Chapter 97 Liang Zhu (Part 2)

By the time the hotel staff delivered a steaming breakfast—complete with color, aroma, and flavor—to Luo Jun’s room, he had already finished reading serialized installments of two wuxia novels, one romance novel, and one strange-tales story.

Qin Huai was also reading beside him, thoroughly absorbed.

Although the traditional characters were somewhat difficult to read and the plots were a bit dated, the writing was excellent. In particular, the romance novel—with its domestic disputes and gossip-filled conflicts—made Qin Huai feel as though the author had been sitting right next to the people involved while writing it.

The breakfast the hotel had procured through a runner was served with high-end tableware. The porridge came in a white porcelain bowl, side dishes were placed in small, delicate petal-shaped plates, and the buns were presented on a silver tray.

There were also many types of utensils—knives, forks, chopsticks, and spoons—a blend of Eastern and Western styles.

“Mr. Luo, these are tickets to the new movie released this Sunday, in your favorite third-row center seats. Consider it a small token of our hotel’s appreciation.”

After setting the table, a service staff member respectfully placed a movie ticket on the corner of the table.

Luo Jun had already put down his newspaper and started eating buns. He wasn’t very skilled with chopsticks; after failing to pick up a bun, he pretended he wasn’t very interested in it and quietly picked up his bowl to drink porridge instead.

“Just one?” Luo Jun asked.

The staff member froze for a moment, then replied, “Of course not. How many would you like? I’ll have them delivered to you tonight.”

“Give me one more, seats next to each other,” Luo Jun said. “Deliver them tomorrow morning along with the newspaper. Today, go to the bookstore and see if there are any newly published novels. If there are, buy them all for me.”

“Understood. May I ask if you need anything else?”

“Do young ladies like chestnut cake from Western restaurants?” Luo Jun asked, looking at the staff member.

The question stumped the staff member. Qin Huai guessed he probably hadn’t eaten it before—and he wasn’t female.

The staff member replied, “I’m sure that whatever arrangements you make, no lady would dislike them.”

Luo Jun seemed satisfied with the answer and nodded. “Buy one. Send it to the theater when the show ends.”

Luo Jun handed over a white British pound note, and the staff member accepted it and left.

As soon as the person left, Luo Jun stabbed a bun firmly with his fork. Holding a fork in his left hand and chopsticks in his right, he ate the bun while trying to study the chopsticks, muttering, “Why are these things so hard to use?”

After breakfast, Luo Jun read the newspaper’s serialized fiction for a while. Once he finished the installment he was following, he went out and spent some time at a café. He didn’t stay long—apparently he found listening to piano music boring—so he switched to a teahouse to listen to storytelling and ballad singing.

At noon, he ordered takeout at the teahouse and ate some light pastries before taking a rickshaw to the theater.

The theater was located in a rather remote area.

After following Luo Jun around all morning, Qin Huai had come to understand something: the Richard Hotel where Luo Jun stayed was in a bustling concession area, surrounded by hotels, Western restaurants, cinemas, dance halls, and even shopping stores. Motorcars could be seen on the road, while ordinary people mainly relied on electric trams or walking for commuting.

But Luo Jun clearly didn’t like taking trams—perhaps he disliked squeezing in with others. He also didn’t own a car or employ a driver. For short distances, he walked; for longer distances, he hired rickshaws. In any case, he never carried small change—he paid only in larger silver coins or notes without needing change. Rickshaw pullers would run however far he needed.

Spending money taken by force made him generous indeed.

Qin Huai followed the rickshaw the whole way, even feeling a bit regretful by the end—memories couldn’t translate into physical exertion. Otherwise, if he could periodically convert memories into exercise, his body would surely be very healthy.

The theater wasn’t large; from a distance, it didn’t even immediately look like one.

At the entrance stood a middle-aged man in a long robe, his face full of anxiety. Upon seeing Luo Jun, his expression instantly turned to joy, and he hurried forward to greet him.

“Mr. Luo, I thought you wouldn’t be coming today,” the man said with a broad smile. “Miss Liu Tao was just asking backstage whether you would come today.”

Liu Tao!

The keyword instantly triggered Qin Huai’s attention.

Luo Jun tossed two small silver coins to the rickshaw puller. “If I come early, I still can’t watch an extra performance. Waste of time.”

The troupe manager lightly slapped himself. “My mouth is truly careless. A busy man like you gracing us with your presence already honors us greatly. Please come in.”

“Tea, snacks, and sunflower seeds are all prepared. Knowing you like crab roe pastries, we specially bought them from Ding’s this morning.”

Luo Jun walked inside.

The theater was indeed small, with a modest stage and limited seating. There was no second floor and no private boxes.

