The Tang Xianzu Memorial Hall in Fuzhou is a comprehensive cultural venue built to commemorate Tang Xianzu, one of the world’s hundred great cultural figures and a master of Ming‑dynasty drama in China. It is also one of Jiangxi Province’s ten major memorial halls dedicated to historical luminaries.
Three Themes from the “Four Dreams”
Author:
Source:
Time:
2016-12-30
Epigraph: At this time last year, the officials of Fuzhou paid their respects at Tang Xianzu’s tomb, softly calling out, “Old Master Tang, awaken!” Their words moved everyone present. Since the beginning of this year, the Xuhe Gaoqiang rendition of “The Four Dreams of Linchuan” has made its way to the provincial capital and even the imperial city, winning over audiences wherever it went. At the opening ceremony of this arts festival, I had the chance to savor it up close—its rich, time‑honored beauty, long missed.
Washing away the faded hues accumulated through a lifetime of immersion in drama—familiar yet strange, clear yet ambiguous—the soul converges, and self and object dissolve into one. How delightful! Thus, piecing together fragments from east and west, I have composed three pieces.
Question 1: The Wild Ginseng’s Comeback
Fuzhou is nestled amid the Wuyi and Yushan mountain ranges, naturally cut off from the outside world. In such an isolated corner, one can sink into quiet contemplation; the damp earth seems to weigh heavily on the spirit. Compared with the bright, sunlit highlands, each place has its own distinct moods—its own joys and sorrows—like two ponds: in the former, casting a net will yield no great fish; in the latter, tigers may lie low and dragons may hide deep. The Xu River’s “Gaoqiang” opera is said to have sprung from the wild ginseng of this very land, originating from…
During the Yongle period of the Ming dynasty, in Ganzhu Township of Guangchang County, the Gan and Liu families were initially quite rustic, retaining vestiges of ancient Nuo rituals. By the late Jiajing era, the Haiyan style of opera had spread from Zhejiang into Jiangxi, where it mutually enriched and refined the local Gaqiang tradition in the areas of Guangchang and Yihuang, giving rise to a graceful, melodious, and serene vocal style that was passed down within clan‑based troupes. Soon thereafter…
Thus, the Luantan style rose to prominence, while Xipi and Erhuang surged forward with unstoppable momentum. With their sheer numbers and robust presence, they left the archaic, solemn Xuhe Gaoqiang with no chance to contend; the latter hung up its “no‑battle” sign, taking refuge in Luantan troupes to eke out a meager existence on the margins, fighting for survival while striving to preserve its distinctiveness amid the tide of convergence—barely clinging to life, one in ten thousand. Since the sixteenth century,
Dozens of qupai forms—such as Dian Jiang Chun, Ruan Lang Gui, and Shan Po Yang—along with the “twelve roles” and the “eight‑fold” performance conventions have managed to survive. Throughout human history, many precious cultural traditions are often the most impractical and out of step with their times, and thus the most fragile; when Xuhé Gaoqiang retreats from the clamor of the world…
In the empty countryside, a world both exquisitely delicate and all too easily erased is carefully preserved by a handful of veteran artisans, who gently dust it off and wipe away the traces of mildew.
A place of both neglect and splendor—four centuries ago, it once again produced a great talent. Tang Xianzu was born into wealth and, from childhood, moved freely among scholars, steeped in the literary milieu; he could play every instrument, sing, and perform with equal ease. As a man of leisure, a dabbling dilettante, and a marginal figure, he might have lived in political tolerance, at peace with the world, serene and untroubled—yet he found himself caught up in a campaign of both overt and covert machinations.
