Journalism

Liu Bei's father was a director, and her mother was a stage actress. Her parents had divorced when she was very young, so she was raised by her maternal grandmother. Applying to the traditional opera school had been entirely her own idea; her mother had wept and screamed to stop her, but to no avail. The school operated behind closed doors for an eight-year course, but graduation guaranteed a job assignment, freeing her from future worries. Perhaps it was precisely this upbringing that made her remarkably independent and self-determined from childhood. The next morning. Led by a teacher, the six young performers took a public bus to Qianmen's Arrow Tower. They had agreed in advance: no makeup, no stage costumes—just a few simple opera excerpts. None of them had even thought about payment; being treated to a meal was more than satisfactory. In those days, traditional opera performers all belonged to state work units. The units organized performances and sold tickets, but the box office had nothing to do with the actors, who merely drew monthly salaries. If anyone took on outside gigs privately and pocketed money, the fallout could be serious. Huang Zhanying was beside herself with warmth and hospitality upon hearing the kids were coming. "Have you had breakfast?" "We specially boiled eggs—here, have some to line your stomachs!" "We don't know the rules of your trade or whether you can drink tea, but if not, we can boil plain water for you!" With few customers around so early, Huang Zhanying ran to the front of the stalls, putting her booming voice to good use. "Come take a look, folks! Passersby, please stop for a moment! Today, we've invited students from the opera school to perform—first to give back to all of you, and second to add some lively cheer! "We've been selling tea here for so many days, and it's thanks to everyone's support that we've kept going. Thank you all so very much!" With that shout, a crowd several layers deep formed in an instant. There in that crude, bustling square beneath the centuries-old Arrow Tower, an eighteen- or nineteen-year-old performer stepped forward. A little nervously, she began to sing an aria from *Mu Guiying Takes Command*. In earlier years, operas about emperors, generals, scholars, and beauties had been banned. Only recently had they gradually returned, creating a landscape where modern model plays and traditional repertoire existed side by side. *"Suddenly I hear the gold drums rumble and the painted horns blast, stirring my sky-soaring ambition to shatter the Heavenly Gate Formation! Recalling those years gone by, astride my Peach Blossom Steed, what majestic might was mine; enemy blood splattered my pomegranate skirt... with a single sword I could hold off a million troops!"* "Bravo!" "Good!" The singing was inevitably a bit green, made worse by stage fright, but the crowd burst into thunderous applause, cheering with generous enthusiasm. People were starved for entertainment! The period from the late 1970s to the late 1980s was the final golden age of traditional Chinese opera. To put it simply, the market was booming. Opera performers enjoyed the same status and popularity as film and television stars. Traditional opera was not a niche interest, but mainstream mass entertainment. In later eras, it fell from favor and shrank into a subculture, its embers flickering only in certain regions—like Henan Opera. Henan Opera was said to be the only regional genre that could sustain itself without state subsidies. Yu Jiajia snapped picture after picture, capturing one moment after another—stepping stones on her climb toward becoming a prominent journalist. Suddenly, she froze and quickly patted Chen Qi. "Hey, look! A foreigner!" "Where?" "Over there, over there!" Chen Qi glanced over. Sure enough, a blonde, blue-eyed woman was squeezing her way into the crowd with great enthusiasm. "Talk about luck! You even managed to stumble upon a foreigner!" * * * Earlier that year, on January 1, China and the United States had officially established diplomatic relations. During a Chinese leader's visit to the U.S., good old Carter arranged an arts performance where the final act featured one hundred American children of diverse backgrounds singing "I Love Beijing Tiananmen" in Chinese, an event widely celebrated at the time. Afterward, the United States sent a congressional delegation to visit China. Old Biden was among them; serving as a senator at the time, he even toured the Great Wall. It had been his first visit to China—and who could have guessed that forty years later, he would end up as "Sleepy Joe" in the Oval Office? China had already opened visas to Americans, and artistic troupes, reporters, photographers, and a small trickle of tourists were steadily arriving. They took countless photographs to bring back to American newspapers, for the country remained shrouded in mystery, and the whole world wanted a glimpse. Eve Arnold was one of them. She was a contract photographer with an American photo agency. The moment she learned it was possible to visit China, she had hastily submitted an application. It was approved promptly, and she even received special treatment: her visa validity was extended to six months, allowing her to travel wherever she wished as a tourist under arrangements coordinated by the National Tourism Administration. It had still been winter when she arrived. She had photographed passengers in train stations, the Ming Tombs in the snow, and female factory workers at their posts. Later, she traveled south to tour the Tsingtao Brewery and visited Shanghai. After a grand circuit, she had just returned to the capital. Eve intended to spend the next few days photographing Beijing's hutongs before heading back to the United States. That was when the scene before her caught her eye. "I don't recall this stall being here when I first arrived?" "It wasn't," the accompanying interpreter replied. "It must have opened recently." "Oh! I'd like to go over and ask!" Helpless, the interpreter could only squeeze into the crowd after her. The country had allowed these foreigners in so they could see China's reform and opening up firsthand. While they were certainly interested in grand spectacles, they were often far more drawn to the little details of everyday life. Thus, a blonde woman weaved her way through the gathering. The onlookers stared in surprise. *Whoa, a foreigner!