As the howling cold north wind passed, the sky over Jingcheng turned a gloomy mouse-gray. A light snow fell, covering the dust that permeated the streets. Although it rarely snowed in Jingcheng's winters, only a few could find joy in the snowflakes.

The whistle of the train, the clang of the streetcar, mixed with the calls and cries of various street vendors—the bracelet bells of medicine sellers, the small drums of junk collectors, the wooden clappers of oil sellers... long and short, they all drilled into the large and small alleys throughout Jingcheng.

Jingcheng had no spring or autumn; the bleak winter usually arrived abruptly, and people would hastily don their fur coats to ward off the cold.

Or, like Ji Shuangyu, wrap oneself in one's only half-empty cotton-padded robe. The reason it was called 'half-empty' was because there was still a bit of cotton wadding left inside, enough to fill half the space, so it wasn't completely miserable...

Ji Shuangyu tucked all of his hair into a felt cap without a single strand showing, revealing only a fair, elegant face as beautiful as the first snow under the eaves. His dark, thick eyelashes half-concealed his pupils, which by contrast appeared lighter in color, yet they were clear and spirited, like glazed porcelain reflecting the moon.

With his head down and hands tucked in his sleeves, he, like the seven or eight others, followed his neighbor Jiang Sanjin through the main gate of the Changle Theater.

Jiang Sanjin glanced at Ji Shuangyu's lowered face and asked, puzzled, "You've been working on the streets through winter and summer, how did you get so much fairer and chubbier?"

Ji Shuangyu's face was definitely not chubby; in fact, he had grown thin from not eating well these past few days. But Jiang Sanjin didn't know how to describe it; 'delicate' might have been more accurate.

Ji Shuangyu had been wrapped in a scarf for the past few days, so it wasn't noticeable. It was only clear now that it was gone.

Unlike the sallow and gaunt look of the poor, who had a full meal one day and an empty stomach the next, he looked more like a pampered child raised on white rice and eggs at every meal. His upright posture and the open space between his brows were even more striking.

Although his facial features were about the same as before, one look and Jiang Sanjin felt that Ji Shuangyu was many times more stunning. But his vocabulary was limited, and he didn't know what to say, so he just squeezed out the words 'fairer and chubbier,' subconsciously applying his own highest aesthetic standards.

Ji Shuangyu said without changing his expression, "Uncle Jiang, it's from the cold. I left the scarf for my younger siblings at home."

Jiang Sanjin knew that his parents had died of illness and that he was raising several younger siblings alone, so he nodded with a sigh. It was precisely because he felt pity for Ji Shuangyu that Jiang Sanjin wanted to help out his neighbor and bring him to the theater to earn money.

Jiang Sanjin made his living in the opera world as an extra, or a 'walk-on'. After doing it for a long time, he knew the ropes and became a head extra. Some minor walk-on roles on stage didn't necessarily require insiders; outsiders could also be used to fill the numbers, as long as he, the head extra, clearly explained the stage movements.

He often helped out poor friends, especially those without steady jobs. It wasn't just this one theater; he led extras to run around various stages and theaters that put on operas.

As long as he was in charge, there was never any trouble on stage, so the various opera troupes were happy to work with him.

But how could Jiang Sanjin know that this Ji Shuangyu was no longer the 'Ji Shuangyu' of before!

This Ji Shuangyu was born in the 21st century and worked as a director. Hailing from a family of artists, he had been immersed in various film sets and theaters since childhood and was in his prime. Just before he transmigrated, his new film was a box office hit, and he was even at the celebration party.

He drank too much at the celebration party, and when he woke up again, he was nearly a hundred years in the past. Four bare walls, and four younger siblings crying out in hunger, all of them seemingly dependent on him for support. As an only child, Ji Shuangyu had never seen such a scene.

Why had he become so much fairer and more delicate? Because he had transmigrated with his body!

At first, Ji Shuangyu thought his soul had transmigrated, but feeling the flannel pajamas on his body and seeing his own head of bleached light-colored hair in the mirror, he was immediately certain that his body had come along. It was just that in this era, there was also someone named 'Ji Shuangyu' who even looked quite similar to him.

—He didn't know if the 'Ji Shuangyu' from here had swapped with him and gone a hundred years into the future.

When he first arrived, Ji Shuangyu faked a sore throat to get by for a few days, gradually coaxing information about the situation out of the children at home and getting to know most of the neighbors.

These past few days, he had kept his dyed hair tightly wrapped up, just waiting for the black hair to grow out. He suspected hair dye didn't exist yet. After all, he was in an unfamiliar place and was afraid of attracting strange attention.

According to Ji Shuangyu's speculation, he suspected this was a parallel universe because the course of history seemed slightly different. Perhaps the original Ji Shuangyu was his parallel world counterpart.

Every day when Ji Shuangyu woke up, he hoped to be back in his own apartment bed, but he would always get up in hunger and disappointment to drink cold water.

He was too poor. His family was just too, too, poor!

