Word spread that the wealthy Liu family in town had hired a troupe of performers to celebrate an elder’s birthday, and they would be putting on a show for three consecutive days outside the Liu family compound — free for all townspeople to attend. Opera halls and theaters were places ordinary people could rarely afford, so when news of a free performance broke, many residents began making plans to head out early and stake out a good spot outside the Liu compound.
On the morning of the show, the open ground outside the Liu family gate was already packed with people. The great stage stood empty while the crowd craned their necks in anticipation. After waiting well over an hour with still no one taking the stage, the more impatient among them began cursing, saying the Liu family had deceived them.
Another half hour passed before the Liu family’s steward climbed onto the stage with an apologetic expression and cupped his hands toward the crowd. “We are truly sorry. We just received word from the magistrate’s office — the troupe we hired was waylaid by bandits outside the city. It looks like today’s performance will have to be cancelled.”
The crowd erupted in an uproar. Bandits and marauders had been multiplying on the roads outside the city, and the world grew more unsettled by the day. That such criminals would even prey on a harmless performing troupe filled everyone with indignation.
Just as the crowd was dispersing in disappointment, a scruffy boy of about ten years climbed up onto the tall stage, cleared his throat, and announced: “I know every kind of act there is — why not let me earn that fee?”
A burly man sneered: “What the hell would a little punk like you know how to do?”
The boy didn’t argue. He unslung the enormous pack from his back and began pulling out one instrument after another, like a treasure chest — drum, wind instruments, the sheng, the xiao flute — he had them all. Once everything was arranged, he launched into an unaccompanied verse. Though his voice was still a child’s, his diction and tones were impeccable. After singing a few lines, he worked through every instrument in turn, demonstrating fluency in each.
“I’ll only ask for thirty percent of what you were going to pay the troupe. I’ll sing myself, play the strings myself, and you can call any tune you like — I’ll perform it on request. Old Master Liu’s birthday is today, and it ought to be a lively celebration, don’t you think?”
The steward hadn’t yet responded when the same burly man who had mocked the boy snorted again: “Feral little brat’s so money-mad he’s lost his mind. Ten to one he’s a swindler — probably has accomplices too. I say, run him off the stage. The Liu patriarch would do better to just scatter some copper coins for everyone; at least that’d make people happy.”
The boy sighed. “So you’re the one who’s gone money-mad.”
The man flew into a rage: “You want me to beat you to death?!”
The boy grinned: “When you leave later, take me with you — wherever you go, I’ll follow.”
The man: “You’re trying to shake me down?!”
“No — your temper’s so explosive, there’s no telling when you’ll drop dead from rage. I play the suona horn brilliantly; everyone who hears it feels the urge to lie down nice and peaceful-like. I could give you a proper send-off, half price.”
Before the man could explode again, the boy raised his voice to address everyone: “Since I have this opportunity, let me say a few more words. Folks, neighbors — for any weddings, funerals, or major family events, come find me! For funerals: wind instruments, suona horn, and I’ll even weep as a surrogate mourner. For weddings: gongs, drums, flower-scattering, and toasts. First-time customers get ten percent off; returning customers get half price. My name is Li Diudiu’er — Li Diudiu’er who knows a little bit of everything!”
The man he’d been ridiculing, red-faced, stormed up to punch him. Li Diudiu’er stepped back one pace, reached into the pack, and produced two empty bowls, setting them out carefully. “Hold on!”
The man froze: “What are you doing?”
Li Diudiu set up the bowls and stood up straight, shouting out: “He’s going to hit me! Is anyone taking bets? Put your money in the left bowl if you’re betting I win, right bowl if you’re betting he wins — the house will honor all winning bets!”
The man stood there gaping at him, momentarily at a complete loss for what to do.
Li Diudiu’er asked: “Are you hitting me or not? If you’re not, then stop blocking me from earning money.”
He turned back to the crowd: “For a proper performance there’s no need for tips — but for an improper performance, no tips means no show! The more tips, the more improper it gets!”
His face wore an easy, impish smile, but in his heart there was a quiet loneliness — the kind of loneliness that only a child of ten or so can know, invisible to everyone else, and not worth mentioning even if he tried. He didn’t bother.
He took a deep breath, and inwardly told himself: *Li Diudiu’er, hold on just a little longer. Just a little more — you’re almost there. Almost enough saved up to buy Master a house.*
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