Song Yuzhang: Extra 15 - The Drizzling Rain Falls Silent [featuring Song Xiaosheng and Xiao Yingtao]
Spring passed into autumn. That year, Song Xiaosheng was fifteen, and Xiao Yingtao thirteen. The two were partners, and they had practiced skills and singing together for five years.
“Senior Brother, this is for you.”
Wrapped in an old handkerchief was a piece of sugar pastry. Xiao Yingtao held it up to his mouth. Song Xiaosheng lowered his head and swallowed the pastry in one bite, almost gulping it down whole. As he chewed, sweetness filled his mouth and stuck to his throat uncomfortably. Chewing, he said, “Ye Tao again?”
Xiao Yingtao shook her head. “Senior Brother Ding.”
Song Xiaosheng swallowed. “Ignore them.”
Xiao Yingtao nodded. She licked her fingers, savoring the lingering sweetness, her eyes narrowing in satisfaction and lingering greed.
Suddenly, something warm slipped down the back of her neck. “Ah!” she cried, hurriedly reaching into her clothes. Her hands fumbled—left hand catching what the right passed—until she finally caught what Song Xiaosheng had dropped down her collar.
She opened her palm. A shining silver dollar lay there. Xiao Yingtao’s mouth fell open in shock, but Song Xiaosheng quickly covered it.
“Don’t shout.”
She blinked rapidly and nodded. Once he released her, she whispered, “Senior Brother, where did you get a silver dollar?”
“Stole it.”
“Ah?”
Song Xiaosheng rubbed her hair. “Hide it well. It’s stolen goods—don’t let anyone find it.”
Xiao Yingtao quickly tucked the coin back into her clothes. Her little face flushed red and pale by turns, her big eyes blinking quickly as she lowered her voice. “Senior Brother, where did you steal it from?”
Song Xiaosheng’s mouth still felt cloyingly sweet. Back in the room, he drank a large ladle of cold water, then turned to tease the Xiao Yingtao who had followed him in. “What? You want to steal one too?”
“I wouldn’t steal,” Xiao Yingtao said, touching the spot where she had hidden the coin. “If someone comes looking for it, I should at least know what to say.”
Song Xiaosheng gazed at her.
In three years of training, he had suffered—and she had suffered the same. Her habit of crying had improved a lot. Yet her eyes were still the same—clear and clean, without a trace of malice. “If someone comes looking,” he said, “just say I stole it.”
Xiao Yingtao smiled. Now she had grown tall and graceful, already showing the shape of a young maiden. She lowered her head and traced circles on the ground with the tip of her shoe. When she saw that Song Xiaosheng said nothing, she lifted her face again and smiled at him.
Song Xiaosheng kept a straight face.
She wasn’t afraid—she kept smiling. Gradually, he couldn’t keep his stern expression anymore. His finger poked her lightly between the brows. “Silly girl.”
Xiao Yingtao giggled and leaned back shyly, her lips pressed into a sweet smile. “If I get caught, it’s fine. Senior Brother, you’re capable—you’ll find a way to rescue me. But if you get caught, I won’t have any way to save you.”
Song Xiaosheng laughed too. He had grown into the tall, upright form of a young man. His face had sharp lines; from brow to eyes he looked spirited and vivid. His eyes were especially bright—some of it a gift from heaven, some from his own relentless training. When he smiled, light scattered from his gaze. “So you’ve become clever.”
Xiao Yingtao pressed a hand over the silver dollar and revealed a row of fine white teeth. “I wasn’t stupid to begin with.”
Song Xiaosheng shook his head, scooping up another ladle of water. “I earned it. Keep it.”
He tossed the ladle aside, then patted her hair again. “Back to practice.”
Xiao Yingtao clutched the warm silver dollar against her chest. “Okay!” she chirped, skipping after him.
“Senior Brother, why are you giving the coin to me?”
“Who said I gave it to you? I told you to keep it for me.”
“What if I lose it?”
“Then spend it.”
“Ah?”
“If you want to eat something, buy it yourself,” Song Xiaosheng said, pulling a sword from the rack beside him. It was a good sword, old and genuine. When he drew it, it flashed with brilliant light. He spun it in a graceful flourish. “Don’t keep eating food other people give you.”
