“What’s wrong? Does Assistant Hu dislike it? If you don’t like it, we won’t perform it.” The theater official wearing a green headband asked fearfully.
Male official slaves of the Imperial Music Bureau all wore green headbands or green caps and could not marry into respectable families, only wedding female official slaves. Their children would be slaves for generations.
Female performers from the Imperial Music Bureau, besides palace performances, sometimes had to perform at officials’ banquets and even accompany guests while serving wine. This was why it had become popular to mockingly call husbands whose wives had affairs “green hat wearers.”
Hu Shanwei took a deep breath and said, “After revising plays all day, my head aches. Let’s stop here today. I’ll keep the script and you can perform it tomorrow.”
The theater official felt there was hope for “The Lute Song” and was overjoyed: “Thank you, Assistant Hu. Tomorrow we’ll definitely perform well.”
Hu Shanwei took the book back to the Palace Administration Bureau. Chen Er’mei from the Imperial Kitchen Bureau came visiting with a food box, looking for the female scholar Huang Weide who wrote documents. She took out various foods from the food box that Hu Shanwei had never seen before.
Chen Er’mei was from Panyu, Guangdong. After learning that Huang Weide was also from Guangdong and had been separated from her family as a child and tricked into slavery by villains, she felt great sympathy. She often came to talk with Huang Weide, helping her recall childhood memories that might help find her family.
Chen Er’mei first chattered in dialects from various parts of Guangdong, asking if Huang Weide had any impressions.
Huang Weide heard it like birdsong, shaking her head and finding it all unfamiliar. Since she could remember, she had been abducted to Nanjing and spoke Jinling Refined Speech—”Refined Speech” meant common language, unrelated to elegance, similar to modern standard Mandarin. It began during the Southern and Northern Dynasties when the Eastern Jin court crossed east and established the capital at Jiankang City (present-day Nanjing). To integrate the southern and northern regions, they promulgated Jinling Refined Pronunciation combining northern Luoyang pronunciation with Wu dialect.
When the Great Ming was founded, Emperor Hongwu promulgated the “Hongwu Standard Rhymes,” a combination of Central Plains Refined Speech and Jinling Refined Speech, commonly called Nanjing Official Speech. Chen Er’mei, being from Guangdong, often consulted the “Hongwu Standard Rhymes” to correct her frequently laugh-inducing pronunciation.
Huang Weide showed no reaction to Guangdong dialects, but Chen Er’mei wasn’t giving up. Today she personally cooked several regional specialty dishes and brought them over, saying: “People may forget where home is, but taste memory is hard to forget. Try each dish—perhaps taste can awaken your childhood memories.”
Actually, Huang Weide had long given up hope herself, but unable to refuse Chen Er’mei’s natural warm-heartedness, she tried a few chopsticks-full of each dish. When she ate a diamond-shaped pastry with what looked like nine layers of rice skin pressed together, she stopped and didn’t try the next dish. Instead, she picked it up to examine it for a moment, then continued eating this pastry until it was finished.
“This is it!” When Huang Weide put down her chopsticks, tears were streaming down her face. “I vaguely remember someone peeling the pastry layer by layer to feed me.”
Chen Er’mei was delighted: “This is nine-layer cake, a specialty of the Foshan Nanhai area in Guangdong. Perhaps you’re from there. I’ll write to my family asking them to inquire in that area about Huang-surnamed families who once fled disasters, lost a young girl, and whose age matches yours.”
The palace forbade private correspondence with the outside world, but this didn’t mean completely severing family ties. New Year greetings or news of close relatives’ deaths could be communicated by letter.
Letters entering and leaving the palace required review by the Court Bureau of Rites to check for forbidden content revealing palace secrets and were filed before being sent out. Once someone entered the palace, they had no privacy. What was forbidden was “private” correspondence—letters approved by palace review didn’t violate palace regulations.
Women who could afford education and pass female official examinations must come from wealthy households. Chen Er’mei’s family would find it convenient to search for someone after receiving the letter.
