The Hustle

In the end, Ge You passed the audition and became a member of the ACFTU Art Troupe's theater troupe. He wept tears of joy; at long last, he wouldn't have to go back to feeding pigs big and small. His salary was eighteen yuan a month, equivalent to an apprentice grade. After a few years, it would rise to over thirty yuan; without reform and opening up, he likely would have drawn that amount for half his life. Back then, there was a popular saying: "Long live thirty-six yuan!"—a wry jab at how wages never budged. Though Ge You would later become a massive star, his official work relationship remained tied to the ACFTU Art Troupe, which continued paying him a monthly wage. He occasionally took part in their stage plays as well, a small token of gratitude for taking him in back then. Quite a few celebrities hailed from the ACFTU Art Troupe, such as actress Sa Rina and the wildly popular cross-talk performer Luosang. Zeng Li would also join the troupe after graduating from the Central Academy of Drama. Regardless, now that Ge You had a formal job, he finally had the confidence to walk with his head held high. He wanted to treat Chen Qi and Liang Xiaosheng to a proper meal, scraping together a few pitiful ration coupons from who-knew-where. At a small eatery, they ordered a single vegetable dish and munched on four steamed buns, two of which went into his own stomach. *** By now, it was late May, and the weather grew increasingly sweltering. That morning, Chen Qi changed into a Dacron shirt, cotton trousers, and his black cloth shoes with red soles, then rode his bicycle toward Taoranting in Xuanwu District. Dacron felt stuffy, didn't absorb sweat, and wasn't comfortable to wear. Yet textile craftsmanship was poor in this era, making cotton clothes even rougher and just as uncomfortable. As a compromise, Dacron was the better option—at least it looked sharper. He parked his bicycle, leaned back against a large willow tree, and waited quietly with hands shoved in his pockets. Before long, a bus pulled up nearby, and Yu Jiajia emerged with a satchel slung over her shoulder. Ever since the publication of "Oh Path of Life, Whither Must Thou Go?", Yu Jiajia had brought him letters several times. One thing had led to another, and they had become well acquainted. When he took the initiative to invite her out today, she was bewildered yet thrilled. As a rookie, major scoops never fell to her; she was always stuck writing about petty, trivial nonsense, which bored her to tears. "Reporter Yu, looking as valiant and spirited as ever!" "Comrade Little Chen, your charms haven't faded with age either!" The two shook hands, sharing the late-blooming kindred spirit of a weasel eyeing a plump hen. "Can this plan of yours really work?" "What plan? It's crude as can be, zero technical skill involved." "What if the newspaper finds out?" "You're the lead reporter. The final interpretation belongs to you." After getting their story straight, they crossed the street and walked into a compound of single-story brick buildings opposite them. A plaque hung by the entrance: Beijing Traditional Opera School! The school had been founded in 1952. Originally private, it was established through the spontaneous efforts of master traditional opera artists. Mei Lanfang had served as chairman of the board, while Hao Shouchen, Ma Lianliang, and others had served as principals. To build the school, artists of all stripes had held benefit performances to raise funds and volunteered their time as teachers without pay. Later, it became a public institution funded by the government, gradually finding its footing. In the future, Liu Shishi would study ballet here as a girl before testing into the Beijing Dance Academy, though at present, there was no dance department—only Peking opera and regional operas. "Comrades, who are you looking for?" "Hello, uncle! I'm a reporter from China Youth Daily!" Yu Jiajia flashed her press pass. Doing freelance moonlighting for the first time, she felt a twinge of nerves. "Is your leadership in?" "Yes, yes! I'll fetch someone for you!" Seeing she was a reporter—and from China Youth Daily at that—the gatekeeper's spirits surged noticeably. Moments later, a teacher came out, even more enthusiastic, and ushered the two inside. Chen Qi surveyed the school. The grounds were quite spacious and included dormitories. The buildings were rather old, steeped in an unmistakable 1950s atmosphere. "Our facilities are modest, please forgive the humble