Having been punished for his words, he was stripped of all his titles and ranks; from then on, he was like a small boat without sails on a storm-tossed sea, tossed and buffeted, constantly in peril of being swallowed by the raging waves. Cast out beyond the bounds of both yin and yang, the burdens weighing upon his heart transformed into bizarre, wondrous imagery on the page. His final masterpiece, “The Peony Pavilion,” emerged suddenly, using beauty to express sorrow: “With the four dreams performed, it became a household treasure…”
“Recitation has even driven down the price of ‘The West Chamber.’” Like a phoenix, culture spreads its wings and soars; the thicker the gloom, the more resolute it becomes. Those like Tang Xianzu, forced into the brothels yet unable to escape, may seem to have fallen—but in truth, they rose, ultimately helping to bring Han culture to its zenith. Over the past four centuries, Master Tang has been endlessly passed down, celebrated, consumed, and reinterpreted…
Style… gradually becoming the god of the literary cosmos!
Back then, the original performance of the “Four Dreams” was sung in the Yihuang style, a variant of the Haiyan tune that had spread to the Fuzhou region—this very style served as the precursor to the Xuhé Gaoqiang. It soon swept across the country, astonishing audiences and defying the conventions of its time; its appeal has endured through the ages, and even today it continues to captivate countless devoted fans. After four centuries, the vocal artistry of the “Four Dreams’” premiere has once again…
The fragrant incense of the performing tradition continues to be passed down in silence; the leading actors have grown old, and today only Wu Lan remains steadfast. The Xuhe Gaqiang seems to have become a one‑person art form—how lamentable! On the four-hundredth anniversary of Tang Xianzu’s passing, discerning scholars have brought the Xuehu Gaqiang back into the spotlight… With the “Four Dreams” series, this ancient vocal style has been revitalized from its decline.
At Peking University, Tsinghua University, and the National Centre for the Performing Arts, each performance has sparked a sensation, with young audiences utterly captivated by the melodious interplay of flute and pipe, accompanied by song and dance. The graceful elegance of Chen Li, Wu Lan, and Liao Cong instantly recaptures the poetic beauty long lost to time, transcending the lofty aspirations of modern academia and the bustling vibrancy of the city, allowing…
Today, people have come to realize the beauty that the land of Gan and Po might yet reclaim—this timeless yet intimate beauty, mingled with both sorrow and joy, beyond words.
Topic Two: The “Witty Banter” of Tang Opera
Presenting the complete panorama of the “Four Dreams” within two and a half hours is, as one can imagine, an undertaking of immense difficulty—something few have even attempted since antiquity. Originally comprising nearly two hundred plays, the “Four Dreams” are long in duration, vast in scale, and diverse in genre, creating a dizzying array of scenes and characters. So where lies the key to condensing this monumental work?
In the era of Master Tang, the Ming dynasty was beset by turmoil and upheaval, and individuals, like small boats without sails, were tossed about, constantly teetering on the brink of being swallowed by raging waves. What kind of audacious remarks could a green‑horn minor official of the sixth rank possibly utter? Historical records offer no detailed account. One can only surmise that they were but a few perfunctory, half‑hearted words, scarcely worth mentioning—yet even that would suffice.
It’s enough to set oneself ablaze—like a man in a straw raincoat wading through a sea of fire, when in truth, all are doomed to perish. In the midst of storm and tempest, the anguished Master Tang, like the characters he creates, offers mutual solace to those stranded in parched ditches, seeking to ease the anguish and yearnings within—layer upon layer, like the nested dreams of “Inception.” He ensures that each protagonist, even in their dreams, endures every kind of glory…
The joys and riches, the bitterness and sourness—now soaring above the vast seas, now plunging into the lofty halls of power—leave the protagonist tossed about, driven to the brink of despair, only to be yanked back to reality. Amid the ceaseless swirl of the mortal world, all is but a bleak, fleeting cloud. Even such celebrated tales as “The Purple Hairpin” and “The Return from the Dead” cannot escape the conventional endings in which lovers are reunited and clandestine unions culminate in marriage.
As for “The Story of the Southern Bough” and “The Tale of Handan,” they outright reduce their protagonists to mere puppets, their lives suffused with disillusionment. In reality, Tang Xian was subjected to every kind of abuse; yet in his works, he transfers that anguish to characters like Huo Xiaoyu, Du Liniang, Chunyu Fen, and Lu Sheng—inflicting countless torments upon them in dreams, until they are mocked to the very core, their plight utterly harrowing.
