The ninth wonder of one person

Chapter 72

SX Provincial Dramatists Association, an unofficial organization independently established by SX provincial dramatists, has a history of more than 60 years.

Decades of changing times have made the system of the Dramatists Association more complete, but many of the older generation of dramatists who contributed to the establishment of the Association have retreated.

There is a staff on duty in the association, but it's a pity that she is a young woman, and she can be said to know nothing about Jiang Xin's questions.

As for those aged artists, Jiang Xin didn't see any of them anyway, either they were recuperating at home, or they went there to listen to a play.

"It's a bad start, it's a bad start." Standing on the street, Jiang Xin, who rarely encountered such a situation, was a little dazed for a while.

Whether it is the previous generation or this life, Jiang Xin can always find a goal for herself: study, experiment, practice or cultivation, gain abilities, and participate in the Luo Tian Dajiao.
These goals either have a clear path to completion, or can be achieved in a short period of time. Jiang Xin rarely sets a goal that she doesn't know how to achieve.
But now, he has a goal, but this goal is too vague and too far away.

It felt like an extremely advanced math problem was placed in front of Jiang Xin. Jiang Xin knew that he had to study and solve the problem, but the key problem was that he didn't even know the type name of the problem, and he didn't even know what to do from it. Where to start learning.

Here is the problem, here is the goal.

However, some can't get started.

"Sure enough, I still need some external help." Jiang Xin looked at the billboards on tall buildings in the distance, and had some new ideas in her heart.

In the theater, Jiang Xin looked at the signboard: "May I ask, is there any master's performance recently?"

The person in "Recently" pondered for a moment, then rummaged through a roster: "Yes! In three days, there will be a performance by Master Zhang."

"Master Zhang?" Jiang Xin didn't know the meaning of the name because he didn't know drama, but he wanted to be called a master by the staff, so he took out the money and said, "Okay, can I have a ticket?"

"no problem."

Three days later, with the crowd, Jiang Xin entered the venue and found her seat.

After a while, the stage lights came on and the actors came on stage.

"In ~Palace~"

"I~have received~long live's decree."

"."

Off the stage, seeing the people around her listening mesmerizingly, Jiang Xin's eyes were full of bewilderment, and she couldn't tell where the essence of the drama was: "Is there anything good about this?"

Looking at the actor on the stage who was not a stranger, but his eyes were full of drama, Jiang Xin's heart moved: But this time, I should be able to ask about the ghost singing opera, right?

That Master Zhang is also an old man, and he will not appear on stage after a play. Seeing this, Jiang Xin went into the toilet, and when he came out again, he had become a staff member who could go in and out of the backstage.

In a separate room in the backstage, Jiang Xin met Master Zhang who had just appeared on stage to sing. Although he was 60 or [-] years old, his energy was not weaker than that of ordinary young people.

Looking at his skeletal eyes again, Jiang Xin could tell at a glance that the old man was not an extraordinary person, even if he was not a stranger, he should be an extraordinary person who was aware of the existence of qi.

There are qi refiners in the world, but not all qi refiners can be called aliens. Only qi refiners who have realized strange abilities from qi are aliens. The rest of qi refiners are just to help the body strengthen.

In ancient times, one had to be energetic when singing operas. It is not surprising that these old opera actors have the method of refining qi. If not, it would be a little strange to be able to sing a big opera neatly with a mortal body.

"Master Zhang, I have seen you." Under Zhang Anshi's puzzled eyes, Jiang Xin pulled a stool and sat beside him.

"You are?" Zhang Anshi looked at Jiang Xin's pupils and physique, but didn't find Jiang Xin's identity, and suspected some fanatic in his heart.

"My surname is Jiang. I am looking for you this time because I want to consult you about some drama matters." Jiang Xin smiled: "I am also forced to do so. I can't find it outside, so I can only think about it. The kind of old artist who understands the situation.”

"Consulting about drama?" Zhang Anshi pondered for a moment, then raised his head and smiled: "Okay, tell me."

Seeing that Zhang Anshi agreed, Jiang Xin didn't talk nonsense, and went straight to the point: "You know that there is such a drama, it is not sung to be enjoyed by living people, but only listened to by ghosts and gods. The folks seem to call it singing a ghost show."

"Singing ghost plays?" Zhang Anshi frowned suddenly: "It's all folk legends. I've listened to and sang operas since I was a child, and I've never seen even a ghost show troupe."

"Have you heard of it?" Jiang Xin's eyes lit up, and she immediately took out the photo from her phone: "Look at this Facebook."

"Facebook?" Zhang Anshi took off his phone, and the next moment, he was fascinated by the deep lines on the ghost's face, and he was able to break free after a long time.

Heaving a heavy sigh of relief, the expression on Zhang Anshi's face became extremely serious: "Now, I believe the rumor about the ghost show you said."

Jiang Xin took back her phone, curious: "Master Zhang, what did you see?"

"It's just some rumors from the elders in the family." Zhang Anshi shook his head, then sighed: "If you want to know, it doesn't hurt to tell you."

"You say."

"This facial makeup is actually divided. It's not just a random painting." Zhang Anshi's eyes were far away, and he fell into the memory: "That was a long time ago."

Decades ago, Taiyuan was an ordinary alleyway.

The sun was gradually setting, and an old man who looked upright was holding an ink pen, basking in the rays of the sun, carefully leaving color marks on the blank mask.

At this time, a crisp child's voice came from outside.

"Grandpa, grandpa, what are you doing?"

After a day of skin-playing with his friends, a boy who looked no more than eight or nine years old rushed back from the outside and hugged the old man who was outlining the lines.

Being hugged violently by the boy, the ink pen in the old man's hand trembled, and in an instant, a disharmonious pen mark was left on the mask.

Looking at the destroyed work, the old man sighed inwardly, but he didn't blame the boy, but patted the boy's head, smiled and pulled him to his side, pointing to the mask: "Do you know what this is? "

"I don't know." The boy looked at the mask and honestly shook his head: "But it's so beautiful!"

"Beautiful?" The craftsman chuckled after hearing this, "That's right, it's beautiful, as long as it's beautiful. Grandpa drew it himself."

"Grandpa, did you draw it?" The boy looked at the abstract facial makeup with a naive look on his face: "Grandpa, did you draw Guan Gong?"

"Yes, Grandpa drew Guan Gong." Putting the destroyed face into the boy's hand, the craftsman pointed to the face and said, "Come on, tell Grandpa, how do you know that Grandpa drew Guan Gong?"

Holding the face mask, the boy was silent for a while, and finally shook his head: "I don't know, I just knew it was Guan Gong as soon as I saw it."

"That's right!" the old man said loudly.

(End of this chapter)