nyslfriends Chapter 149 The Fate at the Noodle Stall
Chapter 149 The Fate at the Noodle Stall
Chapter 150 The Fate at the Noodle Stall
Nanshi in Tianjin was known among the locals as the "three no-man's-land".
This place lacks the neon lights of the French Concession and the mansions and lawns of the British Concession.
This is the most turbid, stagnant pool of water at the lower reaches of the Nine Rivers, filled with silt and sand, and teeming with fish and other creatures.
The laborers, the magicians, and even the stray dogs begging for scraps in the dark alleys were all desperately digging for food in this muddy land where even the bluestone slabs couldn't be laid evenly.
Just after the Awakening of Insects, the morning wind still carried a bone-chilling cold.
The sky was overcast and gray, like an old rag that could never be washed clean.
At the entrance of the alley, various breakfast stalls had already set up.
The iron wok for frying dough sticks sizzled, and billowing steam mixed with the pungent smell of cheap coal briquettes, which went straight into people's lungs.
"Excuse me, let me have a seat. I'm not going to pay if you burn your foot!"
A porter, shirtless with a black towel draped around his neck, carried two large baskets of coal cinders and charged through the muddy alley with a hoarse voice.
Right here in this bustling, extremely dirty and chaotic marketplace.
Two figures, one young and one old, dressed in coarse cloth, walked in unhurriedly with the flow of people.
Walking in front was a young man wearing a gray cloth gown.
The material of this gown is extremely poor; it's just coarse cotton cloth that costs two copper coins a foot on the market, and it's been starched so much that it's even turned a bit white.
He was wearing a pair of black cloth shoes that were a little muddy.
But strangely enough, this person walked through this muddy pit with his back straight as a white wax spear piercing the sky.
Those carrying loads or pushing carts around him, seemingly about to bump into him, would always inexplicably slip or shift their shoulders at the last second, thus avoiding him.
He was like a drop of clear oil falling into this murky puddle, without getting stained by any dirt.
It was Lu Cheng who had shed the aura of "Grandmaster Lu" and deliberately concealed his murderous aura.
Half a step behind him was Lu Feng, who was also dressed in a worn-out outfit.
Although the wolf cub had changed into tattered clothes, the wariness and ferocity in its eyes were impossible to hide.
He was like a vicious dog guarding its master, staring intently at every idler who approached, one hand always tucked into his pocket, where a sharpened dagger was hidden.
"Master—"
Lu Feng lowered his voice and glanced disdainfully at the flies buzzing around in the slop bucket next to him.
"Why are we ignoring the ham at the National Hotel and coming all the way to this no-man's-land so early in the morning? The smell here is too strong, for someone of your noble birth—"
"alright."
Lu Cheng didn't stop walking, but shook his head.
"Fengzi, I taught you that drama is about the real world, not the clouds. If you can't even stand the smell of sweat from ordinary people, how will you be able to portray the suffering of all living beings on stage?"
Lu Cheng tilted his head back slightly and took a deep breath.
He inhaled the air, which was a mixture of scallions, sesame paste, sweat, and soot, and instead of feeling nauseous, he felt that this was the true breath of life.
"I want to sing 'Battle of Taiping'."
As Lu Cheng walked, he spoke softly, as if talking to himself.
"Hua Yun defended Taiping City to the death. When the city fell, he was captured and killed by a hail of arrows. That was the fierce spirit of a military general."
"But Lu Cheng is a martial arts performer by training. If I were to sing an old male role, my energy would be too strong, my blood too hot. I can sing Hua Yun's anger," but I can't sing the desolation and sorrow of someone whose life is exhausted, whose country is destroyed, and whose family is ruined.
"In the old male role (laosheng) singing style, there's a kind of singing called 'desolate tone.' It's a kind of poignant sound that can only be sung after one's heart has bled dry and the tendons in their throat have been worn down."
"You can't learn this kind of skill even if you practice it behind closed doors for a hundred years."
Lu Cheng stopped in his tracks.
His gaze pierced through the crowd and landed on a breakfast stall tucked between two dilapidated mud houses.
"We need to find someone who has truly exhausted all their energy and spirit to borrow that last bit of strength from."
