Jobs  that  require  talents, like drawing, painting, writing, singing, playing musical instruments, composing music,  don't  always  grow  on  trees.  To  Mr.  Zhang,  people  who  even  have  the  interest  in  such  art  are  scarce  and  even  harder  to  come  by.  Why  is  that?  Oh,  so  you  think  that  art  simply  means  simply  doodling  on  a  piece  of  paper?  No,  it  is  much  more  than  that.  You  see,  Mr.  Zhang's  domicile  is  in  a  heart  of  a  small  village  situated  in  Guangzhou  Province,  China.  It  is  home  to the  ancient  arts  and  culture,  such  as  the  oracle,  feng  shui,  martial  arts,  calligraphy...and  the  list  goes  on.  Mr.  Zhang's  profession,  in  particular,  is one  that  needs  two  important  qualities-  talent  and  voice  to  make  it  real-  the  Chinese  opera.  Music  has  always  been  a  part  of  his  life  since  young.  His  father,  an  opera  actor  himself,  inspired  him  to  follow  his  footsteps.

They  say  that  music  is  the  second  most  lucrative job other  than  medicine.  Whoever  is  in  this  field,  is bound  to  be  rich,  but  not  in  Mr.  Zhang's  case.  How so? This is how Mr Zhang's dwelling looks like. A small  village  surrounded  by  lush  green  meadows  can  be  seen,  birds  chirping  and  the  familiar  tunes  of  Teresa  Teng's  'Little Town'  can  also  be  heard  as  sound  effects  to  commemorate  the  scene.  Separated from  the  village,  beside  the lush  green  meadows  is  a  rubber  tree  plantation  where  a  lonely  hut  stood.  At another  part  near  the  village's  perimeter  is  a  sparkling  white  mansion.  Perhaps  you  would  say  that  he  lives  in  the  mansion, which  overlooks  the  hut  as  a workers'  head-quarters.  This hut  is  however decorated  with many  forms  of  art  whilst  the  mansion  has  none.  Workers'  headquarters  don't  put  random  art  there,  do  they?  Just  a  bunch  of  tools  for  work.  That's  how  secluded  Mr.  Zhang's  house  is.

            Mr.  Zhang  loves  nature.  He  gets  all kinds  of  inspiration  from  the  animals  in  the  rubber  tree  plantation.  To  him, 'the  poetry  of  earth  is  never  dead' - his  principle in  making  good  music.  The  old  man  will  always  be  seen  playing  an  instrument  outside  his  old  hut. This is where he would entertain the rubber plantation workers in the evenings. After a hard day's work, listening to Mr Zhang's music and singing is like a soothing balm for a sore body.  If  it  is  not  a  recorder,  then  it  is  the  old  piano  in  the  house.  He  is  literally  a  one  man  band,  but  what  would  music  be  without  anyone  singing?  Therefore,  he  is  an  excellent  and  devoted  opera  singer.  During  his  younger  days,  despite  getting  a  full  scholarship  to  study  medicine,  he  rejected  the  golden  opportunity  and  set  off  to  chase  after  his  dreams  to  be  a  successful  director  in  Chinese  opera.  People  around  him  said  that  his  act  of  rejection  was  the  most  stupid  thing  to  do  as  many  people were vying  to  get  that  opportunity. They  said  he  was  ungrateful, to which Mr Zhang's reply was 'risks  are  the  milestones  to success  in  finding  your  dreams.' 

            Amist his ardent, admiring fans, is a 17-year-old girl named Caizhen. Caizhen comes from  a  music-loving  family.  Her  father  works  as  a  hawker  who  sells  pancakes  for  a  living.  Business  is slow but picks up during festivals.  Caizhen loves music and yearns to study music. Listening to Mr Zhang and watching him perform, oh, how Caizhen wished she could be like him! She imagined being his student, and her fingers lovingly touching the piano keys. However, with her family's economic situation, she realizes her aspiration may never materialize ...

