Chapter 54: Reviewing Plays
The imperial palace was a magical place.
Here, no matter how shocking, tragic, or absurd events occurred, they wouldn’t linger in the palace people’s minds for more than a few days.
It wasn’t that the feng shui was bad or that everyone suffered collective amnesia. The imperial palace, especially the Great Ming imperial palace, gathered the most outstanding and ambitious women from across the realm. The female officials here were each brilliantly intelligent, each with their own survival wisdom.
The people here would forget past shocks because, being at the very pinnacle of power and wealth, nothing was surprising anymore.
How many had died, how tragically they died—because death came too frequently, people would merely sigh privately, then attend to their own affairs, awaiting the arrival of the next storm.
For instance, when Hu Shanwei first entered the palace, Prime Minister Hu Weiyong’s rebellion case had just been quelled. Thousands of officials large and small had died throughout the court and beyond, with countless family members implicated—like Chen Xuan, the leader of Eighteen Villages Stronghold in Zhouzhi County, who transformed from a privileged son of an official family into a “Lin Chong” forced up Mount Liang.
But soon, the Hu Mei palace scandal “stole the spotlight” from Hu Weiyong’s rebellion case. People lamented how Yanxi Palace became a cold palace overnight, and the once-imperious Noble Consort Hu became the demoted Hu.
Not long after, came the shocking case of Prince Qin and Side Consort Deng abusing the legitimate princess consort and even daring to torture and kill Liu Siyan and the Embroidered Uniform Guards.
Once this case emerged, who still remembered Noble Consort Hu’s past arrogance? The Hu family’s overnight extermination of three generations, including the complete annihilation of even the son-in-law’s entire family?
The people in the Great Ming palace were like reefs standing by the sea, weathering wave after wave of impact. Having witnessed countless storms, some were swept into the ocean and shattered—like Liu Siyan.
However, most remained on shore. No matter how the waves crashed against the cliffs, tomorrow the sun would still rise from the horizon as usual, winds would calm and waves would settle, seagulls would soar, still presenting a scene of prosperity while brewing the next surge.
Hu Shanwei completed her mission and Empress Ma bestowed some fine gifts, but there was no promotion—she remained a seventh-rank assistant in the Palace Administration Bureau.
An assistant’s duties included serving as judge when disputes arose in the palace, giving appropriate punishments according to palace regulations when palace people made mistakes, and documenting everything. Additionally, she had to review theatrical scripts and librettos coming from outside the palace to ensure they contained nothing unseemly or decadent that might pollute the noble ears within the palace.
It seemed simple, but was actually tedious and complex.
As year’s end approached, the winter solstice, Spring Festival, and Lantern Festival clustered together. According to custom, the palace would stage grand operas for consecutive days. The Imperial Music Bureau selected outstanding repertoires from various regions for performance, but before presentation, they required approval from the Palace Administration Bureau.
Thick stacks of scripts lay before Hu Shanwei. On stage, performers were presenting “Journey to the West” written by former dynasty playwright Yang Jingxian. The story of Tang Monk taking his three disciples—Sun Wukong and others—to the West to retrieve Buddhist scriptures was widely circulated among the people. With its lively and spectacular scenes, it was an enduring theatrical piece, very suitable for festival performances.
There were over a hundred versions of various “Journey to the West” scripts, with Yang Jingxian’s version having the most beautiful literary language and most complete adventure stories.
On stage, the master and disciples had reached the “Kingdom of Women.” Sun Wukong was tempted by beauty and momentarily stirred with mortal desires, causing the golden circlet on his head to cast its spell. The circlet tightened ring by ring, making Sun Wukong writhe in pain as he sang:
“This humble one was knocked down by a woman, mortal heart about to rise. Unexpectedly the golden circlet on my head tightened up, bones and joints throughout my body aching, the pain bringing forth several vegetable names—”
The following lyrics used various vegetables to express bodily pain, written in language that was accessible yet clever, quite imaginative:
“Head aching with hair disheveled like chives, face green as smartweed sprouts, sweat beads like sauce-soaked eggplant, dick like a pickled soft cucumber…”
Without hesitation, Hu Shanwei picked up her red brush, circled the line about cucumber, and annotated: “Delete.”
That Sun Wukong sang another verse called “Parasitic Grass”: “Pig Bajie panting heavily, Sha Wujing quietly sighing. Above pushing forward tightly and urgently, below responding with swaying waist gracefully…”
While singing, Wukong also made thrusting hip movements.