Everyone was happy for Huang Weide. Watching this touching scene, Hu Shanwei thought about how people experience joys and sorrows of separation and reunion, just as the moon has its phases of brightness and darkness. Past sorrows had forged today’s Hu Shanwei.
She had always been avoiding that desperate, humble Hu Shanwei, yet she felt strong resonance with the “weak and helpless” Zhao Wuniang in “The Lute Song.” She saw herself—the Hu Shanwei who had once placed all hope on that “distant husband who wouldn’t return.”
Her fiancé had given her as much hope as he brought despair. This unbearable despair had made her resolve to fight with her back to the wall, taking the path of becoming a female official.
If she couldn’t face the pain directly, how could she completely overcome it?
Hu Shanwei steadied herself and opened “The Lute Song.”
Unlike the common folk version where Cai Bojie betrayed his parents and wife, this Cai Bojie was completely loyal and filial.
Cai Bojie and his wife Zhao Wuniang were loving after marriage, caring for both parents—he was a good husband and son. But Father Cai insisted his son go to the capital for imperial examinations to achieve fame and status. Driven by filial piety, Cai Bojie bid farewell to his hometown and went to the capital for examinations.
After becoming the top scholar, the emperor bestowed marriage, wedding him to Miss Niu, Prime Minister Niu’s daughter. To remain loyal to imperial authority, Cai Bojie was forced to marry Miss Niu. He sent letters home, but was deceived by villains. His wife waiting at home never received the letters and instead suffered famine. Zhao Wuniang ate chaff to survive, giving white rice to her parents-in-law. After the parents-in-law died, she wrapped earth in silk skirts to bury them, then carried a lute to the capital to seek her husband.
Through various coincidences, Miss Niu learned that the singing Zhao Wuniang was her husband’s original wife. Moved by Zhao Wuniang’s filial devotion and determination, she voluntarily facilitated the couple’s reconciliation, yielding the position of principal wife to become second wife instead. The family reunited, and Cai Bojie returned home with both virtuous wives in glory, reburying his parents properly.
As the theater official said, this southern opera script was written with exceptional care. The court scenes used elegant, magnificent language with brilliant literary talent. When writing about Zhao Wuniang’s struggles against fate among the common people, the writing style suddenly shifted to simple, unadorned language with vivid life atmosphere that was deeply moving.
Forced by circumstances to eat chaff, Zhao Wuniang sang: “Chaff and rice were originally together, separated by winnowing to fly in different directions. One humble and one noble, like me and my husband, never to meet again… This chaff still has people to eat it, but my bones—who knows where they’ll be buried?”
Every word was written in blood, reaching into her heart. Hu Shanwei read while covering her face and weeping. After calming her emotions, she washed her face, reapplied powder and rouge, drew her eyebrows, and took the script to find Supervisor Fan.
But upon leaving the study, it was already dark. Most female officials from the Palace Administration Bureau had left, with only a few on night duty remaining. Huang Weide pointed to a bubbling hot charcoal pot on the dining table: “It’s cold weather, so we’re having hot pot tonight. Knowing Assistant Hu was busy in the study and not wanting to disturb you, we kept it warm here waiting for you to finish work and eat.”
She had been too absorbed in reading to remember about meals. Hu Shanwei said: “I have urgent business with Supervisor Fan. I’ll eat after handling that.”
Huang Weide said: “You should eat first—Palace Supervisor Cao just gathered all major female officials from the Six Bureaus and One Department to discuss the investiture ceremony for the Sixth Princess on the third day of the twelfth month. Even if you went, you’d just wait outside.”
Great Ming palace princesses generally received formal titles when they turned fifteen and were about to select prince consorts for marriage, being granted gold tablets and treasure seals.
The Sixth Princess was Noble Consort Sun’s youngest daughter. Noble Consort Sun and Empress Ma had extremely similar backgrounds and life experiences—they were close friends. Though serving the same husband, they were like sisters. Since Empress Ma had pushed Sun to the noble consort position, the two worked in harmony to suppress the Eastern and Western Six Palaces, keeping the harem peaceful with no one daring to cause trouble.
