You are not welcome here. Get out!

The atmosphere in the room grew tense. Although Li Yu was a man, his talent was extraordinary—he was a genius at playing female roles. The standards for cross-gender performance in Peking opera were extremely high, yet now he was being maligned as some kind of freak.

Xu Guosheng’s gaze was sharp as a blade; he stood tall and straight like a pine. Stepping forward, before Li Si could react, Xu executed a flawless takedown, pinning him to the ground.

“You’re not welcome here. Get out!”

Xu Guosheng’s voice was low and powerful. In his youth, he had trained as a martial role and, though he seldom appeared on stage nowadays, his foundation remained solid; dealing with a thug was child’s play.

Having spoken, he grabbed Li Sheng’s arm and dragged him out the door.

Li Si, sprawled on the ground, face flushed and arm aching under Xu Guosheng’s grip, shouted angrily at those around him, “What are you all standing around for?! Get them!”

Several henchmen, intimidated by the heavily made-up actors wielding props, their eyes wide as copper bells, swallowed hard and dared not move. One quick-witted fellow called out toward the door, “Boss! Are you alright?” Then he ran outside, and with him leading, the others quickly followed to help Li Si.

In a moment, Li Si was surrounded by his men. Xu Jianguo, seeing this, snorted coldly and slammed the door shut.

“Damn it! I told you to get inside! What the hell are you doing out here?!” Li Si scrambled to his feet, fuming, and smacked each of his cowardly followers on the head.

Still not appeased, he gritted his teeth and stared at the tightly shut door. “Since you don’t know what’s good for you, don’t blame me for being ruthless!”

Outside the century-old Huayun Theater in Jin City, a group of people was splashing paint from buckets onto the façade.

The once elegant building was now defaced beyond recognition.

Though Huayun Theater had fallen into decline, it remained a cherished childhood memory for many locals. Now, as the troupe faced such trouble, some onlookers recorded videos and posted them on DouHand.

“Isn’t this our Jin City’s century-old Peking opera house, Huayun Theater? My grandfather used to take me there as a child. How did it end up like this?”

“Century-old Peking opera house? Just remnants of feudalism. This shabby building doesn’t match the surrounding developments at all—ruins the city’s image.”

“No one’s stopping them, so maybe this is demolition. Another old landmark gone. Suddenly I remember what Ji Fanxing said in ‘King of All Songs’—this is the tradition we’re abandoning.”

That comment quickly became a hot topic, sparking heated discussion.

“Suddenly thinking of my late grandmother—she loved opera the most. Her dying wish was to see one more show, but my father searched everywhere and couldn’t find a troupe. When I was young, performances were everywhere for the holidays.”

“I heard the Dragon Country’s Peking Opera Academy had terrible enrollment this year…”

“It’s not just Peking opera; all traditional fields are struggling. Kids find them old-fashioned and can’t bear the hardship, adults think there’s no future in it.”

“When I was young, my grandfather forced me to learn the erhu. So many beggars on TV carried one—I got mocked as a beggar myself and couldn’t make friends; I hated my grandfather for it…”

As the conversation grew, what started as a casual video gained traction, and netizens began to dig deeper into the issue.

“These thugs are outrageous! Splashing paint in broad daylight!”

---

But before long, the video’s creator posted a clarification below:

“This is an old theater in Jin City’s historic district. I heard there’s a pervert inside forcing minors to dress as women. That’s why it’s being smashed. I was just passing by and filmed it—nothing to do with me!”

Though the statement was abrupt and odd, it didn’t stop uninformed netizens from seizing on the “key details.”

“Whoa, is it really that twisted?!”

“Good job! Splash some more for me!”

“It’s true. When I was a kid, I saw women dressing as men—one opened her mouth and turned out to be a girl!”

“Actors in movies are all like this—cold and heartless, only care about money, will do anything for it, so cheap!”

“And that popular TV show recently—the heroine was sold to an opera troupe and abused by the boss. This must be the same! These people are doing the right thing!”

