first time.

On his first visit, he’d been going through the motions, with a touch of trepidation besides—after all, he’d been pretending to be Ning Cai’s boyfriend.

This time, he was going there to perform.

On the way to Kyoto, Shen Xian asked for a detailed briefing on the people they’d be performing for.

An old acquaintance: Zhou Yanshi!

“Is his family very wealthy?” Shen Xian asked.

“Not exactly,” the director replied. “But they’re a family of scholars. Once we get there, don’t go rushing around and make them look down on us…”

She stopped, realizing there was no need to say that.

After spending time with Shen Xian, she already knew what kind of person he was: mature and steady, and rarely given to anger.

“Huangmei Opera has been confined to southern Anhui for far too long. Unlike Peking Opera and Yue Opera, it hasn’t begun to make its way overseas. So we have to put on a good show this time.” The director sighed. “Our costumes should have been replaced ages ago. Huang Qinian had promised to give us five hundred thousand to upgrade our costumes and instruments.”

“Whatever the genre, costumes and instruments matter,” Shen Xian said. “But the most important thing is still the material.”

Aunt Mo didn’t pursue the subject of Huang Qinian’s departure. Instead, she said, “If we do well, then next year Mr. Zhou will surely recommend us for the grand opera showdown.”

“The grand opera showdown?” Shen Xian looked puzzled. “What kind of competition is that?”

“A contest between the greatest works of classic Western theater and traditional Chinese opera,” the director explained. “The trouble is, our side has always lost.”

“Even Peking Opera can’t beat the Western plays. They’ve got phenomenal productions like Romeo and Juliet and Alice in Wonderland.”

On Earth, there was a Romeo and Juliet too. Among classic plays, only two or three Chinese operas could compete with it: Peking Opera’s Farewell My Concubine, and Yue Opera’s The Butterfly Lovers.

“We can’t even beat Kyoto’s Third Opera Troupe. A grand showdown might be a bit beyond us,” the deputy director said.

He was the main villain in this production, playing an old male role—the father of the heroine, Feng Suyue.

Shen Xian had originally wanted that part.

Aunt Mo fell silent.

The truth was that, among China’s five major opera genres, Huangmei Opera had the least reach. It was more or less confined to Hubei and southern Anhui.

When Zhou Yanshi was young, he had taken Huangmei Opera across the strait to Taiwan for an exchange.

But the genre had failed to make the most of the opportunity. It had no outstanding productions capable of breaking through to a wider audience.

At that competition, Huangmei Opera had finished dead last.

Later, Zhou Xingzheng had also tried to help the genre grow. Before taking up his full-time position at the Federation of Literary and Art Circles, he had publicly praised Huangmei Opera under the name Marshal Xue, and invited Nanzhou’s First Drama Troupe to perform in person.

Still, it had barely made a ripple.

Hai City Drama Academy and Kyoto Drama Academy had both established Huangmei Opera programs, but their mainstream courses still focused on Peking Opera and Yue Opera.

By the time Aunt Mo came along, Huangmei Opera had become a niche genre.

Drama troupes had increasingly turned into places where rich kids could indulge their refined tastes—or polish up their résumés.

For instance, what was a rich kid supposed to do if their grades were too poor to get into university?

Their family could donate some money to a drama academy and send them there to scrape together an undergraduate diploma.

The drama academy in question was, at any rate, a top-tier university.

Take Huang Qinian, for example.

Huang Qinian had arrived in Kyoto ten days earlier and tracked down the city’s Third Peking Opera Troupe. He promptly donated a million to the troupe, upgrading its costumes and equipment, and secured the male lead’s role for himself.

The genres were different, and their vocal styles varied to some degree, but at heart they weren’t all that different.

Huang Qinian did have some talent. After abandoning Huangmei Opera and switching to Peking Opera, he picked it up fairly quickly.

“Brother Nian’s a natural!”

“He’s got this in the bag. The Zhou family will definitely praise him!”

“Brother Nian, take us to the top!”

Thanks to his donation, the troupe’s hangers-on had gathered around Huang Qinian, one flattery after another.

Huang Qinian lifted his chin. “Don’t mention it. Happy to help.”

“Mo Wei, Yang Tao—let’s see if you regret this!”

“That newcomer? He could never compare to me!”

“Go ahead and regret it. I can’t wait to see you come crawling back to me!”

Heh heh heh.

Huang Qinian pictured Mo Wei and Yang Tao begging him for help and couldn’t stop himself from cackling.

You’d need to devour three or five elders of the Soul Hall to produce a laugh like that.

On the plane, Shen Xian felt drowsy. He’d stayed up all night writing.

A proper author could go without sleep or food, but never without writing.

The night before, he’d written a whole lot of kidney-tonic recipes into his book, and not a single reader had accused him of padding the word count.

Readers, as everyone knew, were picky.

Whatever you wrote, they’d say you were padding.

But when it came to kidney tonics, the readers all fell silent.

So Shen Xian reached a conclusion: his readers were all suffering from kidney deficiency.

“What are you thinking about?” Yang Tao asked, noticing Shen Xian staring out the window.

“My readers are all suffering from kidney deficiency,” Shen Xian said.

Yang Tao hadn’t heard him clearly. “What?”

“Nothing. I’m a little tired. I’ll close my eyes for a bit.”

On the plane, Shen Xian leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes.

Peach Baby saw him doze off and thoughtfully closed the little window shade, dimming the light.

Then she slipped off her down jacket and gently draped it over him.

Aunt Mo noticed and knitted her brows, but said nothing.

The deputy director was talking to the troupe members. Peach Baby stood up and tapped the back of his seat, saying softly, “Could you keep it down?”

The deputy director glanced back at her, then saw Shen Xian asleep and nodded.

Peach Baby was wearing only a fitted white turtleneck sweater, which showed off her lovely figure.

She didn’t seem cold. Settling into her seat, she turned to look at Shen Xian, fast asleep beside her.

Her gaze drifted slowly over his forehead, his eyelashes, the bridge of his nose.

Her expression softened.

“Stop staring. Your eyes are practically stringing themselves to him,” Aunt Mo said from the aisle seat.

Peach Baby’s face turned bright red. She quickly looked away, though she was reluctant to.

“Do you like him?” Aunt Mo asked.

Peach Baby was too shy to answer.

“Come on, say it.” Aunt Mo took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Mmm…” Peach Baby managed, barely audible, her cheeks turning even redder.

Aunt Mo said, “If you like him, be brave and go after him. Don’t wait until he’s gone and spend the rest of your life regretting it. Life is short, and it’s not easy to meet someone you like.”

Peach Baby raised her head and looked at Shen Xian again. In a soft voice, she said, “But I’ve realized he doesn’t like me. There are stories written all over his face, and there’s already someone in his heart. I even get the feeling he doesn’t like women.”

“He’s polite and friendly and sincere to everyone. He treats me well, too. But I can tell he’s cold inside. His heart won’t beat for a woman.”

Aunt Mo frowned. “Is he gay?”

She paused, then pointed to a loose, crooked thread on her sleeve. She dampened it with her tongue and ran her fingers along it until it straightened.

“See? It doesn’t matter if it’s crooked. You can straighten it out like this.”

Peach Baby’s almond-shaped eyes widened.

She didn’t understand, but she was deeply shaken.

How could something like that come out of Aunt Mo’s mouth?