Xiao Yingtao crouched on the steps, her chin resting on her knees, her round face crumpling into a wide smile.
In three more years—maybe even two—they would be able to perform on stage together. She always looked forward to that day in her heart. She couldn’t quite imagine what it would be like, but she felt it would be wonderful: the day would be good, the weather would be good, everything would be good. When they stepped on stage together, the hall would burst with applause. They would become famous. After that, they would never have to worry about food or clothing again.
Pressing the silver dollar against her chest, Xiao Yingtao watched Song Xiaosheng practicing with the sword. Her eyes were full of his figure. Secretly, she felt pleased—so pleased she grew a little embarrassed, hiding the curve of her smile against her knees, her heart full of happiness.
Then, overnight, the good times scattered like smoke.
“Master, that’s impossible!”
“Enough!” the master roared, snatching up a bamboo board and striking the eldest disciple he had never had the heart to beat all these years. Hatred filled him so fiercely it felt as if his teeth might bite blood.
This was his fate. His foundation. His hope for restoring the glory of Zhilan Garden.
And now that hope was gone.
The thing he had feared most had arrived.
When Song Xiaosheng was twelve or thirteen, the master had already begun worrying. He watched carefully. Nothing happened. Another year passed—still nothing. The boy grew taller, his face changed. Either he simply hadn’t developed yet, or luck was on his side. Good, good—Heaven truly favored him. The master had finally relaxed.
Outside the room, Xiao Yingtao stood trembling with fear. She heard Master and Senior Brother arguing loudly inside. Her senior brother’s voice sounded strange—no longer like his own.
His voice was strained, roughened, losing the clear, moving tone it once had. Xiao Yingtao had not cried for a long time, but now tears suddenly spilled from her eyes like a broken string of beads. Xiao He, who had entered the troupe the same year as her, had been just like their senior brother. One day his voice had suddenly changed—and once it changed, it never changed back. The master abandoned him.
Leaning against the doorframe, Xiao Yingtao slowly slid down to the ground. She was afraid—so afraid she could only cry.
Song Xiaosheng burst out.
Xiao Yingtao chased after him through tears.
“Senior Brother…”
Song Xiaosheng was breathing hard, his fists clenched tight. Leaning against the wall, unwillingness filled his heart. “It’s nothing,” he said hoarsely. “After a while, I’ll recover.”
Xiao Yingtao wiped her tears with her sleeve and nodded again and again. “You will get better. Senior Brother, you definitely will. I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait until we perform on stage together.”
Song Xiaosheng practiced harder than ever.
Others were waiting to see him become a joke. He could not lose. He had to rise above them.
Xiao Yingtao practiced with him. Rain or wind, the senior brother and junior sister never stopped for a single day.
One year passed. He didn’t recover.
Two years passed. Still no recovery.
“You should partner with someone else,” Song Xiaosheng said calmly. “Don’t waste your time.”
Xiao Yingtao was fifteen now. She had grown beautiful—long black hair, a graceful figure, and a lovely voice. When she opened her mouth to sing, it spun a lingering tale. “Senior Brother, we promised,” she said. “We would perform on stage together. We would become famous together.”
Song Xiaosheng lifted his eyes. Xiao Yingtao’s eyes were red.
Two years had passed. Even a fool would know by now—he would never recover.
Song Xiaosheng gently stroked the top of her head. “Be good.”
Xiao Yingtao refused.
The master would not indulge her. He whipped her through her clothes with a willow switch. “Did you come here to be a young lady? Do you think you get to choose? Song Xiaosheng is finished—do you want to become useless with him too?!”
Xiao Yingtao clenched her teeth, refusing to cry out. Song Xiaosheng kicked the door open, snatched the willow switch from the master’s hand. The master glared furiously. Song Xiaosheng flicked the switch. Crack— He struck his own face with it. The handsome face split with a red mark. Xiao Yingtao was so shocked she forgot to cry. Song Xiaosheng snapped the switch in half and threw it to the ground. He kowtowed loudly to the master, then turned back. “Yingtao. Listen to Master.”
Xiao Yingtao changed partners.
Facing another face, when she opened her mouth to sing, the emotions in her eyes felt like they belonged to an entirely different play.