Through his plays, they become the interlocutors and saviors in Tang’s endless sorrow; in the characters he creates, he finds fulfillment and a sense of compensation, thus restoring balance to his shattered heart. Throughout his life, he remained entranced by the enduring “Four Dreams,” alternately dreaming and awakening—these “Four Dreams” were Tang’s saving grace, and whenever peril struck,
He would surely turn to him for help; without the countless salvations of the “Four Dreams,” his spirit would have long since shattered.
Thus, contemporaries judged Master Tang—nothing more than “skilled in jest.” A man of letters who delights in playful banter would, in Sima Qian’s eyes, belong in the Biographies of the Jesters, much like Dongfang Shuo and Ji Xiaolan. For such a figure, it is not merely humor; the greatest jesters know both profound sorrow and exuberant joy. The two words “skilled in jest” are the key that unlocks the essence of Master Tang’s “Four Dreams.” I have once watched films and television programs.
On the stage, Tang Xianzu always maintains an air of solemnity, rarely cracking a smile—his performance sadly lacks a certain poetic charm.
That evening, after the Xuhé Gaoqiang performance of “The Four Dreams of Linchuan” concluded, Director Tong Weiwei asked for my impressions. I replied, “A condensed, grand work—poetic and graceful, a human comedy imbued with the tragic charm!” Director Tong has always favored humility and restraint; having spent thirty years in Shanghai, she has retained her native accent, along with the distinctive humor and wit characteristic of people from northeastern Jiangxi—and Jiangxi…
Local dialects always surface when she least expects it, and though she is worldly and shrewd, her guileless straightforwardness remains unchanged; a single joke in the Nanchang vernacular is enough to have one doubled over with laughter. This, in fact, resonates deeply with the essence of Master Tang. And in the end, the production won widespread acclaim, thanks to the director’s skillful editing, which centers on Master Tang’s characteristic wit and humor.
“The Story of the Purple Hairpin” selects the episodes of “Scattering Gold in Resentment,” “Weeping to Gather the Hairpin and Swallow,” and “The Hairpin Reunited, the Dream Fulfilled.” Though it ends on a note of reunion, it is nonetheless suffused with a comically disillusioned sense of having weathered countless trials. “The Return from the Dead” focuses on “Startled by the Dream,” “Calling Out to the Painting,” and “Reviving,” precisely capturing Du Liniang’s intoxication, madness, and fantasies—states of being driven by the seductive power of desire.
Even reaching the climactic chapter where life and death are surrendered to its will. The original plot of “The Story of the Southern Bough” was rather tangled and convoluted; the director, taking Chunyu Fen’s “love‑bound,” “rebirth‑sent,” and “love‑fulfilled” journey with Princess Yaofang of the Ant Kingdom as its guiding thread, portrays Chunyu Fen’s struggles, questioning, enlightenment, and eventual nirvana. This structural arrangement aims to…
It compels Chunyu Fen to seek the authenticity of his own existence in the real world, yet he remains perpetually ensnared in a seemingly comical but profoundly poignant anguish: “What difference is there between mortals—kings, ministers, and kin—and mere ants? All joys and sorrows, rises and falls—are but one and the same as the dream of the South Tree.” “The Story of Handan” was Tang Xianzu’s final masterpiece; through Lu Sheng’s experiences within his dream, it…
Through the vicissitudes of officialdom—glory and decline, joy and sorrow—he lays bare the intimate realities of his own career and the icy anguish of losing a son in old age. His sharp critique extends from lowly clerks in the tax office to emperors and powerful ministers, and even touches upon the institutions of the imperial examination system and the edicts of the court—no less than a manifesto of denunciation, and, moreover, the opening strains of an elegy for the twilight of feudalism.
