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Alternative
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An outwardly flirtatious, cold-hearted and manipulative Prince Top/Gong vs. a touch-starved, fiercely loyal and ruthless “Lick-spittle” Eunuch Bottom/Shou.
In the capital a cynical proverb circulates: “If a eunuch can sing an opera, the nobles will cherish him like treasure.”
On the birthday of the Third Prince, Qin Hechuan a grand banquet was held at Tingcui Garden. While every high-ranking official scrambled to curry favor, the notorious Director General of the Internal Security Service Xie Yu, did the unthinkable: he took to the stage himself, performing like a common actor to warm up the crowd for his master.
“What would Your Highness like to hear today? This servant has specially learned a piece called ‘Snow Upon the Breast.’ I wonder if it pleases you?”
On stage, Xie Yu stood with his hands folded, his body slightly bowed. When he spoke, he peeked up at his master with a smile so flattering it nearly reached his ears. The audience watched like wolves, their insults raining down on him. Yet the Director General only felt they were jealous, envious that they couldn’t even lick the Prince’s boots while he enjoyed his master’s sole attention.
The song’s title alone suggested its ribald nature, hardly fit for a dignified setting.
“Since the Director General enjoys it, let it be that song,” the Third Prince replied from his seat, his eyes trailing over Xie Yu with a captivating, dangerous smile. “Just work a little harder to project your voice; the garden is quite crowded.”
“As long as Your Highness is pleased, this servant will sing anything,” Xie Yu replied, his eyes brimming with unadulterated affection.
While the crowds whispered about how shameless and vile it was for a powerful official to climb into bed using illicit songs, Xie Yu didn’t care. On stage, he was a fawning performer; off stage, with a flick of his jade-like hand, those who spoke ill of him found their heads separated from their shoulders.
When the performance ended, the Prince beckoned. Xie Yu trotted over instantly, bowing to hear his command.
“The Director General has such a fine voice,” the Prince whispered. It’s late. Come sing for me in my bedchamber.
