The Grand Opera Begins

The sky was a hazy gray. Before the morning sun could rise, the gully was already shrouded in a layer of gray-blue mist. A cold wind swept across Daliangzi Village, tucked away in the mountain gully, and the corpse stench that could not be dispelled rolled on the wind, spilling over the high ground at the mountain pass. The dilapidated houses atop the high ground had their courtyard gates shut tight. Before the gatehouse, red cloth hung all around the stage that had been set up. The strips of red cloth danced in the wind, lending the scene a touch of desolate beauty. In the small courtyard, Chang Dafeng drew some water and washed his face, then walked over to the clothesline and felt the garments hanging on it. His face broke into a smile. "A little more airing, and they'll all be dry by noon." Just then Ding Ling came out of the house and greeted him in passing. "Troupe leader, are the opera costumes dry yet?" "Almost." Chang Dafeng poked his head out from behind one of the costumes, the smile still on his face. "It won't hold us up from putting them on this afternoon. Once dusk passes, it'll be the perfect time to start the opera." These past few days, the troupe leader's mood had been unusually full and eager. He seemed to have been waiting all along for this fine opera after dusk today. After Ding Ling returned to the opera troupe with Chang Dafeng, she had spent two or three days learning all the important arias of Zhong Kui Marries Off His Sister, and privately practiced Wu Family Slope with Zhou Yang as well. Compared with the former, Wu Family Slope—that opera-vocal song—was actually much easier to practice. "There are two of us—one playing Zhong Kui, one playing Zhong Mei. So why are there three costumes here?" Looking at those brightly colored garments, Ding Ling blinked and asked Chang Dafeng. "Zhong Kui is a great deity who subdues demons, so naturally he must have attendants at his side to display his majesty and standing," Chang Dafeng said with a smile. "That last costume is meant for his attendant." Ding Ling kept her face neutral and pressed on. "But shouldn't Zhong Kui's attendant be a comic role—some ghost, spirit, or goblin? The costume you hung out has back-banners and a padded jacket... That's plainly the garb of a martial painted-face role, a general. There's even a python embroidered on it—this belongs to a military officer of no low rank." "Now there are only the two of us, so we can't put on such a proper, formal show. This general's costume is the only one left in the trunk, so we'll just make do with it!" Chang Dafeng said. "Sometimes, as long as the meaning comes across, that's enough. There's no need to get everything perfect to the last hair." "That's true." Ding Ling finally nodded, but then asked again, "But right now there are only the two of us. This third costume—who are you going to dress in it?" Chang Dafeng answered without missing a beat. "I made a straw effigy. When the time comes, I'll just put this costume on the straw effigy. My warding spirit will possess it and let it be your attendant, to guard you." "You really do think of everything, troupe leader!" Ding Ling exclaimed in admiration. Chang Dafeng answered with a face full of smiles. The two of them, one old and one young, exchanged a look; there were things they both understood without saying aloud. Though they were to raise the stage and perform together tonight, each still had their own designs. Zhong Kui Marries Off His Sister was merely the outer skin of tonight's opera; beneath it, each of them had another opera to perform. Ding Ling turned and went into the woodshed to cook that day's food. By the time she carried the salt porridge out of the woodshed, Chang Dafeng had already opened the courtyard gate wide. "Troupe leader, your bowl of porridge is on the stove—come and get it yourself." Cradling the thick, steaming porridge, Ding Ling called out to Chang Dafeng. The large bowl was thick and heavy, but it did nothing to keep out the heat. Yet holding this big bowl of porridge, Ding Ling didn't find it scalding. On her seemingly slender palms, calluses had long since spread everywhere. With those layers of callus to shield her, a bowl of porridge couldn't burn her. Having greeted the troupe leader, Ding Ling made to go inside and eat. A stench drifted outside the house, enough to turn anyone's stomach, so that there was no eating in peace out there at all. By comparison, inside the house was much better. "No rush to eat." Chang Dafeng shook his head and stopped Ding Ling. He got up from a large stone roller, led her outside the courtyard, and pointed at the stage hung with red. "When darkness falls and we start the opera, I'll have the warding spirit be your attendant, and it will come up onto this stage with you. You just finish singing 'Pink Butterfly' and firmly establish the identity of the Zhong Kui you play—let the opera channel the divine. "After that, come into the courtyard. I'll be dressed as Zhong Mei, waiting for you in the main hall. We'll sing a duet, and then you'll lead me out the door, down off the mound, and keep walking toward the riverside we went to a couple of days ago— "If all goes smoothly, when we reach that bridge by the river, the world outside should appear on the far side of the bridge. Then the two of us can make our escape. This plan—you've got it memorized, haven't you?" Every day when she learned opera from Chang Dafeng, Ding Ling