            That is why Caizhen looks forward to Friday nights. For this is the day Mr.  Zhang entertains the village folks with his opera shows. Since  his  stay  in  the  village  during  his  30s,  he  has  been  performing every Friday night.  Caizhen's  family  is  close  to  Mr.  Zhang.  He and her  late  grandfather  were  old  friends.  Mr.  Zhang  treats  Caizhen as  his  own  daughter.  There will be sweets for her whenever  she  comes  for  a  visit.  The villagers then had this tradition of asking Mr Zhang, whom they considered to be a wise old man, for suggestions of meaningful Chinese names for their babies. Caizhen is no exception. Her family took sought Mr Zhang's assistance when she was born, and he had suggested the name, Caizhen. It means 'determination, follow your  principles and  have  a  wonderful  life.' But for Mr Zhang, there is another significance, which we will know later.

            When Caizhen was a little girl, avid fans young and old would throng Mr Zhang's shabby-looking  hut  to  enjoy  his  opera shows and his melodious singing. The added incentive was that Mr. Zhang  had  his  shows for  free.  There  would  always  be  a  large crowd  and  people would come early to book their seats on the limited benches. Many people would be standing, envying those who were seating. No matter seating or standing, they enjoyed his stories and his performances. His musical renderings were infectious. The audience would be right on cue – shedding tears when the scene depicts a tragedy, laughing when it is funny, and silent when it is melancholic. Mr Zhang composed and created the masterpieces himself. It was like he has put himself and his soul into his compositions, hence during performance nights, he and his audience are one. The aura is almost magical, this blending between the performer and the audience.

            What  sets  his  shows  unique  and  different  from  other performers  is  that  he  interacts  with  his  audience,  whether  he  is  playing  the  actors  himself  or  the  figurines.  When  he  plays  the  woman,  he  asks  funny  questions  to  men  and  vice  versa.  At one  time, he  was  playing  a  nail-biting  climax  in  one  of  his  masterpieces. Purposefully,  he  puts  in  the  silent  effect  as  the  suspense -  the  conflict  between  the  protagonist  and  his  enemy.  An old man in the audience, unable  to  hold  in  his  anxiety,  farted  loudly.  The  enemy  figurine  turned  to  his  direction  and  said,  'Hold  your  horses  and  don't  kill  me  yet,  but  did  I  hear  an  ear-splitting  cannon  sounding?' That  night  was  one  of  his  most  successful  nights  in  all  his  performances.  But  sadly, that   is  now  history.

            Caizhen  is  now 17 years old. Many  of  the  old generation have  passed  on  as  the  era  steps  into  the  21st  century.  For  some  reason,  crowded  seats  that  always  filled the  front  of  Mr.  Zhang's  house  have now  become  empty.  All that is left of his once-enchanted audience are several elderly people  who  Caizhen  knows personally.  Mr. Zhang himself must have noticed his dwindling audience. It seemed to have a drastic impact on him. Grim-faced, he took his bow after a show as if the joy of performing what was once his life's inspiration and enjoyment had been snuffed out like the light on a candle.

            Looks like the young generation is not too keen for opera shows, with its traditional music and singing, and stories of yesteryears, played out by actors and actresses in costumes and heavy make-up.   

            Caizhen, however, is different. She is  one of the few remaining fans in her village that  still  loves  opera, and she  is  a  student of Mr. Zhang too. Mr. Zhang is sympathetic towards  her  family's poverty, but he knows she  has  the  talent and the potential to inherit his legacy. Although he  does not allow her to play  the  piano (as  he  has  sentimental  feelings  towards  it  and  literally forbids anyone to touch it), he still taught her to sing. He taught her to breathe in and out at the right  places,  and the special techniques to 'open  your  vocal  chords'. Her asset is her voice, and Mr Zhang is set on grooming his young prodigy-to-be.

            On  most  occasions,  he  allows  her  to  run  the  show  with  him,  seeing  that  exposing  her  to  the  public  eye  is  very  essential  in  building  confidence.  She  enjoys  doing  that,  being  a  star  once  in  a  while  is  a  mind-blowing  experience.  Friday  night  shows  are  the  ones  that  always  excite  her  the  most,  especially  performing  and  singing  his  masterpieces.  Unfortunately,  a  particular  Friday  show  is  about  to  change.  A  fat  man  came  over  in  the  middle  of  the  show.  Everyone  recognizes  him  as  the  infamous  Gao  Xi,  which  in  Cantonese  translation  is  'dog  poop'.  He  is  the  owner  of  the  mansion  'on  the  other  side'.  The  household  literally  contains  a  bunch  of  snobs  that  love  to  insult and  bully  the  poor.  They  would  always  start  their  sentences  with, 'I  don't  mean  to  insult...'  which  ironically  leads  to  an  insult.  The  villagers  would  often  laugh  and  mock  them  behind  their  backs. Such  as...'I  don't  mean  to  insult  but  does  that  fat  thing  look  like  a  popper  fish  to  you?'