At the front were two rows of small tables with a dozen or so elegant seats, while the back consisted of long benches.

However, it was quite crowded. Only two tables in the very center of the elegant seating area were empty, and the benches were packed tightly, with many standing at the edges—clearly indicating good business.

The manager led Luo Jun toward the elegant seating area. No need to clear the crowd; Luo Jun had his own table. People around him recognized him and greeted him with smiles.

“Mr. Luo, here again to watch Liang Zhu?”

“Not just Liang Zhu—he’s here to see Liu Tao.”

“Mr. Luo, when will we be able to drink your wedding wine? Old Huang has already taken his eighth concubine, and you still have no movement?”

“Soon enough.”

“Mr. Luo, when are you planning to buy a residence? I have a good property on the same street as your Richard Hotel. If you’re interested, I can take you to see it after the show…”

“Hey, you Liang fellow—you’ve been watching Western movies every day, and now you’re suddenly interested in Liang Zhu? So you’re here to do business with Mr. Luo, huh?”

“I’m thinking of Mr. Luo’s interests! Staying in the Richard Hotel every day isn’t comfortable. It’s better to have your own place.”

“Does Mr. Luo need you worrying about him? You just want to live in the Richard Hotel yourself—could you afford a suite there every day?”

Luo Jun ignored the chatter and quietly drank tea while waiting for the performance to begin. Qin Huai observed the people in the elegant seating area—judging by their attire, all were either wealthy or of high status. Sitting there made the entire theater feel more upscale.

At the corner of the elegant seating area, there was a table with three people who didn’t appear as affluent. They were curiously observing Luo Jun and the people around him while whispering among themselves.

Qin Huai moved closer to listen in.

“What’s going on today? Why are all these people here besides Mr. Luo—White Fourth Master, Zhong Third Master, Boss Zhang, Boss Wang, Young Master Liu, Young Master Li, Mr. Ge… Are they even here to watch the opera?”

“You’re naive. They’re not here to listen to the opera. They have ulterior motives—they’re here to probe Mr. Luo.”

“Probe Mr. Luo’s background? Isn’t he just a southern businessman who studied abroad and returned?”

“You’re really clueless. Didn’t you hear about the Tiger Gang targeting him recently?”

“I know! Wasn’t the Tiger Gang backed by some northern patron…”

“Last night, they were all gone.”

“What do you mean, gone?”

“The port fire last night—did you hear about it?”

“Yes, the morning papers mentioned it. Said several warehouses burned down. Were those the Tiger Gang’s warehouses?”

“It wasn’t just the goods that burned—it was everything, people and all. Nothing remained, not even ashes. I heard the police don’t dare investigate. Go ask around outside now—there’s no more Tiger Gang. Not even a Mouse Gang dares to exist.”

The listeners gasped, their faces filled with fear as they secretly glanced at Luo Jun.

“So… what does that mean…?”

“The strangest thing is, not a single gunshot was heard at the docks last night. Mr. Luo studied in England, right? He doesn’t even handle chopsticks well, and now people are saying he’s the illegitimate son of a duke.”

Qin Huai: …

That rumor is getting a bit outrageous.

Luo Jun doesn’t even look like someone of mixed heritage.

Though the truth is even more outrageous than the rumor.

Guess what? He’s not even human.

The gossip hadn’t finished when the performance began.

The chatting people immediately fell silent. Qin Huai walked right up to the stage to watch.

The story of Liang Zhu was something Qin Huai had seen since childhood—movies, TV dramas, multiple versions. Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai, a classic Chinese tragic romance. Which child didn’t once dislike Ma Wencai and his lackeys?

Though later, as actors playing Ma Wencai became increasingly handsome, by the time Qin Luo watched Liang Zhu, the child ended up only watching Ma Wencai.

This was Qin Huai’s first time watching the opera version of Liang Zhu.

Liu Tao was very beautiful.

Even with heavy stage makeup that covered the entire face, making it hard to discern her natural features, Qin Huai could still tell she was a true beauty.

Oval face, willow-shaped eyebrows, large and lively eyes that sparkled with spirit—every expression seemed to be conveyed through her eyes.

And her voice needed no mention—melodious and captivating.

In an era where opera performers faced intense competition, anyone who made a name for themselves truly had skill.

Luo Jun was watching attentively.

So attentively that it felt somewhat unusual.

As is well known, Liang Zhu is a tragedy. Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai’s love is suppressed by societal and familial constraints, ultimately leading them to die for love and transform into butterflies—a poignant ending where lovers break free from worldly bonds through death.

Normally, by the end of the performance, emotionally sensitive audience members—especially women—would already be wiping away tears.

But Luo Jun looked quite happy.

