In past years, whenever the Lunar New Year rolled around, Uncle Fang’s opera troupe would set up a stage in Baijia Village to put on performances and entertain the villagers for a day. The villagers amused themselves by watching plays, listening to tunes, and whoever could sing would jump onto the stage to belt out a few lines and give everyone a good laugh. Poor as they were, they still knew how to enjoy themselves.
This year, however, Uncle Fang had completely lost that festive spirit. From the first day of the Lunar New Year to the fifth, he either sat at home in total silence or went out to Fourth Master Liang to share his gloomy thoughts, drink sullen drinks, and smoke worried cigarettes.
By the sixth day of the first lunar month, the weather had grown genuinely warm, and the cold wind biting against the face no longer hurt like a knife.
Fourth Master Liang’s cold had recovered for the most part, and after breakfast, Uncle Fang came over to chat with him. Unconsciously, their conversation drifted once again to the search for Huizi.
"Have you asked around? Is there any movement from the Zhang family in the mountains?" Fourth Master Liang habitually and lightly tapped his pipe, then slowly raised his head to give Uncle Fang a look.
Uncle Fang shook his head blankly. "Ever since Uncle Qiao passed away, I’ve felt completely stifled inside and haven't gone out to do anything. I was planning... to make a trip into the mountains in a few days."
Fourth Master Liang took a puff of his pipe and said slowly, "The person is already gone, what's the use of thinking about him now! Finding Huizi as soon as possible is what matters."
Uncle Fang didn't speak again; he silently pinched out the half-burned cigarette smoldering between his fingers.
All nine of Fang’s children had put on new clothes and new shoes. Led by Fang Yi, they stood in a neat row under the thatched eaves, soaking up the winter sun. Although the "new" clothes were simply old clothes that had been washed and remade, and the new shoes pieced together from scraps, they were still better than the old ones.
After breakfast, Auntie Li went to visit Auntie Liu and Qiao Xue. On her way back home, she caught sight of the scene under her own eaves from afar. This was the first time she had ever seen her nine children lined up so neatly in a row to bask in the sun, and she couldn't help daydreaming: how wonderful it would be if this moment could be captured with a camera and kept as a keepsake! Of course, she had never actually seen a camera; she had only heard from others that such a magical thing existed in the world, capable of holding time still.
When Jiu'er caught sight of her mother, she ran over, hugged Auntie Li’s leg, and acted coquettishly. After a brief bout of frolicking, Fang Ju ran over, scooped up Jiu'er, and carried her into the house to play.
As if suddenly remembering something, Auntie Li hurried Fang Yi aside and said, "I just went to visit Auntie Liu and Qiao Xue. They're both doing all right, but they're still deeply grieved, with no heart to eat, drink, or do any chores. Run over there and help Auntie Liu carry a few buckets of water back from the river. I noticed there isn't a single drop left in their water vat."
Fang Yi nodded. "All right, I'll go right now." With that, he turned and headed toward the Qiao household.
Sunlight beamed straight down from the sky, turning the village into a pattern of black and white. Along the paths touched by the sun, the mud had already dried; but in the corners shielded from its rays, thick patches of white snow still piled up.
Fang Yi walked with lowered head along the winding, narrow path, heavy with worry, his steps gradually slowing. He was no longer like he used to be—whenever he went to find Qiao Xue to talk, his heart would brim with genuine joy. He loved seeing Qiao Xue’s sweet smile. But ever since Uncle Qiao passed away, Qiao Xue hadn't even stepped out of her front door, spending all her time shut away with the flowers and plants in front of her yard.
Perhaps she felt that only those flowers and plants could truly understand her thoughts. Lost in such idle musings, Fang Yi unconsciously arrived at a fork in the road.
"Hey, young fellow, let me ask you: which way is the Fang family in Baijia Village?"
Just as Fang Yi lifted his head, a person suddenly appeared right before him, giving him a huge start. The man was tall, dark-skinned, lean, and beaming all over with a wide smile. He wore a set of clean, crisp clothes.
"You're looking for the Fang family? Are you here to hire the Fang Family Opera Troupe?" Fang Yi asked directly, having already guessed seven or eight parts of it in his mind.
"You're a sharp young man! That's right, I'm here to find the Fang Family Opera Troupe to come put on grand plays for us in the mountains. This is my first time in Baijia Village; would you mind showing me the way?" The man's face radiated joy and anticipation.
Fang Yi chuckled softly to himself, thinking that if someone wanted a guide to the Fang Family Opera Troupe, they had certainly found the right person.
Turning left and right, Fang Yi led the man to his doorstep in no time at all. He shouted out from outside the courtyard, and Auntie Li hurried out to greet them warmly.