setting." "Have some tea... er, have some water..." Once inside, the teacher meant to brew some tea, but unable to locate any tea leaves, offered an embarrassed smile. Yu Jiajia quickly waved her hand. "No need to trouble yourself, please have a seat. Here's what brings us here: this year the city set up quite a few educated youth cooperatives. Are you aware of that?" "Yes, of course. A relative's child is doing that right now." "It's not easy for those young folks, toiling from dawn to dusk while facing prejudice from society. Yet these cooperatives have truly made life convenient for the common people—buying a drink of water, getting clothes made, it's so much easier than before. To show our respect, we've come up with a small event to encourage those youngsters. This is Comrade Chen from the Dashilar Sub-district Cooperative!" Yu Jiajia introduced Chen Qi. Chen Qi promptly greeted the teacher and said, "You've probably heard of our cooperative—the tea stalls at Qianmen." "I have, I have! I read that report! Oh my, what a coincidence!" "What we mean is, could your school spare a few students to perform at the cooperative and drum up some enthusiasm? We'll cover travel expenses and provide lunch, and Reporter Yu will help publicize your school." "Publicize? You mean...?" "Getting you in the newspaper!" "Oh, oh! You want to put us in the papers? Why didn't you say so sooner..." The teacher's eyes lit up like lightbulbs. "This is wonderful! I'll fetch the director right away!" He hurried out, and soon returned with a middle-aged man. After listening to Yu Jiajia's explanation, the director was delighted too, but asked, "Why haven't you reached out to a folk art troupe to invite established masters?" "The cooperatives are run by educated youth. Just think: on one side you have a bunch of young lads and lasses, and on the other, elderly performers in their seventies and eighties—it wouldn't match at all. What we need is youthful vitality. This event is called 'A Tribute to Youth, Labor is Glorious.'" "That makes sense. I understand your meaning—it's a morale-boosting performance." "Precisely!" "How many days roughly?" "I'll publish an initial report first to gauge the response. If the response is good, we'll write an internal reference report to submit to the leadership. After all, this is about the youth of the new era setting a new tone..." Yu Jiajia was exceptionally gifted at this; as she spoke, she practically began believing it herself. China Youth Daily was the official newspaper of the Central Committee of the Communist Youth League, holding significant rank. Who could have imagined that one of its reporters was running an unauthorized side hustle? The director was already in favor, but he couldn't make the call alone; they needed a meeting to deliberate. So the two stepped out, grabbed lunch outside, and returned in the afternoon to select the students directly. The school followed an eight-year curriculum, with pupils ranging from eleven or twelve to eighteen or nineteen. The main disciplines were Peking opera, Pingju, Quju, and Hebei Bangzi. In later years, it would partner with the Deyun Club to launch a cross-talk major, with Master Gao Feng teaching classes—no one else could teach them, as the others were idol-tier performers adored by legions of "Deyun girls." "We don't know the students, so please pick them, but they need to look presentable. After all, we'll be taking photos," Yu Jiajia reminded softly. The teacher nodded in understanding, pondered for a moment, and began calling roll. These kids attended classes by day and boarded at night; their food was poor and performance opportunities were scarce, making life thoroughly monotonous. Seeing a chance to perform now—even if only for a cooperative—they were eager to participate. The teacher picked a few older students and a few younger ones across various disciplines. Then he suddenly called out: "Liu Bei!" "Present!" A girl just past ten raised her hand high. She had striking thick eyebrows, large luminous eyes, and a face brimming with excitement. *Wait, what???* Chen Qi took a closer look, his expression turning subtle. He asked, "Teacher, how old is this child? She looks awfully young." "She entered the school at ten and is twelve this year. She studies the Mei style and looks very presentable." "Oh, alright. Your choice goes." Chen Qi said no more, unconsciously rubbing his nose. First Jiang Shan, and now Liu Bei. What was this, was he destined to raise kids this lifetime?