A masterpiece—this is Tang Xianzu’s most profound work. This selection features the “Yunyang Execution Ground” and the “Awakening from a Dream,” capturing Lu Sheng at his most harrowing and at the pinnacle of his artistry, portraying his roller-coaster‑like journey through the tides of history, where the ebb and flow of political currents alternately lift him up and swallow him whole—a stark, cliff‑edge experience that lays bare the absurdity of it all, rendered with consummate precision.
The screenwriter’s guiding principle is to delete rather than revise. By “not revising,” it means refraining from altering the original work’s elegant prose and vivid imagery; however, to better serve the plot and heighten dramatic impact, extensive cuts and reconfigurations were made to the lyrics and narrative, resulting in a tightly structured, smoothly flowing production that nonetheless preserves the original’s rich depth and meaning.
This—crafting narratives, satirizing the ways of the world, exposing philosophical truths, penetrating the subtlest nuances, exploring the mysterious, and attaining a magical realm—reaches every corner of existence, from the highest heavens to the deepest abyss, yet remains unbroken and inexhaustible. Such artistic judgment must be exercised within the highest cultural standards and the domain of aesthetics, involving a series of delicate and refined aesthetic decisions.
Including the capture of a sensibility that resonates across time, from ancient to modern.
Once the right choice is made, it is approached with boundless devotion, allowing ancient treasures to reveal themselves in their most authentic, unadorned form. Director Tong Weiwei has been fortunate in two ways: first, she comes from a family of Gan Opera performers, steeped in the ethereal mists and tempests of Pan Fengxia and Tong Qingren’s “A Dream Within a Garden”; second, she herself began her career as a Gan Opera actor.
Color—true to its essence, with unimpeded execution. Her interpretation of the role of Du Liniang is marked by a unique insight; her renditions of “Startled Dream” and “Seeking the Dream” are rooted in the tradition of Pan Fengxia, a legacy passed down through her family. Her vocal artistry is profound and resonant, and her stage presence is both precise and rigorous. This lineage, transmitted from Tong Weiwei to Wu Lan, embodies the very orthodoxy we uphold.
— the authentic, orthodox tradition of Chinese opera performance. She does not indulge in grandiose narratives with sweeping gestures; instead, she asserts that her re‑filming of the “Four Dreams” does not involve radical deconstruction or wholesale reinvention, keeping all movements within measured bounds. Throughout, she maintains a sense of reverence and propriety, knowing that only by exercising restraint can one achieve true refinement and fullness.
She captures the distinctive tension of the delicate, restrained style—when the moon rises above the willow branches and lovers meet after dusk. Particularly in her stage design and lighting, she resolutely eschews the flashy, overblown sets that are currently in vogue, instead using simple, pristine ink‑wash techniques to evoke a seamless, dreamlike atmosphere, unburdened by superfluous elements, achieving an elegance that is both refined and grand.
Wu Lan, the actress who portrays Du Liniang, is the foremost guardian of the Xuhe Gaoqiang style. Her singing is both splendid and graceful, and her expressive eyes and delicate features convey a timeless springtime charm of Jiangnan—rather than autumn’s wistful recollection of spring. “All the hills are awash with the crimson blossoms of the cuckoos; beyond the fragrant jasmine, the misty threads seem to drowse in soft intoxication. Though the peonies be fair, they…”
“Spring Boudoir: Who Can Claim the First?” has carried the authentic, unadulterated essence of Xuhé Gaoqiang into the modern era, enchanting audiences far and wide.
Another leading pair, Chen Li and Liao Cong—today’s golden duo of male and female roles in Gan Opera—were no easy catch; securing their participation required considerable effort, yet it was clearly meant to be. Following their addition, the second productions of “The Purple Hairpin” and “The Dream of Nankuo” took shape and were staged within ten days, leaving audiences spellbound—a feat unimaginable without profound artistry. They would sing…
The singing and the physical gestures are seamlessly integrated, dazzling and endlessly captivating. Chen Li’s choreography for Princess Yaofang, with its ant‑like movements, conveys the essence of an ant‑man without compromising the stylized nature of the performance—exquisitely natural and ingeniously conceived, it also serves as yet another testament to Tang Xianzu’s wit and playful spirit.
