Yin Opera

Summer, Thirteenth Year of Yuanshou, midnight.

The night had reached its third watch, and all was silent. Yet the Yangcheng opera troupe was dimly lit, with the faint sound of voices warming up and opening into song drifting through the air.

Beneath the stage stood nothing but emptiness, while the troupe's backstage was packed with people.

Martial Actor, Green-Robed Actress, Flower Dan Actress, Old Scholar Actor, Clown Face Actor...

Though it was already deep into the night and there was not a soul beneath the stage, they had all painted their faces and donned their costumes, warming up their voices as if preparing to take the stage. Yet a trace of barely concealed tension lingered in their eyes.

"Master, according to the rules of Stage Breaking, the hour is here. Aren't we opening the show?"

After waiting for a long while, a Martial Actor could not help asking. He was the boldest man in the troupe, but the opera house at midnight seemed especially gloomy and cold, lending an almost imperceptible tremor to his voice.

"Wait."

The master at the front spoke only one word, but his tone was resolute.

He was a middle-aged man and the only one present not wearing opera costume. He appeared to be in his forties or fifties, dressed in a gray long gown, with firm features and a steady bearing.

"We've already waited for an hour. Master, that High Person you invited probably isn't coming, is he?"

"Why not break the stage tomorrow instead?"

The Green-Robed Actress dressed as a female ghost spoke faintly, her eyes full of resentment and fear.

Out of all these people, she had somehow drawn the lot to play the ghost.

"If the troupe remains closed for another day, what we lose isn't merely money, but our reputation."

The master shook his head. "We've already sealed the stage for over a month. If this continues, the troupe won't be far from disbanding."

At those words, everyone lowered their heads in silence.

They feared poverty just as much as ghosts. Every day the troupe remained closed, their purses shriveled further, until they would soon be sitting on a mountain and eating it empty.

After a long silence, a timid voice sounded.

"Master, while Sister Jin was alive, we all treated her well. She surely wouldn't—"

"Shut up!"

At the mention of that name, the steady-faced master instantly changed expression. He shot the Green-Robed Actress a fierce glare while tightening his grip on the yellow talisman hidden in his palm.

Not only him—everyone else wore different expressions as they hurriedly glanced around, unable to conceal their anxiety.

Just then, the Martial Actor jolted and shouted, "Ghost! There's a ghost!"

Everyone hurriedly looked over, their hairs standing on end.

Under the stage, amid the dim light, a figure was slowly approaching.

The horrifying part was that, in such a quiet place, one ought to have heard even a needle hit the ground. Yet none of them could hear the slightest footstep.

His feet made no sound upon the ground, like a phantom.

Just as they thought a ghost was haunting the place and prepared to flee for their lives, a clear voice rang out from the darkness.

"My apologies. I encountered bandits on the road and was delayed."

It was a man's voice.

He slowly emerged from the shadows. Candlelight illuminated a pair of clear, bright eyes and a handsome face. His long hair was casually tied with a blue cord; though he wore no crown, he did not look disheveled.

The man wore a black robe with blue trim, tall and straight as jade, and carried a large box roughly three feet long in one hand.

The first thing everyone looked at was the man's feet. Only after seeing his shadow did they finally breathe a sigh of relief.

According to folk tales, ghosts had no shadows. This man was definitely human.

They had already realized that this very young-looking man was likely the High Person their master had invited.

Yet the master furrowed his brow and asked in confusion, "You are?"

The young man unhurriedly set down the box and cupped his hands. "I am Zhou Sheng, courtesy name Danshan. My master has washed his hands in a golden basin and no longer performs Yin Opera. After receiving Master Wu's letter, he sent me to help."

Upon hearing this, Master Wu hurriedly returned the salute, his voice exceedingly respectful and warm.

"So you are Old Master Yu's distinguished disciple. Ten Thousand Miles of Phoenix Flowers along the Danshan Road; the young phoenix's cry rings clearer than Old Phoenix Sound. Danshan—what a fine name!"

"You aren't late. Please, come backstage. Xiao Shan, hurry and help our honored guest carry his box!"

The burliest Martial Actor hurried forward with a smile and reached for the large box at Zhou Sheng's feet.

Yet he could not lift it with one hand. Only after exerting both hands did he barely manage to raise it.