Empress Ma treated the Sixth Princess like her own daughter.
Therefore, Empress Ma attached great importance to the Sixth Princess’s investiture ceremony, specially instructing Palace Supervisor Cao to “handle it well.” How dare the Six Bureaus and One Department be negligent? They all treated the Sixth Princess’s investiture ceremony as the most important event of the twelfth month after New Year’s Eve.
Hu Shanwei had dinner and waited in Supervisor Fan’s room until almost midnight before she returned.
Seeing Hu Shanwei gave Supervisor Fan a headache. She sighed: “I really admire you young people’s abundant energy. I’m old and can’t stay up late—I’m exhausted. What matter must be discussed tonight? Come back tomorrow.”
Supervisor Fan issued an order to leave.
Hu Shanwei handed Gaoming’s “The Lute Song” script to Supervisor Fan and briefly explained the plot: “This subordinate thinks the script is very well written. Rarely is there no vulgar or inappropriate content at all. The only flaw is being overly preachy with too perfect an ending. The scholar Cai Bojie is simply a morally perfect person of complete loyalty and filial piety. Though gaining all advantages—becoming top scholar, marrying a noble lady, becoming a high official—he still feels wronged, claiming everything was unavoidable, done for filial piety and loyalty to the monarch. But for palace theater, being overly preachy isn’t a flaw but an advantage.”
Hu Shanwei continued: “His Majesty once said that palace opera should reject all flattering, sensual songs, while immortal and divine performances, righteous husbands and virtuous wives, filial sons and obedient grandsons, works encouraging virtue and celebrating peaceful prosperity should not be prohibited. Cai Bojie, Zhao Wuniang, and Miss Niu are all filial children and virtuous wives, coinciding with Confucian ideals of ‘beautifying human relationships and enriching customs,’ having educational function. His Majesty should like it. Please review it first, Supervisor Fan. If you agree, I’ll have the Imperial Music Bureau perform it tomorrow.”
Palace grand opera, especially southern opera that normally couldn’t reach the stage—Hu Shanwei didn’t dare decide alone and needed Supervisor Fan’s approval first.
Any script that could make Hu Shanwei wait until midnight, ignore dismissal orders, and still insist on recommending deserved not to lose face for her. Supervisor Fan took it and casually flipped through, initially absent-minded but quickly attracted by the verses and rendered tragic emotions.
Hu Shanwei came prepared: “This subordinate investigated—author Gaoming was a properly examined jinshi from late Yuan Dynasty and also a clean, good official. Officials from imperial examinations write scripts with the original intention of educating the world, different from folk authors who please audiences for livelihood. He changed the character Cai Bojie, transforming him into a scholar with complete loyalty, filial piety, and righteousness, while using Zhao Wuniang’s eating chaff and wrapping earth in silk skirts to bury parents-in-law to attract audiences through tragic emotion. This kind of drama with both deeply moving plot and educational function is perfect for the palace.”
Supervisor Fan came from a scholarly family, granddaughter of Fan Peng, one of Yuan Dynasty’s four great poets—how could she not understand the power of opera’s educational function?
She read rapidly and quickly made her judgment: “Indeed quite good. Tomorrow I’ll find time to listen to ‘The Lute Song’ with you. If there are no problems, on winter solstice day, we’ll select this southern opera to give the palace a change of taste.”
On winter solstice day, “The Lute Song” was performed at the palace banquet.
Initially hearing it was southern opera, everyone showed little interest. But right from the first scene’s “Water Melody” singing “From past to present, how many stories among them… If it doesn’t relate to moral transformation, even if good it’s in vain,” Emperor Hongwu stopped his wine cup. This line matched his intentions exactly. Emperor Hongwu believed Yuan Dynasty had collapsed rituals and music, scattering people’s hearts, so after Great Ming’s founding, he emphasized ritual and education to reshape Central Plains civilization.
Merely a play, yet it dared to say at the beginning that if opera didn’t “relate to moral transformation” and educate people, even good plays were in vain—this viewpoint was exactly what Emperor Hongwu thought.
