Journalism

Liu Bei's father was a director, and her mother was a stage actress.

Her parents divorced when she was very young, and she was raised by her maternal grandmother. Applying to opera school had been her own idea. Her mother had cried and shouted to stop her, but it hadn't worked. A school like that was closed off, and once you enrolled, you stayed for eight years. Graduates were guaranteed job assignments, so there was nothing to worry about.

Perhaps it was that upbringing that had made her independent and strong-willed from an early age.

The next morning.

Six young performers, accompanied by a teacher, took the bus to Qianmen Archery Tower.

They had agreed that there was no need for makeup or costumes; they just had to sing a few excerpts. None of them had thought about being paid. A meal was enough to make them happy.

Opera performers all had work units now, too. Their units organized performances and sold tickets, but that had nothing to do with the performers, who were paid monthly wages. If anyone took a job on the side and accepted payment, it could be a minor problem or a major one...

Huang Zhanying knew a few children were coming and was extraordinarily welcoming.

"Have you had breakfast?"

"We boiled some eggs just for you. Come have one to tide you over!"

"We don't know what rules you have or whether you can drink tea. If you can't, we'll boil you some plain water!"

There weren't many customers in the morning. Huang Zhanying ran to the front of the stall and put her booming voice to good use. "Come take a look! Passersby, please stop for a moment! Today we've invited students from the opera school to perform, partly to thank everyone for their support and partly to liven things up.

"We've been selling tea for all these days, and it's thanks to your support that we've been able to keep going. First of all, thank you!"

That shout drew several layers of people around them in an instant.

There, in that makeshift space amid the clamor, beneath the centuries-old Archery Tower, a young performer of eighteen or nineteen stepped forward. A little nervous, she opened her mouth and sang an excerpt from Mu Guiying Takes Command.

In previous years, operas about emperors and generals, gifted scholars and beautiful maidens had all been banned. Only now were they gradually returning, so that model operas and traditional operas were being performed side by side.

"Suddenly I hear the drums and gongs, the painted horns resound, awakening my lofty ambition to storm Heaven's Gate. I remember those years astride my peach-blossom steed, majestic and imposing, enemy blood spattering my pomegranate-red skirt... with one sword I can hold back a million soldiers!"

"Bravo!"

"Bravo!"

The singing was naturally inexperienced, and her nerves only made it more so, but the crowd rewarded her with thunderous applause and enthusiastic cheers.

There was so little entertainment!

From the late seventies to the late eighties, traditional opera enjoyed its last great heyday.

Simply put, the market was good. Opera performers enjoyed the same status and popularity as film and television stars. Opera wasn't a niche interest, but popular entertainment.

In later years, that was no longer the case. It all became niche, with the flame still burning only in certain regions, as with Yu opera. Supposedly, Yu opera was the only form of opera that could support itself without state funding.

Yu Jiajia snapped away, capturing one moment after another. These were all bricks and stones on the stairway to becoming a star reporter.

Then she suddenly paused and hurriedly nudged Chen Qi.

"Hey, hey, there's a foreign devil!"

"Where?"

"Over there, over there!"

Chen Qi looked and, sure enough, a blonde, blue-eyed woman was eagerly pushing her way into the crowd.

"Lucky you, even a foreigner turned up for you!"

On January 1 of this year, China and the United States had formally established diplomatic relations.

Chinese leaders visited the United States, and good old Carter arranged an artistic performance. The final act featured a hundred American children of different skin colors singing "I Love BJ Tiananmen" in Chinese, a story that was celebrated far and wide for a time.

Afterward, the United States also sent a congressional delegation to visit. Old Biden was among them. He was a senator at the time and also visited the Great Wall. It was his first time in China. Who could have imagined that forty years later, he would become Xizong of America?

China had already opened visa applications to Americans, and artistic groups, journalists, photographers, and a small number of tourists had begun arriving one after another.

They took a great many photographs back for American newspapers. After all, China was still so mysterious that the whole world wanted to learn about it.

Eve Arnold was one of them.

She was a contracted photographer for an American photo agency, and as soon as she learned she could come to China, she had eagerly submitted an application.

It was quickly approved, and she was even given special treatment: her visa was extended by six months, and she could travel as a tourist to any place she wanted, with arrangements made by the National Tourism Administration.

It had still been winter when she arrived. She had photographed passengers at a train station, the Thirteen Tombs in the snow, and female factory workers. Then she had gone south, visited the Tsingtao Brewery, and gone to Shanghai as well.

After making a long circuit, she had just returned.

Eve planned to spend the next few days photographing more of Beijing's hutongs before returning to the United States, and that was how she came upon the scene before her.

"I remember there wasn't a stall here when I first arrived?"

"No, there wasn't. It must have opened recently."

"Ha, I'm going over to ask about it!"

The interpreter accompanying her had no choice but to follow her into the crowd. The state had let these foreigners in so they could see China's reform and opening up. They were certainly interested in grand spectacles, but they preferred photographing smaller things.