It was a small stall selling "miancha" (a type of porridge).
A broken wooden carrying pole held a large copper pot, in which was simmering sticky, golden millet flour.
The stall owner was an old man.
He looked to be over sixty years old, so thin he was skin and bones, his back hunched over like a shrimp. He wore a tattered cotton-padded jacket whose original color was no longer discernible, and a straw rope was casually tied around his waist.
What's most striking is his face.
His left eye was tightly closed, and his eyelid was sunken; he was blind.
On the right side of his neck, there is an extremely hideous scar that runs from his ear to his collarbone, clearly indicating that his trachea and vocal cords were injured years ago.
"Want some? Two coins a bowl, cash only, no credit."
The old man was stirring the pot with a large iron ladle without looking up. His voice was like two rusty iron pieces rubbing together—hoarse, broken, and drafty, making it extremely unpleasant to listen to.
This old man has a very strange temper.
While other vendors greeted customers with smiles, he remained cold and aloof. When faced with thugs trying to take advantage, he would rather spill scalding hot tea on the ground than back down.
He's been beaten a lot because of his bad temper, but he just won't change.
The neighbors all called him "Crazy Tan".
No one knew his name, only that his surname was Tan.
"Two bowls of noodle porridge. Sprinkle an extra layer of sesame salt."
Lu Cheng stepped forward and sat down at a rickety square table in front of the vendor's stall. He took out four copper coins with smooth edges from his sleeve and arranged them neatly on the oily table.
Tan Fengzi rolled his remaining eye and glanced at Lu Cheng.
Upon seeing Lu Cheng's fair face and unfathomable eyes, the old man paused slightly in the iron spoon in his hand.
But he didn't say anything and quickly served two large bowls of noodle tea.
Authentic Tianjin-style noodle soup doesn't come with a spoon.
The proper way to eat it is to pick up the bowl, slurp it around, and let the piping hot millet flour mix with the generous amount of sesame salt fried in sesame oil on top.
"Put it there," Tan Fengzi said in a hoarse voice, then lowered his head to cook the noodles in the pot.
Lu Cheng didn't mind the grease on the table and picked up the large, rough porcelain bowl.
"call"
He gently blew on the hot bowl, his lips touching the rim, and his wrist slightly rotated.
"Slurp."
A mouthful of noodle tea went down my throat.
Hot, fragrant, and savory.
The coarseness of millet flour and the richness of sesame salt collide on the tip of the tongue.
Lu Cheng closed his eyes, savoring the flavor of the marketplace.
Lu Feng sat opposite him, looking at the paste-like stuff, and had absolutely no appetite. But he dared not disobey his master, so he could only frown and, imitating Lu Cheng, carefully pick up the bowl and take a sip.
"Cough cough cough!"
Lu Feng coughed from the burn, choked on the sesame salt, and tears welled up in his eyes.
"Clumsy."
Tan Fengzi snorted coldly, his tone full of disdain, "You can't even understand a bowl of tea, yet you want to dress like a man in a long gown?"
Lu Feng flew into a rage, slamming his bowl down: "You old man, are you looking for a beating?!"
"Fengzi!"
Lu Cheng opened his eyes and let out a soft shout.
Without any harsh words, just a slight change in tone, Lu Feng instantly seemed to be frozen in place, obediently sitting back down, though his wolf-like eyes remained fixed on Tan Fengzi.
Tan Fengzi was also taken aback.
He had been in this lawless area for over a decade and had seen countless ruthless people. But this young man before him could subdue a vicious dog that was about to bite with just two words; such power was no ordinary person.
But in his entire life, the thing Tan the Madman feared least was power and authority.
Back in the day, he was the kind of guy who smashed wine glasses in front of those high-ranking officials and nobles in Nanjing!
Lu Cheng ignored his apprentice's recklessness and slowly drank the bowl of noodle tea down to the last drop.
The bottom of the bowl was completely clean, not a drop was left.
He put down the bowl, took out a faded cotton handkerchief from his pocket, and gently wiped the corner of his mouth.
then.
He extended his right hand.
It was a long, slender hand, without any calluses.