Zhou Sheng did not refuse. He walked straight into the backstage area, heading directly for the statue of the Patriarch worshipped by the troupe, and respectfully offered incense.

By the rules of the opera world, anyone who performed had to first pay respects to the Patriarch upon entering backstage.

"Brother Zhou... you perform opera too?"

The Martial Actor Xiao Shan laboriously carried the large box inside. When he set it down, it landed with a muffled bang.

He panted lightly, his gaze toward Zhou Sheng exceedingly strange.

This man had just carried such a heavy box without making a single footstep sound?

"Of course. Yin Opera is opera too. This is my Opera Box."

Before everyone's eyes, Zhou Sheng opened the Opera Box.

Generally speaking, opera performers all had Opera Boxes, and usually more than one—often four in total: a costume chest, a headdress chest, a miscellaneous chest, and a prop chest.

The costume chest was mainly used to store costumes and accessories; the headdress chest held crowns, wigs, and other headwear, along with all kinds of beards; the miscellaneous chest contained makeup cases and actresses' ornaments; the prop chest held weapons and the props used by characters on stage.

Yet Zhou Sheng's Opera Box was entirely different.

A large box had been divided into four sections with wooden boards, each filled with many props, most of them used by Old Scholar Actors and painted-face roles.

The costume fabric was exquisite, made from the finest Brocade Silk. The wigs were black and lustrous, softer and smoother than real hair.

But what drew Xiao Shan's attention most were the weapons inside.

Sabers, swords, golden whips, and Snake Spears.

The Snake Spear in particular had been placed in three sections, reflecting a cold, hard metallic gleam beneath the candlelight.

These were real weapons, not the props they usually used in opera performances!

Zhou Sheng took the three sections of the Snake Spear into his hands. With a turn of his palm and two crisp metallic clashes, an Eighteen-Foot Serpent Spear appeared before everyone.

It was around eighteen feet long, black and heavy as an ink-black dragon turning over, cold and sinister as a dark serpent flicking its tongue. Two deep blood grooves ran along the spearhead, stained with a congealed dark red.

Xiao Shan seemed to catch the stench of fresh blood. He stared fixedly at the Snake Spear, suddenly recalling what Zhou Sheng had said upon arriving.

"My apologies. I encountered bandits on the road and was delayed."

Zhou Sheng had not said what became of those bandits, but the answer seemed self-evident. The bloodstains on that Snake Spear, like these weapons, were real.

"Danshan, are you performing Marquis Huan tonight?"

Master Wu looked at the Snake Spear and could not help asking, but he quickly shook his head.

Because Zhou Sheng had already sat down and begun painting his Face Paint.

He picked up the Cinnabar Brush and painted before a mirror, first laying down the base of heaven and earth with thick ink, then cutting out a crescent moon between his brows with bright cinnabar.

Once the crescent appeared, it was clear that he was Lord Bao.

"Tonight, I'll perform Lord Bao."

Zhou Sheng's voice remained calm and clear, seemingly lacking the deep, majestic weight required to sing Lord Bao in a painted-face role.

Xiao Shan frowned, wanting to offer a reminder, but the master stopped him with a look.

In a Lord Bao Play, the crescent between the brows could not be painted straight; it had to be slanted slightly. That was the rule, lest Fierce Ghosts who died wrongfully mistake the performer for the real Lord Bao and come seeking redress.

But the crescent Zhou Sheng painted was upright and open, without the slightest tilt.

Suddenly, the words Yin Opera sprang into Xiao Shan's mind.

Could this so-called Yin Opera be sung for ghosts from the very beginning?

That was why he had deliberately painted the crescent straight—to... draw ghosts here to seek redress?

At that thought, he suddenly shuddered. His heart began pounding faster as a faint sense of foreboding rose within him.

Tonight's Stage Breaking performance was likely not going to be easy.

Brothers, I'm back!

Over the past half year, besides working and resting, I've also been actively preparing this new book and gathering material.

Yingge Dance, the God Parade, Drunken Lord Guan, even that online video of White Crane Boy killing Ghost Mother—all of them gave me tremendous inspiration. Combined with the traditional strange tales and mythological elements I'm best at, this book came into being.

I hope you'll enjoy this story.

The update schedule remains the same: noon and six in the evening.

Being a newcomer isn't easy, so please support this tender little newbie. Hearts for you!