If the family he'd transmigrated into had even a jar of rice, his state of mind would be more peaceful, and he could appreciate the world of a hundred years ago. But with an empty stomach, who had the mind to think about such things? Ji Shuangyu had never experienced days like this, going ten days to half a month without even a speck of meat.

Even if he could go back one day, he had to ensure he didn't starve to death before then.

The original Ji Shuangyu seemed to have been a manual laborer on the streets, doing odd jobs and unable to save much. Since winter began, there hadn't been many work opportunities. Just as he was pondering what he could do, his kind neighbor Uncle Jiang said he could take him to be an extra.

Ji Shuangyu was delighted at the time. An extra—that meant going to a film set, a place he was familiar with.

As long as he had a chance to get in, how could he not find an opportunity to earn more money with his skills? He was a director, he understood cinematography, and having grown up on film sets and in theaters, he knew a bit about all the related jobs.

Only later did he realize his misunderstanding—the term 'extra' had originally been borrowed from the opera industry.

The 'extra' Jiang Sanjin spoke of meant going to an opera theater, not a film set.

Well, at least he could earn some money. Although he was only paid for a small part each day, and it wasn't enough to feed his whole family, he was still so poor, so hungry...

How on earth could he afford to eat meat?

"I really want to eat meat," Ji Shuangyu muttered softly.

"What are you muttering about?" asked a fellow extra next to him. When Ji Shuangyu looked up, the man was startled again. "Why are your eyes so red?"

Ji Shuangyu: "It's nothing. Just lamenting how poor I am."

The man: "..."

Uh, he was pretty poor.

They were all poor, but Ji Shuangyu's family, with its many children and no adults, was exceptionally so. He was so poor he was crying...

The man pondered, "If you had learned opera and could sing, whether or not you could become a star, you'd at least earn more than you do now." After all, just based on his face, he would look good in costume.

After saying this, he was glared at by Jiang Sanjin, who overheard. "You talk too much."

Jiang Sanjin knew that 'Ji Shuangyu's' parents were also from a scholarly family that had fallen on hard times, eventually dying of poverty and illness. As the eldest son who had enjoyed a few days of comfort, Ji Shuangyu had probably suffered enough having to stoop to a 'lower nine' profession to make a living.

But Ji Shuangyu just smiled. "It's just a shame I'm tone-deaf."

The times were different. He didn't know what the previous Ji Shuangyu thought, but this one, who grew up in the modern era, didn't feel uncomfortable at all.

All people are equal; there should be no professional discrimination.

Besides, he himself was a film director, but some of his elders were also in the traditional opera industry. Ji Shuangyu was deeply influenced by this.

Speaking of which, these two industries had deep roots in Huaxia. When film was introduced to Huaxia, the creations of the Huaxia people were heavily influenced by traditional arts. The very first film shot by their countrymen was, in fact, an opera film.

It could only be said that he really couldn't sing opera; he just didn't have the talent for it.

In fact, Ji Shuangyu had heard similar things quite often. Many people had urged him to step in front of the camera, feeling he had an actor's photogenic face. But at the time, his ambitions lay elsewhere.

When he had just started directing his own films, there was even a foolish rich second-generation kid who, while wandering around the company, saw him standing with a group of actors and pointed at him, saying he wanted to make him the male lead...

......

Meanwhile, in the Changle Theater, they were arguing backstage.

Before they went in, Jiang Sanjin had instructed them to keep a low profile today, lest they anger the people inside, especially the famous actor 'Ying Xiaonong,' who had recently joined the cast at Changle Theater. He had a terrible temper.

Ji Shuangyu had been an extra at this theater a few times before and had heard some gossip from his colleagues, so he knew why they were arguing.

The theater owner's surname was Xu, and his name was Xu Xinyue. He wasn't old. This was his family's ancestral property; the land was his, the theater was his. He was his own boss. He had signed a long-term contract with the Hanxi Troupe, which performed both Peking and Kunqu opera—a 'double-act'—and the Hanxi Troupe was stationed here to perform.

The Changle Theater wasn't large; at most, it could seat three or four hundred people. But its location was excellent, in a bustling area, and business had always been good.

The previous owner, Xu Xinyue's father, was a famous miser in the industry. When the business was handed over to Xu Xinyue, he took this trait to a whole new level. Behind his back, everyone called him 'Little Rooster' or 'Chick.'

But in any business, if others advance and you don't, it's the same as falling behind.

Other theaters were innovating, trying all sorts of ways to attract customers, but Boss Xu was stingy. He was reluctant to renovate the theater or invite famous actors. Before he knew it, business had become as cold as the north wind outside.

Even a broker came to his door, wanting to negotiate on behalf of someone who had caught wind of the situation and wanted to buy his land.

To make matters worse, Xu Xinyue's old mother fell ill, and money was being spent like water. The miser was also a filial son. In this era, besides respecting one's elders, it was also important not to touch the ancestral property lightly, or else one would be considered even more unfilial—not just to one's parents, but to the eighteen generations of ancestors buried underground.

Seeing that his mother's illness would not be cured anytime soon, Boss Xu decided to use what little money he had left to make a last-ditch effort and save the theater's business.