            The  huge  figure  stands  there  and  glares  at  the  show  that  is  running  smoothly.  Perhaps  it  was  the  loud  and  merry  laughter  that  bounced  over  the  din  and  the  high-pitched  singing  that  annoyed  him over the weeks that brought him to  Mr Zhang's humble abode. 'Where  is  that  idiot  old  man?!'  Stunned  silence  followed.  The  actors  stopped  their  act  and  stared  at  him.  One  of  them  slowly made his way came  down  from  the  set.  The  fat  man  then  proceeded  to  call  off  the  show  as  his  wife  and  children  needed  to  sleep  peacefully  without  annoying  music  in  the  air.  He  even  said  that  many  of  the  villagers  were  also  complaining  about  the  disruption  of  peace  in  the  village.

Mr.  Zhang  calmly  informed  him  that  the  show  must  go  on  as  he  needed  to  entertain  the  few  devoted  fans  seated on  the  benches.  Everyone  on  the  benches  combined  force  to  criticize  the  fat  man.  A  huge  match  of  words  then  commenced.  The  climax  came  when  an  innocent  child  asked,  'You  have  a  wife  and  children?   I pity them as you are so mean!' The  child's words  were followed by squeals of laugher among the villagers. The fat man's face underwent a colour change - from  red  to  yellow  and  then  green  like  a  traffic  light. At a loss for words, he let our a scream of fury and kicked the priceless set that Mr.  Zhang  has  been  using  all these  years.  Everyone scrambled to stop  him  but  alas, they  were  too  late. The set broke into a thousand pieces. Gleaming with satisfaction, he yelled  'Blasted  baboons, all of  you!' and walked off, leaving the villagers and Mr Zhang to ponder on what has happened. 

Like the broken pieces of what was once Mr Zhang's precious asset, Caizhen's heart too felt likewise. Scarcely daring to look at Mr Zhang, Caizhen could only stare at the floor. She heard the villagers trying to console him: 'We are very sorry, sir. We tried to stop him', said  one  of  them. Visibly moved, Mr Zhang said it was not their fault, they were not to be blamed. 'I am responsible for this, not you. I  didn't know my music affected my neighbours so'. He  stared  at  the  broken  pieces of  his once intricate set. It has been a part of him and his life for such a long time. He has lost his one and only friend. Mr Zhang seemed like a broken man.

That Friday night, it was the first time Mr.  Zhang did not complete his show. And it came to be the last time the villagers would see him perform ever again.

What  happened  thereafter remained  a  mystery.

The  next  day,  Caizhen  brought  pancakes  her  father  had  made  for  old Mr Zhang. She noticed something  odd. The  hut  that  always  had  a  welcoming  atmosphere  was  now  locked  up  with  a  sign  in  red  saying:  闲人免进! (Do  not  enter!). Unperturbed, Caizhen knocked on the door and called out to Mr Zhang. There was no answer and no movement forthcoming. Worried,  Caizhen placed  the  wrapped  pancakes  in  front  of  his  doorstep  just  in  case  he  was  away.  Behind  the  locked  doors,  Mr.  Zhang  was  rummaging  through  the  memories  of  his  opera  career.  Photos  of  him  receiving  awards  and  many  other  books  and  masterpieces  written  by  him  were  among these collections. Mixed  feelings  welled up  and  he  felt  his  chest  tightened.  Just  then,  an  old  envelope  fell  out  from  one  of  his  books.

He  picked up the envelope and looked at it. The  letter  was  addressed  to  him  and  was  dated  40  years  ago.  The  familiar  handwriting  on  the  letter  made  him  freeze.  It  was  his  late  wife's  handwriting.  He  immediately  took his  glasses  and  tore open the envelope:

My  dear  husband,

It's  me,  Xiao  Xue,  your  wife.  I'm  just  writing  this  letter  to  tell  you  that  we  are  going  to  mother's  house  this  weekend  for  a  visit.  Caizhen  is  spending  her  school  holidays  there  too.  We  have  already  bought  our  train  tickets  to  Beijing.

