The Young Master is Living with a Peking Opera Actress?!
Liang Xiyan, known online as a genuine Beijing native.
He's wealthy and has plenty of free time. His grandfather is a master of Chinese studies at the Academy of Fine Arts. They live in a courtyard house within the Second Ring Road, speak with a strong Beijing accent, and don't work, spending his days wandering around.
This seemingly carefree Beijing scoundrel actually had a rather refined hobby—listening to Peking Opera.
Every few days, whether he had something to do or not, he'd head to the theater and sit for three hours straight, his eyes glued to the screen.
But if fellow opera enthusiasts asked him, "Young Master Liang, which part of the opera did you understand?"
he wouldn't be able to utter a single word.
Liang Xiyan knew he was a very ordinary person; frankly, he wasn't interested in the convoluted, laborious dialogue of traditional opera. The reason he went to the theater so often was purely for one person:
a famous male dan (female impersonator) actor, whose stage name was Chi Qiurui.
The first time he saw Chi Qiurui, she was on stage performing "The Matchmaker," her graceful waist accentuated by flowing gauze sleeves. Her hair was adorned with a pearl-embroidered phoenix crown, and she wore a pleated, gold-trimmed dragon and python robe. Her phoenix eyes were high-set, her lips like vermilion seals. With slow, deliberate steps, a casual glance or a flick of her sleeve was enough to captivate young Master Liang.
He longed to befriend the beauty, but Chi Qiurui was too aloof and never showed herself after the performance.
*******
After turning thirty, Liang Xiyan and Shang Zhedong were forced to move in together under his grandfather's matchmaking.
During their time together, Liang Xiyan became certain that he absolutely did not like Shang Zhedong.
Even in this day and age, he still frequently wears a Zhongshan suit and gold-rimmed glasses, appearing refined yet ascetic, dogmatic and rigid. He neither drinks nor smokes, and speaks and acts with dignified propriety. His entire demeanor is as somber and boring as his family's ebony tea table dead heavy, you could practically drop it on your foot if you lifted it!
To outsiders, he's a promising young man, gentle and refined, but to him, he's just putting on an act.
Especially since this guy is stealing the spotlight from his grandfather.
Therefore, he treats Shang Zhedong with disdain, relentlessly criticizing him, hoping the young man will give up and leave.
But for some reason, Shang Zhedong is more stubborn than a donkey, insisting on sticking around him.
And this old scholar, as if possessed, inexplicably confessed his feelings to him.
Liang Xiyan: "Hey, don't go crazy, buddy. If the Qianmen Tower collapses, neither of us will be able to survive. I'm not interested in lying in bed with you discussing Marxist philosophy."
*
One day, when Liang Xiyan returned home late at night, reeking of alcohol from drinking with his cronies, he vaguely saw Shang Zhedong standing in his study, holding all the theater tickets, stage photos, and rare autographed items he had collected of Chi Qiurui.
Liang Xiyan instantly sobered up, pounced on him to snatch it back, and shouted angrily, "Do you know how many people we went through to get this one rare autograph from Chi Qiurui? If you dare touch it again, I'll kill you!"
Shang Zhedong looked at him calmly: "You like Chi Qiurui?"
Liang Xiyan glared at him: "Yes, I like her to death! She's my dream girl, so what!"
Shang Zhedong sighed, took off his glasses, turned around, and when he turned back, his usually stern and unsmiling face suddenly changed. His eyes sparkled, full of charm, his gaze like a crescent moon, and his singing voice like a clear spring leaping in a mountain stream.
With just one glance, Liang Xiyan was half-souled again. Drunk, his legs gave way, and he collapsed into someone's arms.
The next morning, Shang Zhedong, still energetic, leisurely took a water-washable marker, chuckled, and signed "Chi Qiurui" on Liang Xiyan's lower back. He whispered in his ear, "I can have as many autographs as I want. The front gate hasn't collapsed yet, so can we chat about Marxist philosophy in bed now, young Master Liang?"
Young Master Liang, his face buried in the blankets, was so ashamed he couldn't bear to look at anyone, and let out a thunderous "Damn it