Lu Cheng put his index and middle fingers together and gently dipped them into a drop of tea that had accidentally dripped onto the table.
"Yes."
Lu Cheng's fingers tapped lightly on the broken wooden table covered in knife marks and grease.
The sound was extremely soft.
It was even drowned out by the sizzling sound of frying dough sticks not far away.
But at the very moment that finger touched the ground...
Tan Fengzi's hand, which was stirring the large iron ladle, froze without warning.
His only remaining eye suddenly opened wide, a look of extreme shock and disbelief flashing in his eyes.
because.
What he sensed was not sound.
Instead, it was a vibration.
"Tap, tap, tap tap, tap."
Lu Cheng's fingers tapped seemingly casually on the table.
Without using any overt power, it was the masterful control of hidden strength by a grandmaster of internal energy.
Subtle force penetrates deep into the wood!
What's even more frightening is the rhythm of the tapping.
One beat, three steps.
Slow, extremely slow.
Sinking, extremely heavy.
This is an extremely ancient and poignant drumbeat from the slow section of "Fan Erhuang" in the Peking Opera's old male role category.
This powerful shockwave, containing the essence of internal energy, traveled along the four legs of the broken wooden table, into the ground, and then silently climbed up to the soles of Tan Fengzi's feet, following his meridians all the way to his heart.
"Coo-quack-quack"
At the same time, deep within Lu Cheng's abdominal cavity, the [Toad-Fishing Strength] began to breathe at an extremely faint yet long and profound frequency.
The frequency of his breathing blended perfectly with the drumbeats of his fingers.
This created a small, invisible aura.
Tan Fengzi felt a tightness in his chest.
His damaged lungs, which had been destroyed by poison and had been aching for years, began to rise and fall uncontrollably under the influence of this strange vibration and his breathing rhythm.
A slight feeling of comfort seeped out from those necrotic meridians.
The feeling was like parched, cracked earth finally receiving a gentle spring rain.
"You, you————"
The iron ladle in Tan Fengzi's hand fell into the copper pot with a "clatter".
He stared intently at Lu Cheng, his face, covered in wrinkles and scars, twitching violently.
He's an expert.
He is a true expert who understands both opera and the "qi" (vital energy).
He could hear the sorrow of the "Fan Erhuang" melody contained in the striking sound, and he could also feel the magical power that could repair his damaged internal organs.
This—this is Taoist breathing exercises?!
Who exactly is this young man?
Lu Cheng acted as if nothing had happened.
He slowly withdrew his fingers, stood up, and straightened the hem of his long robe.
"The noodle tea is good."
"I'll come again tomorrow."
After saying that, he didn't even glance at Tan Fengzi, and with Lu Feng, who was still a little dazed, he turned around and walked into the bustling crowd, disappearing into the morning mist.
Only Tan Fengzi was left standing there, dumbfounded in front of the steaming copper pot.
He looked down at the broken wooden table that Lu Cheng had just knocked on.
On the oil-stained tabletop, there were several very faint, yet clearly visible, fingerprints.
Wood chips turn into powder, penetrating deeply into every inch.
"Transformation Realm — a martial arts grandmaster?"
"Does he even understand the unique and rigid nature of my Tan family?"
In Tan Fengzi's single eye, a monstrous wave surged forth instantly.
The next day, early in the morning.
The same fog, the same alley, the same hustle and bustle.
Lu Cheng is here again.
He was still wearing that gray cloth robe, and Lu Feng was still looking wary.
Unlike yesterday, Tan Fengzi didn't keep his head down while cooking the noodle soup today.
-
From the moment he set up his stall, his one eye had been intentionally or unintentionally fixed on the alley entrance.
When he saw that familiar figure appear, the old man's withered chest heaved violently, but he forcibly suppressed the turmoil in his heart and pretended to be nonchalant as he picked up the iron spoon.
"Two bowls of noodle porridge."
Lu Cheng sat down and placed four copper coins on the table.
This time, Tan Fengzi's hand trembled slightly as he served the noodles and tea.
He placed two bowls of noodle tea on the table, but did not leave immediately. Instead, he stood aside, his eyes fixed on Lu Cheng's hands.
Lu Cheng ignored his gaze.
