Chapter 67

Title: A Meeting of Legends

"From China?" Charlie Lee sat up abruptly, grabbing the ticket from Lawrence and inspecting it closely.

"New York Metropolitan Opera. A Peking Opera master from China—a great artist admired by 50,000 people—Mei Lanfang! A special performance by Mei Lanfang!"

When Charlie pronounced the last name, his voice soared like a rooster suddenly pinched. His tone rose sharply, betraying his excitement.

"Charlie, what about this consultation fee?" Lawrence asked smugly, clearly enjoying his reaction.

"Great." Charlie stared at the ticket, his expression complex, as though the word "great" didn't adequately capture his emotions. He repeated, "Great!"

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go now!" Lawrence waved his arm enthusiastically.

On the plane to New York, Charlie still felt as though he were dreaming. Mei Lanfang—a name deeply etched into the heart of every Chinese person—was someone no one could forget.

The foremost of the four famous dan performers, the King of Performing Arts, and founder of the Mei School, Mei Lanfang elevated Peking Opera to unprecedented heights with his elegant performances and melodious singing.

He had brought Chinese opera to the world stage, sparking a global "Mei whirlwind." Even in the 21st century, Mei Lanfang's legacy endured, and his tragic love story with the "Winter Emperor" was remembered with wistful admiration.

Charlie had never imagined that in this alternate world, he would have the fortune to witness this legend performing live.

"Amazing," Charlie murmured, his heart pounding fiercely with excitement.

Though not a fervent fan of drama, he deeply respected and admired artists like Mei Lanfang, whose dedication and talent carried traditional Chinese culture beyond borders, showcasing the splendor of an ancient civilization with millennia of heritage.

However, this event also stirred memories of the Manchurian Incident from his previous life—when 400,000 Chinese troops failed to prevent the Japanese occupation of the northeastern provinces due to weak leadership and poor judgment.

Charlie had vowed not to meddle in the historical course of events in this new world. Japan, at this point, was powerful enough to challenge even the Soviet Union. The idea of standing against an entire nation was overwhelming. Yet, meeting Mei Lanfang felt like fate urging him to reconsider his stance.

"Should I do something?" Charlie pondered.

When they arrived at the Metropolitan Opera House in New York, Charlie was still lost in thought.

"Tickets, sir? A once-in-a-lifetime performance by a great Chinese artist—only $15!" Two eager scalpers approached them.

"We've got ours already," Lawrence waved their tickets dismissively, noting Charlie's preoccupied demeanor.

The scalpers turned their attention to another Chinese man nearby. "Sir, need a ticket? A legendary performance…"

"How much?" the plainly dressed man asked.

"$15. This is your only chance to see this artist perform in New York!"

"I only have $10," the man admitted, embarrassed.

"How about $13? The show's about to start," one scalper offered hesitantly, gauging his sincerity.

"I'll buy it," Charlie interjected, pulling out two $10 bills and handing them over.

"Thank you, sir. May I know your name?" The man, clearly grateful, bowed slightly.

"Charlie Lee. And you?"

"Zhao Yaozhong," the man replied shyly. He had a gentle expression, with slightly emaciated features and neatly combed hair.

"Let's go in and talk. The show's starting soon," Charlie said warmly.

"Sure," Zhao agreed, his voice filled with emotion. "It's amazing how popular Master Mei is in America. The ticket price is three times higher than usual."

"Art knows no borders," Charlie remarked casually.

Zhao paused, a faint smile on his face. "True, but artists always have their nationality."

"Well said," Charlie thought with amusement, finding Zhao's insight refreshing.

As they approached the entrance, Lawrence noticed Zhao and asked, "Charlie, is this your friend?"

"Lawrence, this is Zhao Yaozhong, a fellow countryman," Charlie introduced him.

"Hey, man, you're looking thin," Lawrence joked, tapping Zhao's chest playfully.

"I often forget to eat when studying. By the time I remember, the dining hall is closed, so I have to manage on my own," Zhao explained shyly.

"A true scholar," Lawrence quipped, spreading his arms theatrically.

"The show's about to begin," Charlie said, leading them inside.

"Lawrence, can we sit together?" Charlie asked, eager to learn more about his newfound compatriot.

"I'll arrange it," Lawrence said confidently.

Thanks to Lawrence's connections with the Rockefeller family, their seats were upgraded to a private box on the third floor, offering a perfect view of the stage.

"Brother Zhao, are you still in school?" Charlie asked as they settled into their seats.

"Yes, I'm finishing my Ph.D. at Caltech," Zhao replied with a smile. "I came here as soon as I heard Master Mei was performing. I didn't want to miss the chance to see him live."

A Ph.D. candidate in the 1930s—a rare and admirable achievement. Charlie quickly realized Zhao was no ordinary person.

"Don't worry, you'll meet him. It's said that Master Mei personally greets the audience after every performance," Charlie assured him, drawing from his memories of Mei Lanfang's legendary courtesy.

"That's wonderful! I've loved opera since childhood. My grandmother used to take me to performances, and I even dreamed of becoming an opera singer," Zhao shared nostalgically.

"It's a good thing you didn't. The world of physics would have lost a genius," Charlie joked, already thinking about how to recruit Zhao for his own plans.

"Oh, I remember now! The Chinese genius, Zhao!" Lawrence suddenly exclaimed. "The National Academy of Sciences published your research—something about… gamma rays?"

"Hard gamma-ray absorption coefficient measurement," Zhao clarified modestly.

"My father called you a genius," Lawrence added with admiration.

Charlie's mind raced. A prodigious physicist from his homeland—this was the kind of talent he desperately needed.

"Look, it's starting," Zhao said, his eyes lighting up as the stage curtain rose.

The first scene of Fenhe Bay began. When Mei Lanfang appeared on stage in full costume, the opera house fell silent.

Mei Lanfang's presence was magnetic. Every movement, every expression captivated the audience, as if their very souls were drawn to him. His refined gestures, graceful posture, and expressive eyes blurred the line between man and character.

From the sword dance in The Red Thread Box to the tragic loyalty displayed in Thorn Tiger, Mei Lanfang's performances moved many to tears. His elegant long-sleeve solo in The Goddess of Luo and his dual sword dance in Farewell My Concubine left even seasoned Hollywood performers in awe.

Each act brought thunderous applause, culminating in a standing ovation when the final curtain fell.

"China Mei! China Mei!" the audience chanted, their excitement uncontainable.

True to his reputation, Mei Lanfang appeared on stage again, shaking hands with every member of the audience who approached him.

"Master Mei, your performance was extraordinary," Zhao said, clasping Mei Lanfang's hand reverently.

"Thank you for your kindness. If you're not in a hurry, please join me backstage. All Chinese compatriots are welcome," Mei Lanfang replied warmly, his voice filled with emotion.

"Absolutely," Zhao agreed, visibly moved.

As they made their way backstage, Charlie exchanged a knowing glance with Mei Lanfang. Fate had indeed brought them together, and Charlie resolved to seize the opportunity this encounter presented.

Lawrence, ever the curious companion, tagged along despite Charlie's protests. "Hey, Charlie, I'm your friend. I'm not missing this!"

Amused by Lawrence's determination, Zhao chuckled softly. Unlike other Westerners he had encountered, Lawrence's wit, charm, and genuine warmth made him surprisingly likable.

As the group gathered backstage, Charlie knew this was only the beginning of a remarkable story.