had to hear him go over this plan several times, so she already knew it by heart. And even if she occasionally slipped up, Zhou Yang would remind her from the side. But now she still listened carefully to his words and nodded. "I've got it all memorized." "Good." Chang Dafeng nodded too. "Tonight, the dead in Daliangzi Village who carry the ghost rhythm will all be driven by that ghost rhythm to come before the stage and watch the opera. Once the gongs and drums sound here for the opera to begin, the dead of the village will gather here one after another. You must hold steady—don't let that ghost rhythm ram into you and make you forget what you're supposed to act and sing!" "Is the opera ghost mixed in among those corpses too?" Ding Ling asked. "Yes..." Chang Dafeng's expression turned grave. "That's why I need you to know this opera by heart, without a single mistake. When the time comes, we can only rely on this opera spirit-communion skill to entrance it. If it becomes completely lost in the opera, then we'll have our way out." "I'll sing through the opera a few more times in a bit," Ding Ling replied. ... The sun sank below the mountain, and the sky gradually darkened. Lanterns were lit atop the high ground, scorching the night red. The strips of red cloth tied to the pillars of the stage lent a touch of liveliness to this dead-silent night. The gongs and drums from behind the curtain spread into the night, resounding through every household of Daliangzi Village. "Dong-dong-qiang, dong-dong-qiang, dong-qiang dong-qiang dong-dong-qiang!" These gongs and drums, beaten to a certain rhythm, were like a secret signal. The "people" who heard this burst of gongs and drums naturally understood the signal and came converging from every direction. Zhou Yang hid behind the curtain with Ding Ling. He watched Ding Ling—dressed as Zhong Kui once more—sitting on a stool, beating the gong and drum. The rhythm of those gongs and drums was actually exactly the same as the promotional gongs and drums the itinerant opera troupes had beaten to announce a show before it began, which he had heard as a child. The performers used gongs and drums to remind the villagers that the grand opera was about to begin, and to hurry over and gather a crowd. Not far from Ding Ling, the straw effigy—fitted with back-banners and clad in helmet and armor—stood rigid. A cold, bone-piercing air emanated from it. On the straw effigy's "face" was pasted a piece of yellow paper. Chang Dafeng had even thoughtfully painted a set of features—eyes, ears, nose, and mouth—onto the yellow paper with a brush. Attached to this straw effigy was Chang Dafeng's Rest Door warding spirit: Daole. "Sir, are you bored? If you're bored, let's talk a while." As she beat the gongs and drums, Ding Ling whispered to Zhou Yang in her heart. Zhou Yang replied, "I'm not bored. What time do you think it is? Focus on your task." "I know what I'm doing, sir." Ding Ling gave a sly giggle. "Sir, you still haven't told me where your home is. I've asked you several times, and you never say." Hearing her question, Zhou Yang paused a moment, then said, "If you can escape with your life this time and get out of this ghost village, I'll tell you where my home is." "All right!" Ding Ling answered, suddenly energized. She wanted to talk with Zhou Yang a while longer, when a cold wind suddenly stirred the curtain up front— A thicker reek of corpse stench came on the wind! Ding Ling went rigid. Through her eyes, Zhou Yang saw that beyond the curtain—now blown open into a gap by the wind—three or four figures were coming up before the stage, carrying stools. The "people" stopped before the stage, set down their stools, and sat down in a row. Among the four, the tallest was also enormously bloated and fat. Its greasy hair was caked with pus-green fluid, and it peered toward behind the curtain out of two pitch-black eye sockets—Zhou Yang nearly locked eyes with it. Luckily, before Zhou Yang could shift his gaze, it turned its head first and, grinning, spoke to the long-haired woman beside it. It opened its mouth in a grin, the corners stretching all the way to its ears. Pus-green corpse water dribbled from its mouth. The woman beside it nodded repeatedly in response to the tall man's words. Each time she nodded a little too vigorously, her head would slump straight down, and she had to prop it up with a hand. The two children beside the woman could no longer hold back their restless nature. Seizing the moment while their parents were talking, they had already lifted their bottoms off their seats and were chasing each other about the open ground before the stage. Children love to romp and play, and are always leaving things behind. Every so often they would run off losing a leg or leave a hand behind, so they would stop and fit the limb back into place. As this family of four settled into their seats before the stage, the villagers came up onto the mound one after another, bringing their families and carrying stools. The opera gradually drew a crowd. The villagers sat gathered before the stage, laughing and jesting with one another. But they only went through the motions of frolicking; not a sound came from their mouths. The sight of the villagers frolicking, against the unusually cold and silent air, made this place seem all the more ghastly and terrifying. The corpse stench that pervaded the air had all but solidified. To be caught in the midst of it was already a nightmare.