He finished drinking at a leisurely pace and wiped his mouth.
Then, that slender hand dipped in the tea again.
"Tap, tap—"
The finger fell.
This time, the rhythm has changed.
It was no longer the slow tempo of "Fan Erhuang" but had become "Kuai Sanyan".
The rhythm is fast and exciting, yet it also carries a tragic sense of a hero's downfall, forced into a desperate situation.
At the same time, Lu Cheng's [Toad-Fishing Strength] breathing technique also changed.
"Hiss—whoosh—"
'
Inhale as if drawing silk, exhale as if thunder roars.
This shockwave was even more powerful and direct than yesterday's, impacting Tan Fengzi's damaged vocal cords and lungs.
"Cough cough cough!"
Tan Fengzi suddenly started coughing violently.
He covered his mouth, coughing so hard it was excruciating, that he couldn't even straighten his back.
Upon seeing this, Lu Feng instinctively tried to get up, but Lu Cheng stopped him with a look.
"puff!"
Tan the Madman coughed up a mouthful of thick phlegm.
The thick phlegm that fell to the ground was dark red and had a foul, fishy smell.
That was a long-standing poisonous blood that had accumulated in his trachea and lungs for more than a decade, causing him endless torment day and night.
As soon as he spat out the poisonous blood, Tan Fengzi felt a miraculous relief from the suffocating sensation in his throat, which had felt like it had been blocked by an iron walnut for over a decade.
He gasped for breath, greedily inhaling the somewhat murky but incredibly fresh air.
A fanatical glint erupted in his single eye.
He found out.
This young man in front of him can really heal his hidden injuries.
Even if it can't restore him to his original state, at least it can stop him from being tormented by lung pain every night.
"Who—who are you?"
Ignoring the surprised looks from the other diners, Tan Fengzi leaned heavily on Lu Cheng's table, his hoarse voice trembling.
"You understand opera, and you have mastered this kind of profound internal martial arts."
"What do you want from me, a useless person?"
Lu Cheng stopped tapping his fingers.
He raised his head, his eyes, deep and unfathomable thanks to the [Exquisite Heart], quietly gazing at Tan Fengzi.
I don't want anything in return.
"6
Lu Cheng's voice was gentle.
"I just feel that this world shouldn't be without that one sound—"
"That which can awaken a chaotic world, is Ga Diao."
boom!
Tan Fengzi was struck dumb, frozen in place, even his breathing stopped.
"Ga Diao".
These two words were like a sharp knife, piercing his heart, which had been dead for over a decade.
Back in the day, before the Qing Dynasty collapsed...
He, Tan the Madman, was the most popular old male role performer among the four major Anhui opera troupes in Beijing.
His high-pitched voice soared into the sky, completely natural and powerful, capable of shattering the glass lamps in the theater.
Countless princes and nobles offered him large sums of gold and silver, just to have him sing "Battle of Taiping".
but.
Because of his stubbornness, he refused to let a high-ranking eunuch who colluded with foreigners sing those decadent songs praising the emperor.
That rainy night.
He was sacked in the alley on his way home.
He not only lost an eye.
He was even forced to drink a bowl of scalding hot medicine to make him mute!
His once-proud voice is now ruined.
His internal organs, which he depended on for survival, were ruined.
From that day on, he fell from grace. To survive, he fled the capital and hid in the lowest rungs of Tianjin, making a living by selling noodles and tea.
He thought that he would spend the rest of his life rotting in his coffin, filled with hatred and that one "ga-tiao" he could never sing again.
But now.
The young man before him had actually shattered his deepest obsession.
"you----"
Tan Fengzi's eyes were red, and his only remaining eye was bloodshot.
"You're an expert. But so what?"
The old man gave a bitter laugh and pointed to his hideous scar.
"My voice is ruined long ago; I'm a mute old man."
"My special skill was swallowed down with this bowl of mute medicine long ago."
You've got the wrong person.
After saying that, Tan Fengzi turned around, staggered towards his copper pot, picked up the iron ladle, and didn't look at Lu Cheng again.
That figure, so resolute, yet tinged with endless sorrow.
Lu Cheng did not have a strong bow.
