Northwestern opera had a touch of clapper style, with drums and gongs pounding deafeningly.
This play was *Broken Bridge*: after the flood of Jinshan, White Snake and Green Snake meet Xu Xian again. The faithless man dares to feign pity, enraging Xiao Qing, who wants to kill him.
Xu Xian entered with a long lament. Sui Sui’s mind wandered; she glanced beyond the railing and saw two men crossing the opposite corridor bridge. It was dark and distant, their faces unclear. One wore a crane cloak—surely the governor’s son who had gone out earlier. Only a distinguished guest could merit such welcome.
Sui Sui thought nothing of it, tossed her spear, flipped to catch it, and won applause. She landed proudly—only to see servants with lanterns leading those two men inside.
The lantern’s red gauze cast dim light over a blue robe, white jade belt, and silver buttons—a noble guest indeed—his face like carved jade, refined and elegant, handsome beyond words.
But it was Li Chongjun! Hadn’t he gone to a banquet?
A banquet… was this the banquet?
Sui Sui nearly fainted, staggering against her “White Snake sister,” her little uncle. He was mid‑performance, scolding Xu Xian, but his glance froze too. So even he hadn’t known who the guest was.
What ill‑omened day was this? Sui Sui prayed her ghostly makeup would disguise her.
But when Li Chongjun greeted the hosts and sat, lifting his teacup, his face shifted in colors unseen.
From afar, she couldn’t see his twitching eye, but the governor’s son noticed, puzzled, glancing between stage and guest.
The governor’s son, though a notorious heir, avoided women, preferring polo to brothels. He had never seen Li Chongjun’s famed concubine. He asked: “Does Ninth Lord dislike this play?”
Blunt as ever, he called out: “Enough, stop! This one is no good. Bring the program—we’ll choose another.”
He didn’t know that interrupting mid‑play was taboo. The hall fell silent, drums stilled, all eyes turned.
The little uncle paused, lowered his sleeves, and was ready to descend and apologize. Though Liangzhou’s most celebrated actor, before officials, he had to bow—especially before Li Chongjun. If they said the play was bad, he must make amends.
Sui Sui knew she had caused trouble, ashamed, edging back to flee.
But Li Chongjun bit out two words: “No need.”
He seemed recovered from shock, set down his cup, picked a fruit from the tray, and reclined on his couch. “Not bad. Continue. What’s next?”
The steward hurried: “*Meeting at the Western Tower*.”
“Mm, that will do. I like this one. Perform the full *Legend of the White Snake*.” He spoke to the steward, but his eyes never left Sui Sui, biting the fruit, brows raised, half‑smiling, utterly composed.
He was doing it on purpose!
Sui Sui nearly exploded. Usually quick to excuse herself, now provoked, she glared back.
Her little uncle bowed, turned, and transformed again into Snake White, graceful as ever, signaling her to behave.
Despite the mortification, the play went on.
Xu Xian pleaded, White Snake defended, and Green Snake raised her sword. Sui Sui, seething, sang with clenched teeth: “…Bah! If you truly loved her, why betray her for a monk? She fought against Fahai—why stand with that bald donkey? Your honeyed words deceive, but I’ll strike you with my Dragon Spring sword!”
She lunged, sword in hand, imagining Xu Xian as Li Chongjun. But before she could vent her fury, White Snake blocked her.
Then—a sharp crack at the window. A streak of silver pierced the table beside Li Chongjun’s hand—an arrow.
What? Was heaven avenging her?
She froze. More arrows whistled in, one after another.
Only then did she realize—it was an assassination.
Li Chongjun’s reflexes were swift. Before guards could gather, he leapt up, drew his sword, and slashed another arrow from the air.
Chaos erupted. Guests fled like startled birds, most rushing east as the arrows came from the west window.
Sui Sui, dazed, tried to leap into the crowd—only to be seized, pulled back with force.