After much persuasion, he pooled funds with the Hanxi Troupe and invited a long-retired Peking opera star, Ying Xiaonong, to stage a new feature play, the ghost and gods-themed Temple of the Spiritual Official.

He was called a famous actor, but the opera world turned over about every five years. Ying Xiaonong's box-office appeal was definitely not what it used to be. But who could blame him? Xu Xinyue couldn't afford and was unwilling to hire a currently popular actor.

In addition to that, Xu Xinyue also made a personal trip to Hushang to learn the most advanced and fashionable stage design techniques, purchase all sorts of props, and ship back many Western-style backdrops.

With the play thus prepared, the program board was hung outside, and ticket sales were indeed good.

Unfortunately, before it could run for more than a few hot performances, the excitement died down. It was looking like this venture would be a huge loss.

Backstage, they had been full of confidence. After all, places everywhere were now learning from the Hushang school of set design, which itself was learned from Western drama—painting realistic, oil-painting-like scenery, and adding mechanisms and pyrotechnics, making it very lively.

Currently on the Huaxia opera stage, scenery like that of Western drama was the most popular,

Unexpectedly, they still lost money.

Seeing this situation, it was natural to... shift the blame to each other!

The opera troupe, Xu Xinyue, and the has-been star—the three parties argued incessantly.

The opera troupe blamed Xu Xinyue for choosing the wrong backdrops and for the mechanisms not being clever enough, saying he'd been cheated by the set designers from Hushang. They also said Ying Xiaonong's voice was not what it used to be and his singing couldn't hold an audience.

Ying Xiaonong said it was the troupe's musicians who were making things difficult for him, setting the key too high. How could he keep an audience if he couldn't sing comfortably?

Xu Xinyue took the opportunity to accuse them of infighting in the face of a crisis, wasting the money he had spent on specially arranging the stage and hiring Ying Xiaonong...

Ying Xiaonong and the troupe leader snapped at him together: "What do you know! Do you know anything about opera!!"

—Ying Xiaonong was indeed a professionally trained star. Moreover, the painted-face role usually required an actor to be tall and imposing. He looked down at Xu Xinyue as he spoke. Such enunciation, such vocal skill—every word was powerful, clearly and resonantly hitting Xu Xinyue in the face.

Xu Xinyue: "..."

He was furious! Did they even see him as the owner anymore? Did they really think he was going under!

Everyone was trapped in an atmosphere of blame-shifting from which they couldn't escape. Xu Xinyue even grabbed the outsider, Jiang Sanjin, and asked him to judge: "You tell me, whose fault is it?"

How could Jiang Sanjin dare to answer? He just tried to laugh it off, thinking to himself, 'If this goes on, it's over for the nearly hundred-year-old Changle Theater.'

"I don't think any of the three parties are at fault," a soft voice sounded.

Everyone looked over, frowning slightly. Jiang Sanjin's expression changed drastically.

That's right, the one who had interjected was none other than the underfed and breathless Ji Shuangyu.

Xu Xinyue rolled his eyes: People who tried to smooth things over always opened their mouths with 'you're not wrong, he's not wrong, nobody's wrong.' But if nobody was wrong, how did the business fail? Was it the audience's fault?

Now another peacemaker had shown up. He looked him over. "You... Are you new to the troupe?"

If it hadn't been for the argument today, Xu Xinyue would never have come face to face with the extras.

Seeing Ji Shuangyu's outstanding appearance, he subconsciously assumed he was an actor. But he didn't look young enough to have just started learning opera, so he suspected he was a reckless youth who had just been hired by the Hanxi Troupe. No wonder he had the guts to speak up.

Jiang Sanjin said, sweating, "Boss, this is someone I brought..."

Someone Jiang Sanjin brought...

So he's an extra?

Xu Xinyue couldn't help but laugh. He said irritably, "What do you know!"

These were the words Ying Xiaonong and the troupe leader had snapped at him just now. It was Jingcheng slang, which could be roughly understood as 'You don't know shit.'

The troupe leader and Ying Xiaonong had snapped at him earlier, but he had at least grown up in the theater and managed it for several years, so he knew more than a temporary extra. He decided to pass the phrase on to Ji Shuangyu.

Ying Xiaonong also sneered. He had been a star before. At his peak, when performing in the same show, he earned more than the 'laosheng' (old male role) and 'dan' (female role) actors, a unique case for a painted-face actor.

But his temper had also grown quite large. He was usually prickly and arrogant, like a crab, and had argued with many people during his days performing at the Changle Theater. Even Xu Xinyue had rarely gotten a pleasant look from him.

Ying Xiaonong was about to join in with a few taunts, but after studying Ji Shuangyu for a moment, he stroked his stage beard and said thoughtfully, "Yi, he's quite good-looking. Let him speak."

Everyone: "..."

Xu Xinyue touched his face. Why did he feel like he had just been indirectly insulted?

Ji Shuangyu looked completely used to it. "Thank you, Boss Ying."

Everyone: "............"

Xu Xinyue: Even angrier now!!

Author has something to say:

Ji Shuangyu: What use do I have for this peerless beauty? ... Oh, it's quite useful.