He seemed to really like the ending. When the two transformed into butterflies and Zhu Yingtai became a yellow butterfly, accompanied by the mournful sound of the erhu and the curtain falling, he even smiled and applauded.

Anyone unaware might have thought the troupe had changed the ending into a happy one.

“Mr. Luo…” As soon as the show ended, some eager people tried to approach him.

“I have other matters,” Luo Jun said, standing up and walking toward the backstage.

The manager had already been waiting enthusiastically backstage, informing him that Liu Tao was still removing her makeup and asked him to wait a moment. The resting room was clearly arranged specifically for Luo Jun, with tables, chairs, screens, decorations, and vases. On the table were some relatively inexpensive snacks.

Luo Jun showed no interest in the tea or snacks. Finding the room too dim, he opened the window and sat by it, taking out the newspaper he hadn’t finished that morning to read.

Qin Huai: …

When did he fold the newspaper into a handkerchief and put it in his pocket?

Mr. Luo really loves reading novels?

Qin Huai stood beside him and read along.

The serialized novel in this tabloid wasn’t very good—every so often, a dull passage would be interrupted by suggestive content. Luo Jun clearly didn’t enjoy such stories that relied on sensual elements to make up for weak plots. He read quickly, skimming through them in large strides, finishing two pages in no time.

Then he folded the paper and took out another one from his other pocket.

Qin Huai: ?

Seriously, who goes out to watch a play with novels stuffed in both pockets?

This newspaper’s story was a cliché wuxia revenge tale, but the writing was decent. Luo Jun read it with great interest.

“Mr. Luo.”

Both Qin Huai and Luo Jun were absorbed in their reading and didn’t notice that Liu Tao had already arrived.

Without her stage makeup, Liu Tao looked quite different from her on-stage appearance.

On stage, she was radiant—beautiful eyebrows, bright eyes, dazzling presence with every movement capturing attention.

But now, in ordinary clothing, she still had bright eyes, willow eyebrows, and an oval face, yet seemed much more understated. Qin Huai could even pick out several minor imperfections in her face.

For example, a slightly short chin, a less prominent nose bridge, and a few small moles—ordinary features that, combined with her beautiful eyes, somehow made her seem a bit regretful.

Luo Jun put away the newspaper and calmly folded it into a handkerchief in front of her, placing it back into his pocket.

“You’re truly knowledgeable, always reading newspapers wherever you go,” Liu Tao remarked.

Luo Jun simply nodded slightly without speaking.

“I brewed some dried tangerine peel tea… Are you thirsty? Let me pour you a cup.” Liu Tao placed down a small covered bowl and went to the table to pour tea.

“What did you think of today’s performance of Liang Zhu?” Liu Tao asked as she handed him the tea.

Luo Jun took the cup but didn’t drink. “Except for you, everything else was subpar.”

“The singing, posture, movements, and even the erhu accompaniment were all lacking,” he added bluntly.

Liu Tao lowered her head and apologized, “I’m sorry, Mr. Luo. Our troupe… I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”

“Sit,” Luo Jun gestured to a chair.

Liu Tao obediently sat down.

“But I do like this story,” Luo Jun said.

Liu Tao looked up in surprise, then quickly lowered her gaze again. “You like… this kind of story?”

“I prefer endings that are complete,” Luo Jun replied.

Liu Tao: ?

She was momentarily at a loss, her face full of confusion.

“Complete?” she asked, beginning to question her entire career in opera. “Is Liang Zhu… a complete story?”

“Aren’t Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai together in the end, transformed into butterflies?” Luo Jun countered.

“But… they only became butterflies after dying for love.”

“Whether as butterflies or humans, isn’t it the same?” Luo Jun said calmly. “According to stories, demons can cultivate into spirits, and humans can cultivate immortality. Whether human or butterfly, both are forms of life—there’s essentially no difference.”

“When they were human, societal pressures kept them apart. As butterflies, they were together as a pair. Isn’t that also a kind of happy ending?”

Liu Tao was left speechless by Luo Jun’s reasoning. After carefully processing it, she smiled and nodded, her bright eyes filled with joy. “What you said does make sense.”

“You, someone so knowledgeable, are really different from us performers in the troupe. I’ve been performing Liang Zhu since childhood, and I never thought that being butterflies could also be a good ending. You’re right—it’s quite nice to be butterflies. They can even fly.”

“Do you like butterflies?” Luo Jun asked.

Liu Tao nodded firmly. “I do.”

“I used to think butterflies were just beautiful, but after hearing you, I feel they’re also very free.”

“Then do you like butterflies?” she asked.

“They’re all the same,” Luo Jun said. “To me, humans, butterflies, and birds are all the same. They can be whatever they are.”

Liu Tao smiled again, looking at Luo Jun with bright, curved eyes full of him.