Today, I want to tell the story of the courtesans at the flower houses during the late Qing and early Republic periods. In Lezhou, by the banks of the current Leshui River, the sounds of music and laughter echo like a Lantern Festival every night, with guests that can be considered gentry and officials gathering all around…
Everyone has watched enough dramas depicting brothels, but by today’s standards, there are no intricate scenes, nor do they delve into the inside stories of that time. However, Qi Shejiang is different. Having traveled the streets over eighty years ago, he would go to the potteries at night to perform and earn money, having seen a lot. This piece is an old tale, but he has his own details to supplement it, making it incredibly authentic.
Yet, just a few minutes in, Zhang Yue suddenly interrupted Qi Shejiang, saying, “Wait a moment.” Everyone looked at him; it was such an exciting moment. They felt a bit anxious; suddenly interrupting someone’s performance isn’t ideal. Zhang Yue asked Qi Shejiang, “How many parts does this story have in total?” The crowd was confused. Qi Shejiang, seeing that he couldn’t hide it anymore, looked at the director and said, “Director Liu asked me to say this; it has a total of thirteen parts…”
In an instant, everyone grabbed whatever they could to hit the director, shouting, “Are you lacking in ethics?” They were torn between continuing to listen or missing the highlight, where the courtesan’s tips on selecting clients for her girls would be revealed.
But if they did continue, from their experience, they all knew there would definitely be a suspenseful ending! …They might as well beat up the director first!
Chapter Twenty-Three “Returning to the Countryside” concluded this season in a “harmonious” atmosphere. Even though everyone knew the director was trying to create difficulty, so what? They had already listened halfway through. This made this season of “Returning to the Countryside” particularly unique; usually at the season finale, everyone pretends to be reluctant, reflecting on the past and feeling deeply emotional.
But this season was different; it ended with beating the director. Yet even after the audience watched, they would still yell: “Well done!” Dang it, purposely dangling the story to tease the audience was one thing, but playing around with thirteen parts at the season’s end? Who knows if it could be wrapped up next season!
After finishing the recording here, Qi Shejiang officially began his work on “Yuan Yang Kou,” undergoing a series of training sessions before filming began. According to Tang Shuangqin’s arrangements, there were both cultural classes and professional training for the actors, with different courses, some being together for classes. After all, some were film and television actors, while others had backgrounds in opera, like Qi Shejiang.
In the area of Bian opera, Qi Shejiang, along with several other actors, studied directly with Luo Xia, and her disciples also acted as teaching assistants. Regarding the “qiao gong” that appears in the film, Tang Shuangqin, Luo Xia, and Qi Shejiang had discussions. Qiao gong was introduced previously; it was invented by Peking opera actors and became popular in the old society, and it was also adopted into Bian opera. When Xiao Yinyue performed “Wang Qing Yu,” she needed to dance on stilts.
However, learning qiao gong is incredibly difficult, generally requiring three to four years of practice. Some suggested that Tang Shuangqin find a stunt double. Nevertheless, Tang Shuangqin is a bit of a perfectionist and still wanted Qi Shejiang to learn qiao gong, even if just to give it a try.
To his and Luo Xia’s surprise, Qi Shejiang readily agreed, as if he had planned it already. Two months to accomplish what others take three to four years to master is particularly tough!
Tang Shuangqin felt a wave of relief, increasingly satisfied with Qi Shejiang.
Being someone with this pursuit of perfection, he naturally hoped others would cooperate with him, especially since he hadn’t originally held such high expectations for Qi Shejiang.
Thus, on the first day of class, Qi Shejiang demonstrated a segment of a play to Luo Xia. He had been practicing every day for over half a month and surprised Luo Xia with his progress. Luo Xia happily guided him in a few aspects.
In the performing arts, having a master to guide is crucial. Even though Qi Shejiang learned well, getting pointers from a professional like Luo Xia gave him an enlightening feeling. Following that, Luo Xia’s disciple took him to learn qiao gong.
“To do well on the stilts, the straps must be tied properly,” said Luo Xia’s female disciple. Nowadays, few actors perform on stilts, but in recent years, there have been plays that restaged qiao gong just to enrich the techniques and attract audiences.
Qi Shejiang had also watched from the backstage a lot.
The wooden stilts he received were designed to resemble an ancient woman’s three-inch golden lotus foot, and they were indeed only three inches long. Using a fabric strap to tie the back of his foot tightly to the wooden centerpiece of the stilts, he stood with his toes down, from his instep to his ankle and calf tautly straightened, with his heels raised off the ground.
This posture is why qiao gong is called the Eastern ballet. Compared to ballet, the hardship is even greater; once securely bound, he would have to stay in that position until the end of the performance to be able to lower himself afterwards.
Standing on the stilts, just balancing made Qi Shejiang feel sharp pains in his toes, needing to lean against the wall just to stand properly, and he couldn’t help but take a deep breath.
Not long after, Qi Shejiang was already sweating profusely, and in a moment, his forehead was damp. He had seen others practice on stilts, but experiencing it firsthand was altogether different; without trying, he wouldn’t know just how painful it truly was.
However, mastering both standing and walking on stilts was just the first step.
The pain was not limited to his feet; as he started to walk, tension built up, causing the pain to radiate up his legs and reach his lower back. Now it was more than just his forehead that was damp—Qi Shejiang’s back was also soaked with sweat. Fortunately, he was someone who had endured hardship and gritted his teeth to persist.
Luo Xia watched him from the side; Qi Shejiang lasted fifteen minutes on his first attempt at walking on stilts, which was longer than she expected. After all, Qi Shejiang was an adult who had never practiced on stilts before.
But this was just the first step in a gradual process known as “hao qiao,” a term that encapsulates much hardship. Slowly enduring like this, a good stage presence is developed through persistence. She hoped that it would be Qi Shejiang who persevered through the ordeal of stilts.
After a few days, Qi Shejiang had noticeably lost weight, and his feet were swollen and painful; even when not on stilts, he struggled with the pain. When Tang Shuangqin saw him, he pondered aloud, “You can’t keep going like this.” Luo Xia nodded inwardly; Qi Shejiang was pushing himself too hard. To catch up with the training, he practiced repeatedly and sang segments while walking on stilts to save time. This kind of determination was rarely seen even among professional actors.