She sang badly. The master scolded her. Song Xiaosheng scolded her too.
“Sing with your heart. This is the only skill you have,” Song Xiaosheng said, wiping her tears with his sleeve. “Don’t delay any longer.”
Xiao Yingtao murmured “Mm.” She felt miserable too. It wasn’t on purpose. She truly couldn’t sing well anymore. Song Xiaosheng’s voice was gone—and it was as if they shared the same life. Every time she raised her voice, it felt like she was suffering his pain in his place.
Finally she stepped onto the stage. But it wasn’t with the person she had imagined. Nor in the scene she had imagined.
The performance was merely passable. Some people tossed rewards; some applauded. They praised her graceful figure, her beauty.
Nothing more. She knew herself that she hadn’t sung well.
The master scolded her every day until she walked around listless and dispirited. On stage, she became even more lifeless.
“I think your soul’s been hooked away by Song Xiaosheng,” the master cursed. “You worthless thing—”
The master jabbed the tip of his pipe against Xiao Yingtao’s forehead. Following the force, she stumbled back, stammering, unsure what to say.
Her soul—she didn’t even know where it had gone.
“Yingtao.”
“Mm?”
“Will you come with me?”
Song Xiaosheng stood with his hands hanging at his sides, staring at her sharply.
A glimmer of tears appeared in Xiao Yingtao’s eyes. “I will.”
“I’m going to become a thief. Will you still come?”
“I will.”
Song Xiaosheng pulled her into an embrace. Nestled in his arms, Xiao Yingtao smelled sweetness.
Rumors and idle gossip in the troupe grew more frequent. Xiao Yingtao wasn’t afraid. Song Xiaosheng was even less so. He might no longer be able to sing, but the junior disciples in the troupe still didn’t dare provoke him. The eldest senior brother was wicked—wicked to everyone except Xiao Yingtao.
“Master,” Song Xiaosheng knelt and kowtowed, “Yingtao is already my woman. She’s my wife. Please look after her. Your disciple is unfilial. After studying the art for so many years, I have no ability to take the stage. I’m grateful the troupe still gives me a bowl of food to eat, but I don’t want to spend my life begging. Master, I’m leaving. When I’ve made something of myself and risen above others, I’ll come back to honor you.”
“You wretched boy! You leave, and I still have to look after your wife…” The master, already very old, struck the disciple he cherished most. Tears streamed down his face. “You… your fate is thin.”
Song Xiaosheng left. He took his sword with him.
“Yingtao, wait for me.”
“Mm.” Xiao Yingtao nodded. “Senior Brother, I’ll wait for you.”
For the first half year after he left, no one dared gossip. When the New Year came and went, and Song Xiaosheng still hadn’t returned, people began telling Xiao Yingtao she had been deceived.
The eldest senior brother—a rotten seed. When he tricked others, it was only for food or money. But tricking you? That took real effort. He must have had bigger plans. You’ve simply been fooled!
Xiao Yingtao didn’t quite believe it. She asked the master when Senior Brother would return.
The master’s hair had turned mostly white. Smoking his water pipe, he exhaled puff after puff of smoke and waved his hand without answering.
Zhilan Garden had no prospects left. Each day it declined further. Even its name was almost gone.
—Old master, I’ve got a private performance. Will you take it? One night. Master Qian will pay ten silver dollars.
A private performance? …All right.
—Good, nice and straightforward. Then it’s settled. Have the girl from your troupe—Xiao Yingtao—come tomorrow night on time.
What? Xiao Yingtao? Th-that won’t do… Could we change to someone else? I have two male dan actors…
—Oh come now, old master, are you joking? Master Qian is paying ten silver dollars for Zhilan Garden for one night just to hear two male dan squeezing their throats to pretend?
Male dan aren’t pretending…
—Enough talk. Either Xiao Yingtao comes, or forget it. Qianqing Garden has two new female dan anyway…
…All right… I’ll take it.
The master lowered his face, his back bent. He could not raise his head. He could not straighten his spine. In his heart, he said, Xiaosheng, your fate is thin. Don’t blame me.
After one night, Xiao Yingtao returned. Her face was flushed red. She neither cried nor protested. She only blinked her big eyes and asked the master: “Master, did Senior Brother really deceive me? He’s not coming back, and he doesn’t want me anymore, right?”