He stood up, straightened his long gown, and placed two silver dollars on the table.
That's not the money for noodles.
That was out of respect for the old man's unyielding spirit.
Sorry to bother you today.
Lu Cheng left those words behind and turned to leave.
Day three.
The sky was overcast, and a light drizzle began to fall.
The streets of Nanshi became muddy and impassable.
Most of the breakfast stalls were closed, except for Tan Fengzi's noodle tea stall, which still stood alone in the ugly rain with its tattered oil-paper umbrella.
The old man sat on the lap of the stool, smoking a long cigarette, staring alone at the alley entrance.
Even he himself didn't know whether he was waiting for business or waiting for someone to come along.
"Da, da, da."
In the rain, familiar footsteps could be heard.
Lu Cheng, holding a green-ribbed oil-paper umbrella and still wearing a gray cloth robe, walked alone into the muddy chess alley without any attendants.
-
He walked to the stall and put away his umbrella.
"A bowl of noodle tea."
Lu Cheng sat down.
Without saying a word, Tan Fengzi served a steaming bowl of noodle tea.
Today, he didn't leave, but sat directly opposite Lu Cheng.
Across a wooden table, an old man and a young man faced each other amidst the swirling smoke and gentle drizzle.
Around him were peddlers and laborers occasionally running past to seek shelter from the rain, and people cursing the weather.
But between these two uncles, the two seemed to be detached from the world.
Lu Cheng did not eat the noodle tea.
He looked at Tan Fengzi, a gentle smile appearing on his lips.
"Old sir."
Lu Cheng spoke, and his voice was exceptionally clear in the rainy alley.
"I know your voice is ruined and you can't sing anymore."
"I didn't expect you to come on stage in person."
Lu Cheng extended a finger and gently tapped it on the table.
There was no striking, nor any exertion of power.
"The day after tomorrow, at the China Grand Theatre in Tianjin, I'm going to sing 'Battle of Taiping'."
"I'm a martial arts performer by profession, and I'm not proficient in the nuances of old male roles. Especially the grief and indignation in that passage after being pierced by a hail of arrows, I'm not sure how to capture it."
"I understand the killing techniques of martial arts, and I also understand the health preservation methods of Taoism."
Lu Cheng looked at Tan Fengzi with a sincere expression, yet he also possessed the air of a grandmaster.
"Old sir."
"I will use this Taoist breathing and health preservation method that can repair your lungs and extend your life by ten years."
"It's your turn—"
"Give me a few lines of your vocal techniques from 'Battle of Taiping' back in the day, and that little trick of 'falling tone'."
"You speak, and I listen."
"How about this deal?"
These words were neither humble nor arrogant.
They didn't try to bribe them with money or use their influence to suppress them.
Instead, they use the purest "method" of martial arts practitioners to exchange for "skill".
This is an equal exchange, and more importantly, the greatest respect for a renowned figure whose career has come to an end.
The pipe in Tan Fengzi's hand stopped in mid-air.
The embers in the pipe flickered, reflecting on his ever-changing face.
He looked at Lu Cheng.
In the young man's eyes, he saw a yearning for this art, and also a kind of resolute determination—a desire to tear a hole in the sky.
Good thing.
Tan Fengzi took a deep breath.
Suddenly, a chilling light burst forth from that solitary figure. It was the soul of the actor, suppressed for over a decade, finally finding an outlet.
"it is good."
Tan Fengzi nodded heavily, his voice hoarse.
"This old man's worthless bones are no good even if I'm buried in the ground."
"Since you want to learn, since you dare to sing this 'life-threatening play' in the grand performance—"
"Then I'll give you everything I have left in this old life!"
The rain is getting heavier.
It hit the broken oil-paper umbrella with a crackling sound.
In front of the noodle tea stall.
The old man and the young boy no longer cared about the mud around them.
Tan Fengzi, having teamed up with Lu Cheng, began to teach, word by word, using his ugly, broken voice.
"When singing a weak note, you can't fill your lungs completely."
"You should imagine your dantian as a ball that has leaked out of a hole. The air you draw in must hiss and leak out through that hole. What you're leaking isn't just air, it's your life force."