…

Watching the video’s popularity soar, its author seemed spooked, quickly deleting it.

“Video saved.”

Ji Fanxing breathed a sigh of relief at the words on her screen—her centuries of training in swift hands had paid off.

She hadn’t expected that the national treasure so celebrated in Huaxia would be so reviled in Dragon Country. Cross-gender performance, so common, was being misinterpreted as perversion.

The erhu, once used for court music, now symbolized a beggar?

Such stereotypes were the fruits of Dragon Country’s film and television for years. Early audiences had no way to know the truth; now, even with the means, they couldn’t be bothered to learn, deepening the misunderstandings.

Dragon Country and Huaxia shared a cultural heritage. The sense of national pride cultivated in Huaxia made Ji Fanxing furious at these circumstances.

Ji Fanxing knew her influence was limited and couldn’t change the situation, but she could at least help Huayun Theater, or at least chip away at public prejudices against Peking opera.

With this in mind, she sat up straight and began filming a video, which she posted simultaneously on DouHand and WeiBlog.

Outside Huayun Theater in Jin City, Li Si and his henchmen wreaked havoc at the entrance for a while before leaving.

Backstage in the theater, everyone had, at Li Guosheng’s request, removed their costumes and makeup, preparing to disperse.

Li Yu still wore heavy makeup, fists clenched, eyes burning with anger. He suppressed his voice and asked Xu Guosheng:

“Director, why wouldn’t you let me go out? Those people weren’t just vandalizing—they were slandering us! They’re smearing our names!”

Two young actors nearby were equally indignant. One, a teenage martial role called A Xing, was Xu Guosheng’s last apprentice.

He hadn’t changed out of his costume and still gripped his staff, stamping his foot in agitation:

---

“Exactly, Master! We can’t let them bully us and not fight back!”

Xu Guosheng sighed and shook his head. “Do you know who Liu Three-Blades is? He’s been entrenched in Jin City for years, infamous for every kind of crime. I can’t let you rush out and throw your lives away.”

“But we need to say something!” another young apprentice complained.

“Say something?” Xu Guosheng smiled bitterly. “Who’s going to listen to us nowadays? Look at the comments on your phones…”

Li Yu pressed hard on the edge of his phone screen. “Are we just supposed to let these misunderstandings continue?”

An elderly man walked over—a drummer who had spent half a lifetime at the troupe. His clouded eyes regarded Li Yu with sorrow:

“Heaven has no eyes… Yu has suffered so much for the opera since childhood, finally made a name for himself, and now he’s being called this. How will the child bear it in the future…”

Xu Guosheng looked at a photo sent by a friend—the shattered plaque and paint-splattered walls cut him to the heart.

Perhaps his persistence had been wrong. Their generation was already old, and shouldn’t hold up the young people’s prospects any longer.

He turned to the younger members, his voice dry. “Remember, your senior sister switched to the film industry as a stunt double. Maybe you should connect with her more…

And my daughter—she’s a director now. Though her situation isn’t great, she can sometimes find opportunities…”

There was resignation in his words.

“Director!”

“Master!”

The group quickly interrupted Xu Guosheng, stubbornly insisting they would not leave.

Tears glimmered in Xu Guosheng’s eyes. He looked at them with both pride and guilt—the troupe had been running at a loss for years, surviving only through sheer determination.

But now, he felt he couldn’t hold out any longer. “I’m sorry… I…”

“Director! Look! Someone’s speaking out for us!”

Before Xu Guosheng could finish, someone excitedly handed him a phone.

“The video was deleted—how is this possible?…” Xu Guosheng took the phone in disbelief, and the others crowded around to watch.

On the screen, Ji Fanxing sat atop a stone. The breeze played with her long hair, and under the sunlight she seemed bathed in a soft glow.

The sound of waves could be heard nearby. Her eyes stared straight into the lens, her voice calm yet resolute.