The master said nothing. Carrying his pipe, he slowly walked away.
No one told her the answer. Xiao Yingtao didn’t know it herself.
Then one day, all of a sudden, Song Xiaosheng returned.
Xiao Yingtao was asleep with her hair in disarray when someone touched her face. She felt it but didn’t want to react. The fingers were rough, scraping slightly against her skin. When she opened her eyes, she saw a pair of eyes she hadn’t seen in a long time.
She froze.
“Senior Brother?”
Song Xiaosheng looked different. Where he had changed, she couldn’t say—but he had changed.
Xiao Yingtao didn’t care. She threw herself into his arms.
Song Xiaosheng said nothing. He only stroked the top of her head with his palm.
A year and a half had passed—not long, not short. They had lived together as senior brother and junior sister for eight years. Compared to that, this time apart seemed insignificant.
But the world never waits—not even for a single day.
“Senior Brother, where did you go?”
“A ghost place.”
“A ghost place?”
Song Xiaosheng’s hand rubbed her cheek. Xiao Yingtao realized his palm was rough too, crisscrossed with scars. She took his hand and lifted her face to look at him.
He stared at her intently. A thousand words rose to his lips but would not come out. Instead, he tugged at her clothes, covering her shoulder. “Aren’t you afraid of catching cold?”
Xiao Yingtao smiled. Her eyes were still clean. She had smiled like that at eight, and at eighteen she still smiled the same way.
Song Xiaosheng left her some money.
Holding the money, Xiao Yingtao felt afraid. “Senior Brother… you’re leaving again.”
“Before the New Year,” he said. “I’ll be back before the New Year.”
Fear still lingered on her face.
“Wait for me. When I return, I’ll marry you.” Song Xiaosheng pressed his forehead to hers. Xiao Yingtao lifted her face uncertainly. She saw that his eyes were red. “Really?” she whispered.
“Really.”
Song Xiaosheng left the city. On the road, he gave his sword to a traveling opera troupe he encountered. The troupe leader had a young apprentice—a delicate boy with clear features and a voice bright as a phoenix’s call. Their eyes met, and Song Xiaosheng saw in the boy’s gaze the same fierce determination to rise above others.
In the past year and a half he had done everything—run small businesses, sold medicinal herbs, traded tobacco. He made money, but none of it stayed in his hands. Sometimes soldiers, sometimes bandits—each time he was stripped clean. He fought them and suffered countless wounds, but it was useless. Alone, he could not fight against the world.
Song Xiaosheng went on. He thought: Forget it. Go back. Even if he had to beg or do hard labor.
He thought of Xiao Yingtao.
With Xiao Yingtao, he could let go of all the stubbornness he had held onto for years. He didn’t need to rise above others anymore. Even gritting his teeth, he could still support one Xiao Yingtao.
“Xiaosheng, without money, how do you expect me to live?” the master had once said, snapping his pipe in half. “Let me tell you the truth—even if you were here, I’d still have done it. What could you have done about it?”
“You think this sin is mine? In the end, it’s because you have no ability!”
“If you don’t make something of yourself, do you really think you can keep a home in this world?”
Then he would make something of himself.
An urgent campaign along the Huai River—kill one man and earn a hundred, kill ten and earn a thousand. Song Xiaosheng had trained for eight years. He hastily put on a soldier’s uniform. As the others hurried him along, he said quickly: “My hometown is Qingxi. If I die, send my compensation to Qingxi—Yeming Alley. To Xiao Yingtao.”
“All right, all right, hurry up—go!”
Song Xiaosheng rushed onto the battlefield.
He held no grand ideals of nation or heroism in his heart. He only wanted to earn fast money—clean, honest fast money—to return home and build a life.
“Hey, Auntie Zhang, what happened to the Xiao Yingtao who used to live here? The one from Zhilan Garden who later… you know…”
“She moved away. Not long ago. Why—looking for her?”
“No, no. Just asking.”
A figure hurried toward the alley entrance, taking a thin envelope with delight. “Give it to me—I’ll pass it to her.”
The envelope was tossed over. The man turned and walked away without another word.
He opened it eagerly like it was a treasure. His face fell. “What the hell? Only three silver dollars!”