My  dear  husband,  I  understand  that  what  I've  written  means  nothing  to  you  compared  to  your  career.  I  know  you  trust  me  in  what  I  do,  and  I  shall  be  eternally  grateful  for  that.  Yet,  this  letter  is  much  more  than  just  informing  you  and  saying  our  goodbyes,  I  would  also  want  to  make  a  confession  in  this  letter.

I  understand  very  well  that  opera  means  everything  to  you.  From  the  moment  I  met  you  performing  'Journey  to  the  West'  on  your  father's  stage  when  I  was  a  teen,  I  fell  in  love  with  your  voice  as  well  as  you.  Your  devotion  and  success  is  admirable,  I  must  say.  Yet...ever  since  we  are  married  and  have  Caizhen,  you  are  always  so  busy  and  away  from  your  family.  I  find  that  your  devotion  to  opera  is  getting  overboard  and  neglecting  your  family's  precious  moments  are  worse.

Remember  when  Caizhen  was  a  participant  in  a  singing  competition?  She  was  going  to  sing  one  of  your  masterpieces  and  asked  you  to  come,  but  as  always  you  never  did.  To  her,  the  competition  was  a  very  important  event  for  her,  and  she  needed  her parents to  cheer  her  on.  How  sad  she  was  that  night.  Thankfully,  she  managed  to  pull it  of  and  was  a  champion  in  her  category.

Those  little  yet  significant  precious  moments  are  everything  in  life.  I  really  hope  that  you  can  consider  this  piece  of  advice  to  spend  more  time  with  your  family.  Thank  you,  I  will  always  love  you.

Sincerely,  Xiao  Xue

P.S.  Mother  wants  you  to  come  back  too.  She  has  cooked  your  favourite  noodles  for  lunch  but  as  usual...you  never  do.

Tears of regret  were  streaming  down  his  gaunt  cheeks  as  he  shakily  folded  the  letter.  He  remembered  very  well  that  fateful day. It  was  the  last  time  he  saw  his  daughter  and  wife  before  rushing  off  to  his  rehearsal. They were killed in a road accident. A motorcar  had crashed  into  them  when  they  were  crossing  the  road  to  the  train  station. 

Mr Zhang breathed with  great  difficulty  as  he  tried  to  calm  himself.  His  father  had  once  told  him  that  men  were  not  supposed  to  cry  even  when  they  were  facing  hard  times ... but  is  this  time  different?  He  then  stood  to  push  all the  books  and  papers  away  from  the  table  and  the  cupboard.  He  went  to  the  backyard  and  made  a  bonfire  to  burn them.  As  he  watched  the  flames  licking  up  his  works,  he  stared  at  the  sky. He  just  could not  bring  himself  to  see all  his  hard  work gone to  waste  but  at  the  same  time  he  hated  himself  for  pushing  his  family away from  his  life.

'I  hope  that  both of you  are  happy,  Caizhen  and  Xiao  Xue. I  am  so  sorry  for  you,  my  family,  especially  Caizhen.  Oh,  Caizhen,  Papa  has  never  told  you  that  when  he  heard  the  news of your achievement, he  was  so  happy  and  proud ... I  shall  never  get  to  say  that  to  you  in  person.  Forgive  my  sins,  my  family, please.  I  love  you  both ...'

He  wept.  Then,  he  saw  his  red  diary  lying  on  the  grass,  unscathed.  It  was  the  last  of  his  works  that  had  not  been  burned  single-handedly  by  him.  Like  a  drunken  man,  he  picked  it  up  and  brushed  the  book  affectionately.  He  looked  to  the  sky  gratefully  and  whispered,  'Thank  you  for  forgiving  me,  Caizhen  and  Xiao  Xue.  I  may  have  given  up  on  opera  because  of  you  both,  but  I  am  not going to let this  art  die.'  With  that,  he  decided  to  give  this  diary  to  his  one  and  only  favourite  student.

During  the  evening,  she  is  called  over  to  his  house.  'Yes,  Mr.  Zhang?'  She  enquired.  'What  do  you  want  me  to  do  and  where  have  you  been  just  now?'  'Oh, I was  just  taking  a  stroll  in  the  woods,  and  thank  you  for  your  pancakes  by  the  way,'  he  responded  smilingly.