This scene seemed familiar—after Mu Chun’s Eagle Guard tournament competition, he had also gotten carried away and made these frivolous, inappropriate gestures, frightening away Hu Shanwei who had come to visit him.
The “Journey to the West” story came from the people, passed down orally with embellishments. Theater troupes added even more ribald content to attract attention. Yang Jingxian’s “Journey to the West” script was already the cleanest and most elegant version.
Hu Shanwei again picked up her red brush, circled this passage, and wrote “Delete.”
Though she wrote this with her brush, the scene of Mu Chun at the Eagle Guard tournament that day appeared in her mind. Hu Shanwei couldn’t help but smile: Mu Chun’s rebellious, convention-breaking personality really was very much like Sun Wukong.
This “Journey to the West” had six acts total. After reviewing “Kingdom of Women” came the act of battling Iron Fan Princess at Flaming Mountain, which had nothing improper. After that came the grand finale of Tang Monk obtaining the true scriptures and returning to the Eastern Tang Dynasty.
The actor playing Buddha sang: “Tang Monk, hear my clear words, after years you’ve reached the Western Heaven. Today your merit is complete and perfect. Now you achieve enlightenment and pay court to Yuan. The great treasury of golden scriptures has been perfected. Tang Monk is imperially granted to spread among monks, and to this day all of Eastern lands have temples. May our emperor live ten thousand times ten thousand years.”
“Stop!” Before the actor finished singing the ending, Hu Shanwei loudly called halt.
The theater official wearing a green headband quickly ran over asking: “What’s wrong? Please instruct, Assistant Hu.”
Hu Shanwei took her brush and blacked out the character “Yuan” in “pay court to Yuan,” saying:
“The two characters for ‘originally’ used to be written as ‘Yuan-ly,’ but His Majesty dislikes this. Having worked so hard to drive out the Yuan people from the Central Plains, ‘Yuan-ly’ means the Yuan Dynasty returning, so ‘Yuan-ly’ was changed to ‘originally’—implemented from court documents down to the common people. In imperial examinations, if there are writing errors mixing up ‘Yuan’ and ‘original’ characters, no matter how well-written the essay, the candidate will fail. You people are worse—directly singing ‘court to Yuan.’ What couldn’t you pay court to besides Yuan? His Majesty most abhors this. If he heard it, you’d all lose your heads. Revise the script before performing.”
The theater official hurriedly said: “Thank you for Assistant Hu’s guidance. We’ll change it to ‘court to Ming’ then.”
Not courting Yuan, courting Ming surely wouldn’t be wrong!
“Courting Ming doesn’t rhyme. Think it over more,” Hu Shanwei said. “Don’t thank me, just don’t resent me for pointing and gesturing on the side, changing this, deleting that, ruining a good play. It can be sung this way among the people, but in the palace, don’t cause trouble—everyone’s survival is most important.”
For instance, when Hu Shanwei deleted the “cucumber” passage from Kingdom of Women, in folk performances this was the climax—theater audiences would smile knowingly at each other, cheer loudly, and throw coins onto the stage in appreciation, creating a thunderous rain-like sound. But in the palace, what would fall wouldn’t be coins but heads.
The theater official hurriedly said: “How could we resent Assistant Hu? You’ve saved us so many times.”
Hu Shanwei thought for a moment, pointing at the actor playing Sun Wukong: “Fewer of those… gestures.”
Hu Shanwei gave a “you know what I mean” look. “Be more dignified, don’t be too frivolous.”
The theater official looked troubled: “Sun Wukong isn’t human to begin with—he’s a monkey! If a monkey isn’t frivolous, what kind of monkey is that? Even Guanyin Bodhisattva calls him a mischievous monkey.”
Hu Shanwei said: “Among the people you can perform however you like, but palace theater cannot be like this—it lacks proper decorum. If you don’t change, I can’t approve it. Other troupes will replace you for imperial performances.”
The theater official reluctantly nodded heavily: “Fine, I’ll listen to Assistant Hu. If they can perform before His Majesty, their value will definitely skyrocket.”
After revising “Journey to the West,” the next script was “The Lute Song.”
Hu Shanwei first skimmed through the script and was quite surprised: “Southern opera?”