He tossed the envelope aside in annoyance. Juggling the three gleaming coins in his hand, he swaggered down the bluestone street.
An autumn rainstorm fell with rumbling thunder. The envelope dropped to the ground, soaked by rainwater, blown and curled by the cold wind. When the drizzling rain finally stopped, no trace of it remained. The sky was washed clean and blue again. Another beautiful day.
Song Xiaosheng swallowed. “Ignore them.”
Xiao Yingtao nodded. She licked her fingers, savoring the lingering sweetness, her eyes narrowing in satisfaction and lingering greed.
Suddenly, something warm slipped down the back of her neck. “Ah!” she cried, hurriedly reaching into her clothes. Her hands fumbled—left hand catching what the right passed—until she finally caught what Song Xiaosheng had dropped down her collar.
She opened her palm. A shining silver dollar lay there. Xiao Yingtao’s mouth fell open in shock, but Song Xiaosheng quickly covered it.
“Don’t shout.”
She blinked rapidly and nodded. Once he released her, she whispered, “Senior Brother, where did you get a silver dollar?”
“Stole it.”
“Ah?”
Song Xiaosheng rubbed her hair. “Hide it well. It’s stolen goods—don’t let anyone find it.”
Xiao Yingtao quickly tucked the coin back into her clothes. Her little face flushed red and pale by turns, her big eyes blinking quickly as she lowered her voice. “Senior Brother, where did you steal it from?”
Song Xiaosheng’s mouth still felt cloyingly sweet. Back in the room, he drank a large ladle of cold water, then turned to tease the Xiao Yingtao who had followed him in. “What? You want to steal one too?”
“I wouldn’t steal,” Xiao Yingtao said, touching the spot where she had hidden the coin. “If someone comes looking for it, I should at least know what to say.”
Song Xiaosheng gazed at her.
In three years of training, he had suffered—and she had suffered the same. Her habit of crying had improved a lot. Yet her eyes were still the same—clear and clean, without a trace of malice. “If someone comes looking,” he said, “just say I stole it.”
Xiao Yingtao smiled. Now she had grown tall and graceful, already showing the shape of a young maiden. She lowered her head and traced circles on the ground with the tip of her shoe. When she saw that Song Xiaosheng said nothing, she lifted her face again and smiled at him.
Song Xiaosheng kept a straight face.
She wasn’t afraid—she kept smiling. Gradually, he couldn’t keep his stern expression anymore. His finger poked her lightly between the brows. “Silly girl.”
Xiao Yingtao giggled and leaned back shyly, her lips pressed into a sweet smile. “If I get caught, it’s fine. Senior Brother, you’re capable—you’ll find a way to rescue me. But if you get caught, I won’t have any way to save you.”
Song Xiaosheng laughed too. He had grown into the tall, upright form of a young man. His face had sharp lines; from brow to eyes he looked spirited and vivid. His eyes were especially bright—some of it a gift from heaven, some from his own relentless training. When he smiled, light scattered from his gaze. “So you’ve become clever.”
Xiao Yingtao pressed a hand over the silver dollar and revealed a row of fine white teeth. “I wasn’t stupid to begin with.”
Song Xiaosheng shook his head, scooping up another ladle of water. “I earned it. Keep it.”
He tossed the ladle aside, then patted her hair again. “Back to practice.”
Xiao Yingtao clutched the warm silver dollar against her chest. “Okay!” she chirped, skipping after him.
“Senior Brother, why are you giving the coin to me?”
“Who said I gave it to you? I told you to keep it for me.”
“What if I lose it?”
“Then spend it.”
“Ah?”
“If you want to eat something, buy it yourself,” Song Xiaosheng said, pulling a sword from the rack beside him. It was a good sword, old and genuine. When he drew it, it flashed with brilliant light. He spun it in a graceful flourish. “Don’t keep eating food other people give you.”
Xiao Yingtao crouched on the steps, her chin resting on her knees, her round face crumpling into a wide smile.
In three more years—maybe even two—they would be able to perform on stage together. She always looked forward to that day in her heart. She couldn’t quite imagine what it would be like, but she felt it would be wonderful: the day would be good, the weather would be good, everything would be good. When they stepped on stage together, the hall would burst with applause. They would become famous. After that, they would never have to worry about food or clothing again.