And so a blonde head bobbed through the crowd, leaving everyone staring. Whoa, a foreign devil!

The young performer who was singing looked over. Oh, a foreign guest!

She sang with even more gusto.

Eve reached the tea stall and looked curiously at everything. Huang Zhanying and the others immediately grew nervous and exchanged glances. Good heavens, a foreigner! Should we overthrow her?

"Hello, what are you doing here?"

She asked the question, and the interpreter translated it into Chinese, then introduced her. "This is an American journalist. There's no need to be nervous. Just speak normally."

"We... what should we say?"

Huang Zhanying still lacked experience and was a little dumbfounded. Chen Qi had to come over, smiling and giving a little wave. "Hello!"

"You speak English?" Eve asked.

"I taught myself. Just a little."

"Wow, you're already very good. Are you selling water?"

Chen Qi very much wanted to speak in English, but that would have been too outrageous, so he had to pretend he didn't understand and talk through the interpreter.

"This kind of tea is called big-bowl tea. Though humble, it has a history of four hundred years. During the Ming dynasty, there were a hundred and thirty-two trades, and selling big-bowl tea belonged to the steamed-goods trade. During the Qing dynasty, there was a man named Pu Songling. To collect stories, he set up a tea stall at the entrance to his village..."

"Keep it simple! Simple! How am I supposed to translate that?"

The interpreter glared at him. "And don't talk nonsense. How come I never knew big-bowl tea was so impressive?"

"With an international friend here, would I dare lie? Just because you don't know about it means it doesn't exist?"

Chen Qi transformed into that guy from the "lousy damned Giant Wild Goose Pagoda" rant and rattled off a torrent of words.

"We only started last month... labor is a very honorable thing to us. Now that the environment has opened up, we're happy to try new things, and we've already achieved some results.

"We're holding a small event today. They're all students. Would you like to hear some traditional Chinese opera?"

"Sure!" Eve nodded.

"Quick, quick, quick!"

Chen Qi hurriedly beckoned and said, "This is a rare chance. Sing something for this silly foreigner."

The young performer who had appeared first came over and, even more nervous, sang a few lines. Eve couldn't understand them, but she didn't mind. She was simply curious about everything in this country.

But how could Chen Qi let this go? Of course he had to fleece such a good opportunity. He pushed Huang Zhanying forward too and said, "Give her a bowl of tea!"

"Does she even like it?"

"Who cares whether she likes it? Get over there!"

Huang Zhanying had no choice but to pour a bowl of tea.

"Thank you!"

Eve replied in simple Chinese. She accepted the big bowl, looked at it, and took a sip. Her face immediately puckered, and she shook her head. "The flavor is very strange. Thank you for your hospitality. May I take a few photographs of you?"

"Of course!"

Once the photos were taken, the interpreter breathed a sigh of relief. Fortunately, nothing had gone wrong.

He led Eve away, not forgetting to look back and glare at Chen Qi. That was an international friend!

"I got a shot too!"

Yu Jiajia came trotting over. "That shot of her drinking tea will definitely make a story!"

"What headline are you thinking of?" Chen Qi asked.

"'American Friend Takes a Liking to Big-Bowl Tea'?"

"Your articles involving foreign affairs have to go through special review, right? Then write it that way."

It was actually far too bland. If possible, he thought it should be called "Traditional Old BJ Big-Bowl Tea Conquers American, Who Finishes a Whole Big Bowl in Two Gulps"!

Headlines like that were very familiar. There were plenty online in later years: "Chinese Roast Duck So Delicious It Brings German Father-in-Law to Tears, He Eats a Whole One and Can't Stop," "American Brother-in-Law Tries Chinese Baozi for the First Time, Eats Five in One Go and Is Utterly Conquered"...

They drew plenty of traffic.

"I only wanted to use the opera performance to drum up some buzz, but who knew we'd be so lucky? A silly foreigner fell right out of the sky. Now there's nothing to worry about..."

Chen Qi looked toward the west side of the Archery Tower. The tea stall over there was set up too, but there was hardly anyone there. The customers were all on this side.

Things weren't easy for them either. He didn't want to use any overly dirty tactics; building up his own buzz would be enough. Once they could no longer keep their business going, he would absorb them and strengthen his own ranks.

Thirteen people would become thirty-three, and then they could ask for better terms.

He discussed the article with Yu Jiajia, who still had a bit of a conscience at this point. "I think it strays a little from the facts."

"Let me ask you: the young performers came to perform, didn't they?"

"They did!"

"They came willingly, right?"

"Yes!"

"And there was a foreigner too, right?"

"There was!"

"She had a good time, didn't she?"

"Yes!"

"So you've only selected part of what happened, and everything you write is true. What's wrong with that?"

He shrugged. "That's called journalism!"

(No more...)

(End of chapter)