Yu Wenhua, who portrays Tang Xianzu, perfectly captures the image and temperament of the historical figure, as depicted in his portraits. His four appearances—spanning from middle age to old age—highlight key milestones in Tang’s life: first, his entry into the world; then, a period of deep melancholy; and finally, a spiritual elevation. These scenes reflect the intellectual and emotional landscape that gave rise to the Four Dreams, presented with clear layers, leaving the audience…
It also serves as an intermission buffer. Young actor Chen Chao takes on four roles—Huang Shanke, the Judge, Master Qixuan, and Lü Dongbin—spanning the martial‑male, painted‑face, middle‑aged male, and old‑male categories. His performance is poised and composed, embodying multiple facets in a single person; particularly striking is his portrayal of the Judge, whose stern, ghostly exterior conceals a tender heart, exuding both authority and compassion.
Boldness and wit are most refined and transcendent.
Question Three: The Blessed “Resurrection”
This piety and humility are underpinned by a profound confidence—confidence both in the most refined achievements of civilization and in one’s own discerning taste. Every spectator can sense the painstaking care that springs from this conviction. Outside the theater, the hubbub continues unabated; inside, however, there lingers the faintest, most restrained glance from four centuries ago.
Not even a deity’s most ethereal sigh could go unnoticed. As the curtain fell at the National Centre for the Performing Arts, thunderous applause erupted from the audience, and waves of exhilaration surged forward like an incoming tide. In that moment, we suddenly realized: a new era of Tang Xianzu was about to dawn upon the land of Jiangyou.
In contrast to this cultural attitude, we often encounter newly staged productions of traditional plays that, at the outset, suffer from careless selection and fail to clear away years of accumulated obscurity; yet during rehearsal they adopt a rather overbearing approach, with excessive manipulation and heavy-handed editing, leaving audiences oscillating between boredom and restlessness, unable to enter the realm of classical theatrical aesthetics.
In the world of Chinese opera, artists are typically affiliated with different administrative districts and troupes; even when they collaborate occasionally, it is seldom possible to forge a deep, lasting connection. Yet Fuzhou has managed to do just that. Moreover, it has opened up even greater possibilities, bringing together China’s top talent in scriptwriting, stage design, lighting, costume design, dance, and more.
Direct participation. Most of them possess internationally recognized education and professional experience, fully appreciating the authentic elegance of Eastern art; from the very first moment, they elevate the entire performance to a high standard. Many who have never encountered traditional Chinese opera before find themselves deeply captivated by everything unfolding slowly on stage—a narrative thread that spans four centuries, bringing together…
The aesthetic cable has finally been found.
The officials and artists of Fuzhou were deeply moved by the newly staged “Four Dreams,” and in turn, they renewed their spirit and devoted themselves wholeheartedly. These heartfelt responses fully underscore the profound significance of the artists’ and discerning individuals’ quiet, steadfast dedication; cultural marvels never arise from hollow, ostentatious clamor, nor do artistic masterpieces emerge from grandiose displays.
It’s all hype—promoted, rewarded, and manufactured. True culture lies hidden in the city’s narrow alleyways, where its cultural fabric is vividly etched; when it emerges, even the mountains and rivers seem to fall solemn.
News has emerged that Fuzhou’s local‑dialect “Four Dreams” may yet have many more chapters to come. We eagerly look forward to the full text of the “Four Dreams” being brought back to life in the near future. By then, Fuzhou’s aspiration to showcase the timeless charm of its thousand‑year‑old city—by playing its trump card of Tang Xianzu culture and revitalizing traditional opera—will…
It has been doubled. (Liu Fei)
Copyright © Tang Xianzu Memorial Hall of Fuzhou City (Fuzhou Tang Xianzu Culture and Art Center) Technical Support:China Enterprise Dynamics-Nanchangvertical strokeSEO