The palace was Great Ming’s center, and the emperor was the palace’s center. Emperor Hongwu clearly showed intense interest in this southern opera—who would dare disturb His Majesty’s mood?
Moreover, when the play reached Zhao Wuniang eating chaff, the lyrics were vivid and tragic, extremely infectious. Empress Ma, Noble Consort Sun, and other ladies who had suffered during wartime all showed moved expressions, their eyes reddening.
When it reached wrapping earth in silk skirts to bury parents-in-law, many in the audience wept.
Palace grand opera had no place for a mere seventh-rank assistant like Hu Shanwei. She stood far away under a pavilion, holding a warm hand warmer, alone watching the distant stage where one performance followed another.
Northern opera mostly used pipa and guzheng accompaniment, while southern opera used flutes and pipes with long, sustained sounds. Even from a distance, Hu Shanwei could hear the music.
In a trance, she became Zhao Wuniang on stage—first the “weak and helpless solitary self,” then after wrapping earth in silk skirts to bury parents-in-law, resolutely carrying a lute to the capital to seek her husband. Zhao Wuniang’s pain, timidity, hope turning to despair, seeking new hope within despair—she empathized completely because she had similar experiences.
She personally recommended “The Lute Song,” equivalent to personally tearing open her own unhealable hidden pain bit by bit, exposing it to broad daylight, then forcefully squeezing out the pus and blood. The pain made breathing difficult, but the hand squeezing pus couldn’t stop for a moment—everything had to be squeezed out for the hidden pain to disappear and the old wound to truly heal.
She personally stabbed to death the past weak and helpless Hu Shanwei, conquering herself. From now on, if anyone mentioned her fiancé, she would no longer collapse at one blow, trapped in past shadows unable to escape.
Perhaps then she would just smile lightly and let it pass.
Unknowingly, Hu Shanwei in the pavilion had a trace of smile on her face. She would no longer shed tears for the past.
On stage, “The Lute Song” reached its final song “Eternal Reunion”:
“…Together setting magnificent feasts, four seasons of constant joy. Displaying civilization and prosperous governance, speaking of filial sons and righteous daughters, harmonious jade candles return to the sage ruler.”
A story of experiencing twists and turns ending in great reunion concluded with “return to the sage ruler.” Emperor Hongwu was greatly pleased, highly praising “The Lute Song,” laughing: “The ‘Five Classics’ and ‘Four Books’ are like cloth and grain—every household has them. Gaoming’s ‘The Lute Song’ is like rare delicacies—wealthy and noble families cannot be without it. Perform several acts daily from now on.”
Imperial Music Bureau officials hurried to respond: “By your command.”
Emperor Hongwu continued: “‘The Lute Song’ is southern opera, inconvenient for singing. Have the Imperial Music Bureau use pipa, guzheng, konghou and other instruments suitable for singing to recompose the music, set it to string instruments, create a new court version, and promote it among the people for educating the world.”
Indeed, Hu Shanwei’s judgment was correct. This play’s slightly preachy flaw was precisely the advantage Emperor Hongwu liked.
What superiors favor, subordinates will follow—moreover, Emperor Hongwu had said “wealthy and noble families cannot be without it.” What official dared not listen? They all requested theater troupes to perform Gaoming’s “The Lute Song.” This southern opera that was almost unknown in late Yuan due to insufficient “satisfying” conflict and excessive preaching became an early Ming “blockbuster hit,” with unmatched popularity.
Southern opera thus ascended to high cultural halls, beginning to become palace opera, with “The Lute Song” becoming the ancestor of southern opera.
Emperor Hongwu loved “The Lute Song” and couldn’t put it down. After ordering daily performances, he was still unsatisfied and asked the Imperial Music Bureau: “Who selected this play?”
The Imperial Music Bureau official hurried to respond: “Palace Administration Bureau’s Assistant Hu strongly recommended it, allowing ‘The Lute Song’ to be performed on winter solstice day.”
A seventh-rank assistant normally wouldn’t catch the emperor’s eye. Emperor Hongwu was curious about this female official with such keen insight, saying: “Summon Assistant Hu.”