* The young performer singing at the center looked over. *Gosh, a foreign guest!* Her voice rang out with even greater fervor. Eve reached the tea stalls and looked around at everything with curious eyes. Huang Zhanying and the others tensed instantly, exchanging nervous glances. *Good heavens, a foreigner! Do we need to denounce her?* "Hello, what are you doing here?" she asked. The interpreter translated her words into Chinese and explained, "This is an American reporter. Don't be nervous; just speak normally." "What... what should we say?" Huang Zhanying still lacked experience and stood there bewildered. Chen Qi had no choice but to step forward, waving with a smile. "Hello!" "You speak English?" Eve asked. "Self-taught, just a little bit." "Wow, that's already very impressive! Are you selling water?" Chen Qi sorely wanted to converse in English, but being too fluent would be unnatural, so he pretended not to understand fully and continued chatting through the interpreter. "This tea is called large-bowl tea. Though simple, it has a history of four hundred years. During the Ming dynasty, there were one hundred and thirty-two guilds, and selling large-bowl tea belonged to the guild of steamed and boiled provisions. In the Qing dynasty, a man named Pu Songling set up a tea stall at the village entrance just to collect folk stories..." "Keep it simple! Keep it simple! How am I supposed to translate all that?" the interpreter glared at him. "And stop talking nonsense! Since when is large-bowl tea so impressive?" "An international friend is standing right here—would I dare lie? Just because you don't know it doesn't mean it isn't real!" Channeling the fast-talking guide from that viral Dayanta video, Chen Qi unleashed a breathless stream of words. "We only started last month... Labor is an honorable pursuit for us. Now that the environment is opening up, we're eager to try new things and have already achieved modest success. "Today, we're holding a small event. These are all students—would you like to hear some traditional Chinese opera?" "I'd love to!" Eve nodded. "Quick, quick, quick!" Chen Qi waved his hands. "Rare opportunity—sing a passage for this silly foreigner!" The young performer who had gone first hurried over and sang a few lines with even greater tension. Eve could not understand the words, nor did she mind; she was simply fascinated by everything in this country. Chen Qi wasn't about to let the moment slip away. Such a golden opportunity had to be milked for all it was worth. He pushed Huang Zhanying forward. "Give her a bowl of tea!" "Will she like it?" "Who cares if she likes it! Hurry up and get over there!" Huang Zhanying had no choice but to pour a bowl of tea. "Thank you!" Eve responded in simple Chinese. She examined the large bowl, took a sip, and immediately scrunched her face. Shaking her head, she said, "The taste is quite strange. But thank you for your hospitality. May I take a few photos of you?" "Of course!" Once the photos were taken, the interpreter breathed a sigh of relief. Fortunately, no incident had occurred. He guided Eve away, but not before glancing back to glare at Chen Qi—this was an international guest, after all! "I got the shot, too!" Yu Jiajia bounded over gleefully. "That shot of her drinking tea will definitely make a publishable piece!" "What headline do you have in mind?" Chen Qi asked. "'American Friend Takes a Liking to Large-Bowl Tea'?" "Articles involving foreigners require special censorship, right? Then let's go with that." It was dreadfully bland, truth be told. If it were up to him, the headline would be: *Traditional Beijing Large-Bowl Tea Conquers American: Chugs a Whole Bowl in Two Gulps*! Such clickbait headlines were all too familiar from the future internet: *Chinese Roast Duck Moves German Father-in-Law to Tears, Devours Whole Bird in One Sitting; American Brother-in-Law Tries Chinese Buns for the First Time, Completely Conquered After Eating Five Straight*... They generated immense traffic. *I only wanted to use the opera performance to drum up some buzz. Who knew my luck would be this good, with a silly foreigner dropping right out of the sky? No need to worry now...* Chen Qi glanced toward the western side of the Arrow Tower. The tea stalls over there were also set up, but hardly anyone was visiting; the crowd had gathered on this side. Those vendors had it tough too, so he didn't want to play dirty. It was enough to build up his own momentum. Once they could no longer keep their business going, he would absorb them to expand his operation. Turning thirteen people into thirty-three would give them far better leverage to negotiate terms. As he discussed the article with Yu Jiajia, she still harbored a shred of journalistic conscience. "I feel like we're straying a bit from the truth." "Let me ask you: did the young performers come to put on a show?" "They did!" "Was it voluntary?" "Yes!" "Was there a foreigner present?" "There was!" "Did she enjoy herself?" "Yeah!" "So you see, you're merely selecting certain facts, and everything you write is entirely true. What's wrong with that?" He shrugged. "That's journalism!"