Pressing the silver dollar against her chest, Xiao Yingtao watched Song Xiaosheng practicing with the sword. Her eyes were full of his figure. Secretly, she felt pleased—so pleased she grew a little embarrassed, hiding the curve of her smile against her knees, her heart full of happiness.
Then, overnight, the good times scattered like smoke.
“Master, that’s impossible!”
“Enough!” the master roared, snatching up a bamboo board and striking the eldest disciple he had never had the heart to beat all these years. Hatred filled him so fiercely it felt as if his teeth might bite blood.
This was his fate. His foundation. His hope for restoring the glory of Zhilan Garden.
And now that hope was gone.
The thing he had feared most had arrived.
When Song Xiaosheng was twelve or thirteen, the master had already begun worrying. He watched carefully. Nothing happened. Another year passed—still nothing. The boy grew taller, his face changed. Either he simply hadn’t developed yet, or luck was on his side. Good, good—Heaven truly favored him. The master had finally relaxed.
Outside the room, Xiao Yingtao stood trembling with fear. She heard Master and Senior Brother arguing loudly inside. Her senior brother’s voice sounded strange—no longer like his own.
His voice was strained, roughened, losing the clear, moving tone it once had. Xiao Yingtao had not cried for a long time, but now tears suddenly spilled from her eyes like a broken string of beads. Xiao He, who had entered the troupe the same year as her, had been just like their senior brother. One day his voice had suddenly changed—and once it changed, it never changed back. The master abandoned him.
Leaning against the doorframe, Xiao Yingtao slowly slid down to the ground. She was afraid—so afraid she could only cry.
Song Xiaosheng burst out.
Xiao Yingtao chased after him through tears.
“Senior Brother…”
Song Xiaosheng was breathing hard, his fists clenched tight. Leaning against the wall, unwillingness filled his heart. “It’s nothing,” he said hoarsely. “After a while, I’ll recover.”
Xiao Yingtao wiped her tears with her sleeve and nodded again and again. “You will get better. Senior Brother, you definitely will. I’ll wait for you. I’ll wait until we perform on stage together.”
Song Xiaosheng practiced harder than ever.
Others were waiting to see him become a joke. He could not lose. He had to rise above them.
Xiao Yingtao practiced with him. Rain or wind, the senior brother and junior sister never stopped for a single day.
One year passed. He didn’t recover.
Two years passed. Still no recovery.
“You should partner with someone else,” Song Xiaosheng said calmly. “Don’t waste your time.”
Xiao Yingtao was fifteen now. She had grown beautiful—long black hair, a graceful figure, and a lovely voice. When she opened her mouth to sing, it spun a lingering tale. “Senior Brother, we promised,” she said. “We would perform on stage together. We would become famous together.”
Song Xiaosheng lifted his eyes. Xiao Yingtao’s eyes were red.
Two years had passed. Even a fool would know by now—he would never recover.
Song Xiaosheng gently stroked the top of her head. “Be good.”
Xiao Yingtao refused.
The master would not indulge her. He whipped her through her clothes with a willow switch. “Did you come here to be a young lady? Do you think you get to choose? Song Xiaosheng is finished—do you want to become useless with him too?!”
Xiao Yingtao clenched her teeth, refusing to cry out. Song Xiaosheng kicked the door open, snatched the willow switch from the master’s hand. The master glared furiously. Song Xiaosheng flicked the switch. Crack— He struck his own face with it. The handsome face split with a red mark. Xiao Yingtao was so shocked she forgot to cry. Song Xiaosheng snapped the switch in half and threw it to the ground. He kowtowed loudly to the master, then turned back. “Yingtao. Listen to Master.”
Xiao Yingtao changed partners.
Facing another face, when she opened her mouth to sing, the emotions in her eyes felt like they belonged to an entirely different play.
She sang badly. The master scolded her. Song Xiaosheng scolded her too.
“Sing with your heart. This is the only skill you have,” Song Xiaosheng said, wiping her tears with his sleeve. “Don’t delay any longer.”
Xiao Yingtao murmured “Mm.” She felt miserable too. It wasn’t on purpose. She truly couldn’t sing well anymore. Song Xiaosheng’s voice was gone—and it was as if they shared the same life. Every time she raised her voice, it felt like she was suffering his pain in his place.