She  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief.  'Well,  that's  good  news.  I  almost  thought  that  you  were  about  to  do  something ... after  what  happened  last  night ...'  Her  tone  was  as  soft  as  a  mouse  as  she  said  this  and  looked  at  him  nervously.  He  raised  his  hand. 'That's enough  of  that  balderdash.  I  don't  want  to  hear  that  again.'

'What  I  want  to  do  is  to  give  you  this  diary', he said  as  he  handed  her  the  bulky  book.  She  recognized  the  diary  very  well.  It  contained  beautiful  masterpieces  of  music  as  well  as  new  opera  stories  that  he  had not  performed.  All  of  them  were his creations. She took the diary and felt the edges lovingly. 'But ... why?'  She  looked  at  him  inquiringly.

'Oh,  I  think  you  are  the  only  person  who deserve  my  work  and  knowledge.  I  will die  one  day  and  it  is  the  matter-of-time to  hand  down  some  knowledge  to  keep  this  dying  art  alive,'  he  said  casually  with  a  hint  of  sadness.  'No!  Please,  don't  say  that.  You aren't  going  to  die  and  besides,  I  still  haven't  mastered  the  art  of  the  opera  yet.  I  don't  think  I  deserve  this,'  Caizhen  said  quickly.

The  old  man  smiled.  'You  have,  my  child.  Everything  in  this  diary  will teach  you  what  you  need  to  know.  Trust  me,  you  can  do  this  and  you  would  be  surprised  by  your  ability.  Plus,  besides  you,  who  else  is  really  interested  in  music?'  He  raised  his eyebrow  as if to  challenge  her.  Caizhen remained silent.  Mr.  Zhang  then  placed  a  reassuring  hand  on  her  shoulder.  'Remember,  traditions  are  what  make  us  as  who  we  are  and  we  must  maintain  our  unique  identity.  I  know  it's  hard  but  you  must  try  to  promote  it.  I  was  like  you   when  I  was  young,  forced  to  pass down  this  art  by  my  father.  For  generations,  it  has  been  alive  for  as  long  as  I  can  remember.

'Perhaps  it's  really  because  I,  as  an  old  man  am  an  outdated  person.  Forgive  me,  the  old  would  never  change  their  habits  and  ways.  So,  perhaps  you  should  take  the  risk  in  improving  the  music  and  stories  to  attract  the  people.  Art  can  be  anything,  you  just  have  to  be  innovative  and  versatile.  Unlock  the  doors  of  your  imagination!  Risks  are  the  milestones  to success  in  finding  your  dreams.    Without  it,  you  will  never  learn  your  mistakes.  Because  success  in  a  way  is  a  failure  they  say

'Lastly,  my  advice  is:  stay  strong  and  good  luck  in  life.'

Caizhen  has  never  seen  the  old  man  behaving  like  this  before,  especially  that ... philosophical.  Sure,  he  was  nice  but  he  was  also  very  strict  towards  her.  It  almost  felt  like  he  was  saying ... goodbye?  She  pushed  the  thought  away  as  she  said, 'Thank  you,  Mr. Zhang.  I will  do  what  I  can.  See  you  tomorrow,  Sir.  Good  night.'

'Alright,  good  night.'

The  sun  has  already  dipped  its  great  head  in  the  horizon.  He  took  a  piece  of  paper  and  his  brush  in  a  flourish  and  began  writing  a  poem:

Here  we  meet  again,  the  crossroad  of  life

To  be  or  not  to  be

To  do  or  not  to  do.

My  family  is  long  gone

And  I  am  the  only  soul  survivor  in  the  battle

Of  a  dying  art.

Can  God  point  out  to  me  the  right  way  and  direction,

Like  any  mother  who  teaches  her  child,

Like  any  teacher  who  teaches  his  students?

I  have  been trapped in  turmoils

Which  come  with  the  dealings  of  my  hardships

In  my  life,

I  really  wish  that  there  would  just  be  a  full stop 

At  the  end  of  every  sentence.

To  go  back  in  time  is  impossible

What's  done  is  done

Let  the  worries  go  about  mindlessly  for  one  day

And  leave  me  be.

May  I  be  well  and  happy

May  I  be  free  from  sufferings

May  I  be  free  from  guilt

And  finally  rest  in  peace.

And  he  never  spoke  again  after  that  night.