After being dumped by the diva, I was picked up by her arch-enemy.

At 9:30 a.m. the next day, Jiang Yichen arrived at the courtyard house in the eastern suburbs.

It was half an hour earlier than the agreed time.

The courtyard house wasn't large; it was an old house with gray tiles and white walls. A crooked jujube tree grew in the yard. A few shriveled jujubes still hung on the tree, unpicked.

Chen Ge sat in a wicker chair in the courtyard, with a small square table in front of him, on which sat a pot of tea and a stack of documents. He wore an old gray sweater, the cuffs of which were pilling.

Chen Hao stood to the side, his face bearing the expression of someone about to be executed.

When Jiang Yichen pushed the door open and came in, Chen Hao saw him first.

Then Chen Hao paused for a moment.

Jiang Yichen was dressed casually today, in a black crew neck shirt and dark pants. His hair wasn't styled much, but he looked neat and tidy. However, the moment he stood in the courtyard, the entire space shifted its focus.

It's not an artificial aura.

It's just beautiful.

The kind of beauty that makes people take a second look.

Chen Ge raised his head.

Their eyes met.

Chen Ge didn't move or say anything, just stared at Jiang Yichen for about five or six seconds.

In those five or six seconds, Chen Hao felt his heart beat twice as fast.

"Sit down," Chen Ge said.

Jiang Yichen walked over and sat down opposite him.

Chen Hao quickly pulled up a chair and sat down next to him, ready to put out the fire at any time.

"How old are you?" Chen Ge asked.

"Twenty-three."

"I've studied it."

"What did you study?"

"I played female roles. I trained with my master in a theatrical troupe when I was young."

Chen Ge's eyes flickered. "Which opera troupe?"

"Mingchun Society".

"Zhou Mingshan's?"

"right."

Chen Ge leaned back in his chair and sized up Jiang Yichen for a while.

Zhou Mingshan. A renowned Peking Opera master of the older generation, his students are scattered across troupes of all sizes, but very few actually make it onto the stage. Within the circle, "coming from Mingchun Troupe" is a prestigious title.

"Is Tan Yunxiao also your fellow disciple?"

"My senior brother."

Chen Ge picked up his teacup, took a sip, and didn't respond to that.

He put down his teacup and looked at Jiang Yichen. "I've read the script. It's very well written."

This was meant to be a compliment, but Chen Ge said it as if he were reading a weather forecast.

"But there's a problem."

Here it comes. Chen Hao shifted his position in the chair.

"Being able to write about Cheng Dieyi doesn't mean you can play Cheng Dieyi." Chen Ge's gaze was flat. "Have you ever considered that you might not be able to handle this role?"

Chen Hao's heart skipped a beat. He secretly glanced at Jiang Yichen.

Jiang Yichen's expression remained unchanged. He thought for a moment and said, "Director Chen, how would you like to try?"

Chen Ge hadn't expected him to be so direct.

"No rush," Chen Ge said. "Tell me first, what kind of person do you think Cheng Dieyi is?"

Jiang Yichen leaned back in his chair and did not answer immediately.

The courtyard was quiet. The branches of the jujube tree swayed gently in the wind.

"Cheng Dieyi is not alone," Jiang Yichen said.

Chen Ge's eyebrows twitched.

"He lives in one role while playing another. Yu Ji is Cheng Dieyi's shell, and Cheng Dieyi is Yu Ji's soul. You can't separate them. From the moment Xiao Douzi was forced to sing the line 'I am a beautiful woman' in the opera troupe, these two people have been inseparable."

He paused.

"So Cheng Dieyi's tragedy is not that he loves Duan Xiaolou. His tragedy is that he can't distinguish between the play and the real person, but he can distinguish between everyone else."

The courtyard was quieter now.

Chen Ge's hand holding the teacup did not move.

He stared at Jiang Yichen for a long time.

Chen Hao stood beside him, barely daring to breathe. Although he wasn't an acting student, he could sense the weight of Jiang Yichen's words. This wasn't a memorized analysis, nor was it an academic breakdown. These were words spoken only after truly understanding a character.