Finally she stepped onto the stage. But it wasn’t with the person she had imagined. Nor in the scene she had imagined.
The performance was merely passable. Some people tossed rewards; some applauded. They praised her graceful figure, her beauty.
Nothing more. She knew herself that she hadn’t sung well.
The master scolded her every day until she walked around listless and dispirited. On stage, she became even more lifeless.
“I think your soul’s been hooked away by Song Xiaosheng,” the master cursed. “You worthless thing—”
The master jabbed the tip of his pipe against Xiao Yingtao’s forehead. Following the force, she stumbled back, stammering, unsure what to say.
Her soul—she didn’t even know where it had gone.
“Yingtao.”
“Mm?”
“Will you come with me?”
Song Xiaosheng stood with his hands hanging at his sides, staring at her sharply.
A glimmer of tears appeared in Xiao Yingtao’s eyes. “I will.”
“I’m going to become a thief. Will you still come?”
“I will.”
Song Xiaosheng pulled her into an embrace. Nestled in his arms, Xiao Yingtao smelled sweetness.
Rumors and idle gossip in the troupe grew more frequent. Xiao Yingtao wasn’t afraid. Song Xiaosheng was even less so. He might no longer be able to sing, but the junior disciples in the troupe still didn’t dare provoke him. The eldest senior brother was wicked—wicked to everyone except Xiao Yingtao.
“Master,” Song Xiaosheng knelt and kowtowed, “Yingtao is already my woman. She’s my wife. Please look after her. Your disciple is unfilial. After studying the art for so many years, I have no ability to take the stage. I’m grateful the troupe still gives me a bowl of food to eat, but I don’t want to spend my life begging. Master, I’m leaving. When I’ve made something of myself and risen above others, I’ll come back to honor you.”
“You wretched boy! You leave, and I still have to look after your wife…” The master, already very old, struck the disciple he cherished most. Tears streamed down his face. “You… your fate is thin.”
Song Xiaosheng left. He took his sword with him.
“Yingtao, wait for me.”
“Mm.” Xiao Yingtao nodded. “Senior Brother, I’ll wait for you.”
For the first half year after he left, no one dared gossip. When the New Year came and went, and Song Xiaosheng still hadn’t returned, people began telling Xiao Yingtao she had been deceived.
The eldest senior brother—a rotten seed. When he tricked others, it was only for food or money. But tricking you? That took real effort. He must have had bigger plans. You’ve simply been fooled!
Xiao Yingtao didn’t quite believe it. She asked the master when Senior Brother would return.
The master’s hair had turned mostly white. Smoking his water pipe, he exhaled puff after puff of smoke and waved his hand without answering.
Zhilan Garden had no prospects left. Each day it declined further. Even its name was almost gone.
—Old master, I’ve got a private performance. Will you take it? One night. Master Qian will pay ten silver dollars.
A private performance? …All right.
—Good, nice and straightforward. Then it’s settled. Have the girl from your troupe—Xiao Yingtao—come tomorrow night on time.
What? Xiao Yingtao? Th-that won’t do… Could we change to someone else? I have two male dan actors…
—Oh come now, old master, are you joking? Master Qian is paying ten silver dollars for Zhilan Garden for one night just to hear two male dan squeezing their throats to pretend?
Male dan aren’t pretending…
—Enough talk. Either Xiao Yingtao comes, or forget it. Qianqing Garden has two new female dan anyway…
…All right… I’ll take it.
The master lowered his face, his back bent. He could not raise his head. He could not straighten his spine. In his heart, he said, Xiaosheng, your fate is thin. Don’t blame me.
After one night, Xiao Yingtao returned. Her face was flushed red. She neither cried nor protested. She only blinked her big eyes and asked the master: “Master, did Senior Brother really deceive me? He’s not coming back, and he doesn’t want me anymore, right?”
The master said nothing. Carrying his pipe, he slowly walked away.
No one told her the answer. Xiao Yingtao didn’t know it herself.
Then one day, all of a sudden, Song Xiaosheng returned.
Xiao Yingtao was asleep with her hair in disarray when someone touched her face. She felt it but didn’t want to react. The fingers were rough, scraping slightly against her skin. When she opened her eyes, she saw a pair of eyes she hadn’t seen in a long time.