"Ah, so this is your home!" Hearing Fang Yi shout into the house, "Ma, come out quick! We have a guest—", the man understood everything in an instant.
Fang Yi flashed a smile at the guest, then turned and ran over to Fourth Master Liang's place to inform Uncle Fang.
Uncle Fang pondered to himself: people from the mountains want to set up a stage? Could it be that someone from the Zhang family has returned to visit relatives? His steps immediately quickened as he hurried home.
After meeting, the two exchanged a few polite pleasantries. To everyone's surprise, the man indeed declared himself to be from the Zhang family of Zhangjiazhuang in the mountains, and that his name was Zhang Qiang. A family member who had been separated from them for many years had traveled all the way from Jiangnan to visit relatives, and they wished to invite the troupe to perform for a few days to celebrate properly.
Uncle Fang was overjoyed, so excited he was practically speechless. He hurriedly invited Zhang Qiang to sit down and asked for the detailed arrangements. In the end, the two agreed upon dates spanning from the tenth to the twelfth day of the first lunar month, lasting three days in all. The Fang Family Opera Troupe would set off for the mountains on the afternoon of the ninth.
Beaming with delight, Uncle Fang bowed as he poured tea and offered cigarettes, repeatedly insisting that Zhang Qiang stay for a midday meal before leaving.
Zhang Qiang waved his hands frantically, shaking his head like a rattling drum. "Thank you for your generous hospitality! There's still a pile of things waiting for me to handle at home. Besides, I have over thirty miles of road to cover, and traveling mountain paths after dark is no good—there were wolves prowling in the mountains not long ago."
Seeing that Zhang Qiang was determined to leave, Uncle Fang had no choice but to let him go so as not to delay his return journey. The couple walked Zhang Qiang all the way to the main road at the south end of the village.
Zhangjiazhuang nestled in the mountains south of Baijia Village, separated by a distance of over thirty miles. Normally, the two villages had very little contact. It was only because there was a tall temple atop the high mountain—the Dragon King Temple—that men, women, and old folk from dozens of nearby villages went up the mountain every year to burn incense and worship Buddha, frequently passing by Zhangjiazhuang, which sat closer to the sanctuary. As the years passed, Zhangjiazhuang gradually established closer ties with the villages outside the mountains.
Zhangjiazhuang sat deep within the mountains, where farmland was scarce and rocky slopes abounded. People relied on the mountains when living near them, and on water when dwelling beside it. To survive better, many of the able-bodied men had learned to hunt; they farmed the land during busy seasons and headed up into the mountains to hunt during the slack times. Compared to Baijia Village, the current standard of living among the villagers in Zhangjiazhuang was considerably more affluent.
After Zhang Qiang left, Uncle Fang began counting down the days at home on his fingers. He led the six troupe members in tidying up the costumes, gongs, and drums while earnestly rehearsing their repertoire.
Seeing the opera troupe bustling with lively activity, Fang Yi's curiosity suddenly surged, and he quietly followed along to peek from the sidelines. Spotting one of the martial artists on stage endlessly twirling a Golden-Hooped Rod that flew up and down in a dazzling blur, he was completely transfixed.
A notion quietly took root in Fang Yi's mind. During a moment when that martial artist stepped away to use the latrine, Fang Yi crept over, bounded onto the stage, picked up the Golden-Hooped Rod, and began to swing it about with a rather convincing flair.
"Bravo!"
Just as Fang Yi was playing to his heart's content, a loud shout suddenly rang out from behind him, nearly startling him into dropping the rod. Turning his head in a panic, he saw that the martial artist had returned.
"Young Master Fang, you've got some nerve! Daring to steal secrets of the trade behind our backs!" the martial artist pointed right at Fang Yi's nose, scolding him in a low, stern voice.
"Don't... please don't tell my dad. You know how his temper is," Fang Yi pleaded in a soft, bitter whisper, his face twisting into a grimace.
"Not telling him is fine. But you have to agree to one condition: come with us to Zhangjiazhuang to perform on stage. How about it?" The martial artist leaned in close, his face right up against Fang Yi's.
"Huh? This... my dad definitely won't agree." Fang Yi felt deeply conflicted; although he desperately wanted to go out and see the world, he knew his father would never allow him to step foot onto an opera stage.
Despite beating drums, clashing gongs, singing, and performing on stage himself, Uncle Fang never wanted any of his children to pursue this trade in the future. In his eyes, performing opera was a lowly occupation, and actors were mere jesters meant only to amuse the audience like trained monkeys. To put food on the table, he could swallow his pride and dance about on stage, but his children were destined for a much better path.