"When pronouncing the sound, don't use a bright voice. Instead, press the sound down at the back of your throat, with a slightly hoarse tone that feels like it's rubbing against your flesh."
As Tan Fengzi spoke, he gestured with his fingers to indicate the location of the "Famous Mouth".
Lu Cheng listened intently.
【Exquisite Heart】 is operating wildly at this moment.
He is incredibly perceptive and can understand ten things from just one.
Tan Fengzi's hoarse and broken voice was automatically filled in, repaired, and amplified by the [Exquisite Heart] in Lu Cheng's mind.
He seemed to see that famous old male actor who stood on the red carpet back then, full of vigor and arrogance.
I heard that desolate, tragic, and plaintive ancient epic.
"What about that?" Lu Cheng asked casually.
"Ga Tiao————"
A hint of arrogance flashed across Tan Fengzi's face.
"Ga Diao" is not a shout or a yell.
"That's when a person is in dire straits, all their resentment, anger, and sorrow are crushed and transformed into a sharp knife, piercing straight through the skull."
"You need to sink your breath to your heels, and then, using the ground as leverage, suddenly rush into your chest."
"Break through the throat, break through the blue sky above."
Lu Chengxi is pregnant.
He rehearsed it in his mind.
The internal energy and blood within the body, following the methods taught by Tan Fengzi, began to try a completely new circulation method.
It is no longer the fierce and powerful force that sweeps through an army.
Rather, it is a kind of intense, desperate outburst that has been extremely compressed.
Simultaneously.
Lu Cheng kept his word.
He reached out and placed his hand on Tan Fengzi's pulse point.
"Sir, calm down."
"My breathing technique is called 'Golden Toad Breath.' Follow my rhythm, inhaling and exhaling."
Lu Cheng began to teach Tan Fengzi the profound and extensive Taoist internal energy cultivation method, word by word.
And with his pure internal energy, he guided the broken blood and qi in Tan Fengzi's body to slowly circulate through his meridians.
Unblock blockages and nourish vital points.
At this moment, in this muddy, no-man's-land alley.
A shocking deal is quietly taking place.
One is a martial arts master at the pinnacle of skill, the other is a renowned opera performer down on his luck in the streets.
They complemented each other in the ugly rain.
The next three days.
Lu Cheng would stand in front of the noodle tea stall every morning without fail.
Tan Fengzi vowed to pass on his knowledge.
He explained to Lu Cheng in great detail the meaning behind every movement of Hua Yun in "Battle of Taiping," the focal point of every gesture, and even the subtlety of her breath.
Lu Cheng's comprehension also filled this veteran actor with immense joy.
too fast.
While others need ten years of painstaking practice, this young man only needs to listen to it once, process it in his mind, and when he opens his eyes again, the spirit and charm are already seven or eight parts similar.
"A monster, what a monster!"
On the morning of the third day, when Lu Cheng lowered his voice and softly hummed a line from the first part of "Battle of Taiping" in front of Tan Fengzi.
Although the sound was soft, the tragic and desolate "fallen tone" was exactly the same as Tan Fengzi's voice at its peak. In fact, because of Lu Cheng's strong internal strength, it had an added weight that penetrated the soul.
The iron spoon in Tan Fengzi's hand fell to the ground.
"It's done—it's done."
"Boss Lu." Tan Fengzi stood up, took a step back, and bowed deeply to Lu Cheng.
"You have captured the spirit of 'Battle of Taiping'."
"7
"This old man has no regrets even if he dies now, having finally obtained a son."
Lu Cheng stood up and returned the greeting.
He felt that the sharp, ruthless spirit he had always possessed, after being integrated with the desolate and sorrowful atmosphere of this old-fashioned profession, had finally reached a delicate balance.
It combines strength and gentleness, and integrates literary and martial arts.
This performance is a sure thing.
"Thank you, sir."
Lu Cheng left behind a bag of silver dollars and a slip of paper covered with the incantation for the "Golden Toad's Breath".
He turned around, opened his oil-paper umbrella, and walked into the rain.
Tomorrow, China Grand Theatre.
"
"Mr. Lu, we're waiting for you to come and watch the opera."