"Give me a piece." Chen Ge put down his teacup.

Which section?

"the drunken beauty."

Chen Hao's heart skipped a beat. "The Drunken Beauty" is a classic of the Mei Lanfang school of Peking Opera. The posture, the singing style, and the eyes are all indispensable. Chen Ge's choice of this piece right from the start wasn't a test, but rather a way of making things difficult for him.

Jiang Yichen stood up.

He didn't change his clothes or put on makeup; he just stood on the blue brick ground of the courtyard wearing that black crew-neck shirt.

He closed his eyes briefly.

When he opened his eyes again, Chen Hao felt that something had changed.

It wasn't an exaggerated change. Jiang Yichen's face was still the same face, and his body was still the same body. But his entire demeanor had changed—his shoulders slumped slightly, his neck lifted an inch, his chin tucked in, and his eyes looked upward.

With just a few subtle movements, a thoroughly drunk Yang Guifei was created.

He did not sing.

He first took a step on the catwalk.

Chen Ge's fingers stopped on his knee.

That catwalk was so clean. The landing of the toes, the range of weight transfer, the angle of the waist and hips—every detail was perfectly executed, as if measured with a ruler. Yet it wasn't rigid. There was a kind of intoxication in it, the kind of body control that comes from being truly drunk.

Then Jiang Yichen spoke.

"The moon, like an ice wheel, begins its ascent over the island—"

Just this one sentence.

Chen Ge lifted his hand off his knee.

The voice is correct. It's not the kind of fake voice that's imitated; it's the vocal technique that only someone who has truly trained as a female impersonator has. The breath travels from the dantian (lower abdomen), then curves upwards at the throat, producing a bright, sweet, and slightly cool sound.

Jiang Yichen stopped singing after four lines.

He changed his demeanor and reverted to being the young man in the black crew neck shirt.

No one spoke in the courtyard.

Chen Hao looked at Chen Ge.

The old man sat in the wicker chair, not moving.

But Chen Hao noticed a detail—Chen Ge's old leather bag was placed at his feet, and he didn't rub the handle with his hand.

No rubbing.

This means he has no more hesitation.

"How old were you when you started practicing martial arts?" Chen Ge asked.

"Six years old."

"How many years have you been training?"

"Eleven years."

Chen Ge nodded. Just once.

Then he turned to Chen Hao. "When will Tan Yunxiao arrive?"

It took Chen Hao a couple of seconds for his mind to catch up—did that mean he agreed? He just agreed like that?

"I...I'm contacting—"

"I've already told my senior brother," Jiang Yichen said from the side. "He'll arrive this afternoon."

Chen Hao glanced at him. Had this guy already made plans with Tan Yunxiao before leaving today? How could he be so certain Chen Ge would agree?

Jiang Yichen seemed to know what he was thinking, but he didn't explain anything.

He sat back down in his chair and poured himself a cup of tea.

Watching him pour tea, Chen Ge suddenly asked, "How could you write about that denunciation meeting at your age?"

Jiang Yichen held his teacup but didn't drink it.

"Some things don't necessarily require personal experience to write about," he said. "Just seeing them is enough."

Chen Ge stared at him for a few seconds.

Then he smiled. It was a very brief smile, just a slight upward turn of the corners of his mouth.

"Interesting," Chen Ge said.

He picked up the stack of scripts covered in annotations again. "Come, sit down. I have a few questions about Scene Thirty-Two, the scene where Cheng Dieyi throws his sword in the snowy night."

Chen Hao sat beside them, watching the two of them huddle together flipping through the script, and a strange feeling welled up inside him.

He had seen Chen Ge discuss scripts with many people. When Chen Ge discussed scripts, he always spoke in a condescending manner, like a teacher grading a student's homework.

But today is different.

Chen Ge's tone was one of equality. It was the kind of discussion between colleagues.

He was discussing the script with a young man on an equal footing.

This was something that had never happened before in Chen Hao's knowledge.