During the Hongwu reign, northern melodies dominated almost everywhere inside and outside the court. Those famous Yuan Dynasty playwrights—Guan Hanqing, Ma Zhiyuan and others—all wrote northern melodies. “The Injustice to Dou E,” “Romance of the Western Chamber,” including the just-performed “Journey to the West,” were all northern melodies. Southern melodies were viewed as lowbrow, niche repertoire.
Moreover, Emperor Hongwu was from Fengyang and was accustomed to northern tunes—could he even understand these southern melodies?
The theater official nodded: “Yes, but the script is really excellently written, appealing to both refined and popular tastes without any crudeness. The emotions are delicate and move listeners to tears. We hope Assistant Hu can help recommend it to His Majesty.”
Hu Shanwei frowned: “My time is very limited. New plays must be staged for the winter solstice. You suddenly hand me a southern melody that no one up or down the palace is accustomed to hearing—I won’t agree to it. Moreover, ‘The Lute Song’ ends with a thunder bolt killing Cai Bojie who refused to acknowledge his original wife and coveted wealth and status. It’s a tragedy, unsuitable for performance during joyous occasions like winter solstice, New Year, and Lantern Festival.”
The story of “The Lute Song” was based on the Eastern Han famous literatus Cai Yong, courtesy name Bojie, hence called Cai Bojie. He had a daughter more famous than himself—called Cai Wenji!
Like “Journey to the West,” there were many folk versions of “The Lute Song.” The most common story version was that Cai Bojie went to the capital for imperial examinations and never returned, marrying the prime minister’s daughter and never coming back to his hometown. In his hometown, his wife Zhao Wuniang ate chaff and swallowed vegetables, giving white rice to her parents-in-law to eat. Though living in hardship, her parents-in-law eventually died anyway. Zhao Wuniang wrapped earth in her silk skirt to bury her parents-in-law, then carried a lute to the capital to perform and seek her husband. But Cai Bojie refused to acknowledge his original wife, refused to recognize his parents’ portraits on the lute, and trampled Zhao Wuniang with horse hooves, trying to kill and silence her. As a result, a thunder bolt killed Cai Bojie.
Common folk just loved this kind of straightforward, satisfying revenge drama, like Judge Bao’s “Guillotining Mei Case”—Qin Xianglian brought two children to the capital seeking her husband, discovered her husband had become a prince consort, but regardless of how the princess and emperor pleaded, the impartial Judge Bao still severed the head of Chen Shimei who had abandoned his wife to remarry. Among Judge Bao dramas, “Guillotining Mei Case” was the most famous.
The theater official bowed and scraped: “‘The Lute Song’ has many scripts in both southern and northern melodies, but this script by Gaoming is truly excellent. The lyrics are deeply moving, and the story’s ending differs from what’s popular among the people—this has a happy ending for all.”
With the theater official’s enthusiastic repeated recommendations, Hu Shanwei became somewhat interested. She had no patience to read from the beginning, just randomly flipped and happened to see the twenty-first scene, a song called “Sheep on the Hillside.” After continuous blows of her husband’s long absence, famine, and her parents-in-law nearly starving to death, Zhao Wuniang sang:
“Chaotic and barren years of poor harvest, distant husband who won’t return, anxiously impatient parents-in-law, weak and helpless solitary self.”
Instantly, Hu Shanwei was struck by this “Sheep on the Hillside”—each word was an arrow piercing her with countless wounds!
Chaotic barren years, the distant husband who wouldn’t return, anxious parents, weak self—wasn’t this exactly Hu Shanwei working as a copyist in the Hu family bookshop?
Hu Shanwei couldn’t help continuing to read. Nearly desperate Zhao Wuniang sang: “Endless flowing pearl tears, confused sorrowful thoughts that can’t be consoled, frail sick body that can’t be supported, trembling through difficult times and years.”
No!
Hu Shanwei slammed the script shut. Her fists clenched tight, nails nearly drawing blood from her palms!
The pain brought Hu Shanwei back to clarity, her heart racing wildly, like waking from a nightmare when people repeatedly tell themselves, no no no, this isn’t real, it’s just a nightmare. Once awake, the nightmare will dissipate.
She was now Assistant Hu Shanwei of the Palace Administration Bureau, the most prominent female official in the palace, showing no weakness even before noble consorts and princes.
That distant husband who wouldn’t return, that weak Hu Shanwei who only knew copying—those were all in the past.