She froze.
“Senior Brother?”
Song Xiaosheng looked different. Where he had changed, she couldn’t say—but he had changed.
Xiao Yingtao didn’t care. She threw herself into his arms.
Song Xiaosheng said nothing. He only stroked the top of her head with his palm.
A year and a half had passed—not long, not short. They had lived together as senior brother and junior sister for eight years. Compared to that, this time apart seemed insignificant.
But the world never waits—not even for a single day.
“Senior Brother, where did you go?”
“A ghost place.”
“A ghost place?”
Song Xiaosheng’s hand rubbed her cheek. Xiao Yingtao realized his palm was rough too, crisscrossed with scars. She took his hand and lifted her face to look at him.
He stared at her intently. A thousand words rose to his lips but would not come out. Instead, he tugged at her clothes, covering her shoulder. “Aren’t you afraid of catching cold?”
Xiao Yingtao smiled. Her eyes were still clean. She had smiled like that at eight, and at eighteen she still smiled the same way.
Song Xiaosheng left her some money.
Holding the money, Xiao Yingtao felt afraid. “Senior Brother… you’re leaving again.”
“Before the New Year,” he said. “I’ll be back before the New Year.”
Fear still lingered on her face.
“Wait for me. When I return, I’ll marry you.” Song Xiaosheng pressed his forehead to hers. Xiao Yingtao lifted her face uncertainly. She saw that his eyes were red. “Really?” she whispered.
“Really.”
Song Xiaosheng left the city. On the road, he gave his sword to a traveling opera troupe he encountered. The troupe leader had a young apprentice—a delicate boy with clear features and a voice bright as a phoenix’s call. Their eyes met, and Song Xiaosheng saw in the boy’s gaze the same fierce determination to rise above others.
In the past year and a half he had done everything—run small businesses, sold medicinal herbs, traded tobacco. He made money, but none of it stayed in his hands. Sometimes soldiers, sometimes bandits—each time he was stripped clean. He fought them and suffered countless wounds, but it was useless. Alone, he could not fight against the world.
Song Xiaosheng went on. He thought: Forget it. Go back. Even if he had to beg or do hard labor.
He thought of Xiao Yingtao.
With Xiao Yingtao, he could let go of all the stubbornness he had held onto for years. He didn’t need to rise above others anymore. Even gritting his teeth, he could still support one Xiao Yingtao.
“Xiaosheng, without money, how do you expect me to live?” the master had once said, snapping his pipe in half. “Let me tell you the truth—even if you were here, I’d still have done it. What could you have done about it?”
“You think this sin is mine? In the end, it’s because you have no ability!”
“If you don’t make something of yourself, do you really think you can keep a home in this world?”
Then he would make something of himself.
An urgent campaign along the Huai River—kill one man and earn a hundred, kill ten and earn a thousand. Song Xiaosheng had trained for eight years. He hastily put on a soldier’s uniform. As the others hurried him along, he said quickly: “My hometown is Qingxi. If I die, send my compensation to Qingxi—Yeming Alley. To Xiao Yingtao.”
“All right, all right, hurry up—go!”
Song Xiaosheng rushed onto the battlefield.
He held no grand ideals of nation or heroism in his heart. He only wanted to earn fast money—clean, honest fast money—to return home and build a life.
“Hey, Auntie Zhang, what happened to the Xiao Yingtao who used to live here? The one from Zhilan Garden who later… you know…”
“She moved away. Not long ago. Why—looking for her?”
“No, no. Just asking.”
A figure hurried toward the alley entrance, taking a thin envelope with delight. “Give it to me—I’ll pass it to her.”
The envelope was tossed over. The man turned and walked away without another word.
He opened it eagerly like it was a treasure. His face fell. “What the hell? Only three silver dollars!”
He tossed the envelope aside in annoyance. Juggling the three gleaming coins in his hand, he swaggered down the bluestone street.
An autumn rainstorm fell with rumbling thunder. The envelope dropped to the ground, soaked by rainwater, blown and curled by the cold wind. When the drizzling rain finally stopped, no trace of it remained. The sky was washed clean and blue again. Another beautiful day.
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