Black fiends fall in the Warm Virtue Hall, the Jade Emperor Hall reveals green rainbows. All because of the favoritism towards the Ten Eunuchs, robbers rise in a flurry under the yellow scarves…” Eighty years ago, people’s usual pastime was listening to songs and operas. Movies weren’t accessible to everyone, and traditional folk arts were the most widely appreciated forms of art; far too many people enjoyed them. In modern times, Qi Shejiang would have to select the most dazzling segments from “Ten Questions and Ten Answers” to impress the audience. Yet now, he had to begin singing from the start of “Ten Questions and Ten Answers” and slowly ease into the story. This narrative had lost its latter part in the big drum storytelling, and as Qi Shejiang sang here, passersby would hear the story, perhaps not fully grasping the nuances of the sub-degree song but loving tales of Guan Yu and Diao Chan. With Qi Shejiang’s excellent stringing and the charm in his voice, soon, about ten people had gathered around him. “… How enviable is your great defeat of the Hebei soldiers and generals, laughing as you behead Yan Liang among ten thousand troops. What of Fan Kuan returning to the world? Your lordship does not fall behind Chu’s heavy pupil.
Until now, Wen Chou again invaded our territory, we must rely on the Tiger’s Might to quell the rebellion.”
“Great!!”
Suddenly, a few people in the crowd shouted their applause, and other audience members began clapping as well. Passersby, drawn by the cheering, stopped to listen, curious about the exciting program.
After briefly scanning the crowd, Qi Shejiang nodded slightly. He understood clearly that the ones who had initiated the applause weren’t anyone else but those street performers eyeing his spot!
Qi Shejiang showcased a skill, and these people were experienced enough to tell his level of ability.
Unexpectedly, this young lad was talented, skilled with his strings, and had deep singing skills, revealing a foundation in Peking opera, likely from a young age—it made sense.
This is the unspoken rule in the world of street performers—money brings respect, and skills earn admiration!
After a long segment, with many people gathered around him, Qi Shejiang collected his earnings and shifted to performing stand-up comedy.
He was so amusing that the audience stayed to continue listening. After talking and singing for a while, Qi Shejiang performed for the whole morning. Even though his throat felt dry, the audience remained captivated, and spectators who passed by felt inclined to reward him for his impressive skill. Qi Shejiang realized he had earned around four to five hundred copper coins, which roughly equated to over a dollar.
This exceeded his investment, and rent and meal costs were no longer a worry. Moreover, he had earned enough to cover not only his expenses but also those of Meng Mengda and the others. At least now, Qi Shejiang could help maintain their livelihoods.
Qi Shejiang pondered that he should go have a meal; being alone, he would need to attract customers again in the afternoon. If the situation was favorable, he might earn another two to three hundred copper coins. If he visited the alley street again at night, he could earn more money to help cover medical expenses.
Although his juniors had become his seniors, in Qi Shejiang’s heart, he still regarded them as younger brothers. While Qi Shejiang was deep in thought, he saw the landlord emerge from the tea house, waving him over. The landlord pointed to a character beside him, saying, “Look, this is Wu Laoda’s sworn brother. Wu Laoda’s mother is celebrating her birthday and has sent a message to your senior brother. I told him your senior brother is at home, so now it’s you on stage; the message can be passed to you just the same.”
Although Qi Shejiang had no memory of “Wu Laoda,” he knew he was probably just a local thug from Jun City; the birthday message was merely a way to collect money.
These traveling performers need to get paid, or someone will come to cause trouble, and the audience will disperse, and they won’t earn anything. They have no choice but to pay up. That man thought Qi Shejiang was young and out selling his art for the first time and said, “Our godmother is celebrating her birthday; little brother, just give a couple of bucks.” Qi Shejiang knew this, but he hesitated. It sounds simple when he says two bucks, but for many families, that’s the cost of several days of groceries.
Yet, just now, he had worked up a sweat and barely earned a little over one buck. The joy of earning some money just moments ago vanished in smoke, and Qi Shejiang pinched his pocket, reluctant to agree; this money was too important for his current family situation.
“What’s wrong, kid? Not happy?” That little rogue could read the mood, and upon seeing Qi Shejiang’s expression, his face changed, reaching out to grab his collar, “What are you? Do you dare to refuse our big brother’s invitation? Do you still want to perform in Jun City?”
Qi Shejiang had to stand on tiptoe; before he could say anything, he saw a hand stretch from beside his ear to the rogue’s face. One hand is no big deal, but the key was that this hand held a long, pitch-black spear, the tip pressing firmly against the rogue’s chin. The little thug’s legs went weak, his hands raised, and he dared not move a muscle, his nose almost dripping: “M-M-Master, please spare my life…”
In Jun City, there aren’t many who can swagger down the street with a gun, pointing it at someone casually.
