✦ Chapter 29 – Elf Theatre Studies Introduction (2) ✦
「Translator – Creator」
𒋝𒋝𒋝𒋝𒋝
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Playwright Phantom. It’s an honor to meet someone who usually maintains such seclusion in person.”
“The pleasure is all mine, professor. To be honest, I’ve become intrigued by Elven culture while conceptualizing my new work. I want to incorporate an Eastern stylistic approach in my new project.”
“Hoho, I see. Is that why you invited me to this expensive place?”
Slurp—!
Professor Gaby asked, taking a sip of tea from her delicate porcelain cup.
Our meeting was taking place at the Fairy Pavilion, a restaurant located in the bustling capital, designed to resemble an old Eastern tavern with its strikingly ancient interior. It was owned and operated by elves who, for various reasons, had chosen to reside in the empire, serving traditional World Tree-style cuisine.
Naturally, an ordinary academy student would find it challenging to afford such a place, but that wasn’t an issue for me.
‘After all, this ring with the Imperial Seal is covering the cost.’
I had a special credit card, a gift from the imperial palace, meant to help maintain the “dignity of the great playwright Phantom”.
The elven staff had readily bowed and ushered us into the room with the best view the moment I presented it.
“An elven-inspired play… interesting idea, Phantom.”
Professor Gaby, picking up braised pork with chopsticks, narrowed her eyes slightly.
She chewed thoughtfully, savoring the flavor of the braised pork belly, then swallowed.
“But you do realize there’s a huge difference between elven and human theater, right? Actors who aren’t familiar with elven traditions won’t be able to adapt overnight just by reading your script.”
“That’s precisely why I invited you, Professor. Aren’t you an expert in all forms of Elven arts?”
Professor Gaby was an Elf who had lived for over two hundred years.
As a result, as far as her field of expertise—the arts—was concerned, she was incredibly versatile.
Swordsmanship, painting, music… She excelled in every form of art imaginable.
It would be quicker to list what she couldn’t do.
“I have high hopes for this play, and I want to utilize all the help I can get. Your skills, your connections—anything you can offer.”
With that, I subtly handed over the initial concept draft of my work-in-progress, <Farewell My Concubine>.
It told the story of Xiang Yu, the Hegemon-King of Western Chu, who had shaken the Warring States period of ancient China with his sheer military might. The notes roughly outlined my ideas for adapting the story for the stage.
“This is quite intriguing, Phantom.”
After scrutinizing the notes for some time, the professor finally responded.
She looked at me, her brow furrowed beneath her eye patch.
“Let me correct myself. It’s beyond interesting; honestly, it’s quite impressive. You have a deeper understanding of Elven culture than I expected. It’s the first time I’ve seen a human grasp Eastern cultural artifacts this well.”
“Thank you.”
In reality, when I decided to use Elven opera as a concept, there were specific genres I had in mind.
Films like “Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon,” “The Heavenly Sword and Dragon Saber,” “Once Upon a Time in China,” and “A Chinese Ghost Story.”
The wuxia films that had dominated Hong Kong and Taiwanese cinema in the late 20th century.
It might seem odd that I was drawing inspiration from these classic action films, filled with elaborate martial arts and wire-fu stunts, when my original concept was elven opera. But the reason was simple—
Early wuxia films often featured opera performers who were skilled in acrobatics and martial arts, forming the backbone of the genre.
‘Plus… Xiang Yu’s life story was basically a wuxia epic.’
His unparalleled martial prowess, symbolized by the invincible “ten thousand man enemy” trope;
A revenge plot driven by the desire to avenge the fall of his kingdom;
A fateful relationship with the wise hermit Fan Zeng, resembling a father-son bond in nature;
And his tragic romance with Consort Yu
—it had all the elements of a classic wuxia tale.
‘I plan to go all-in on Orientalism, just like I did with <Admiral Lee>.’
With this resolve, I was determined to bring the spirit of Hong Kong action cinema to the stage.
This world’s audience, accustomed to the stale tropes of chivalric literature, would find the wuxia genre to be a breath of fresh air, a thrilling departure from the norm.
“Alright. You clearly know so much about elves, I can’t possibly refuse your request.”
Professor Gaby said with a smile, handing back my crumpled notes.
“Your new work seems to be very action-oriented, which means you’ll need some intense stunts, right? I happen to know an elven acrobatic troupe that’s currently performing in the capital. They specialize in physical feats, so they’d be perfect for that.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“However, it will be difficult to replicate the elven style perfectly. Human actors won’t be able to adapt quickly, and the human audience might find the unfamiliar techniques off-putting.”
“Don’t worry. I’m well aware of that.”
Introducing something completely alien could lead to disgust rather than curiosity.
I planned to work closely with Professor Gaby to modify, remove, or tone down any elements that might alienate the human audience.
The high-pitched singing style of Chinese opera, the heavy makeup, the energetic, almost chaotic, choreography—all of these needed careful consideration.
I wanted to create a play that was fresh and exciting, yet still accessible to the Imperial audience.
“There’s one more problem, Phantom. This play… it’s about elves waging war, right? Set in fictional kingdoms built around the World Tree?”
“That’s right. Is there something wrong with that?”
I’d decided to make all the characters elves, capitalizing on the wuxia theme.
Xiang Yu, his rival Liu Bang, all the supporting characters—all elves.
It made sense, both visually and thematically.
“Professor, are you worried about casting elven actors? You don’t need to worry about that.”
I’d already planned to contract the Geloroushina Troupe for <Farewell, My Concubine>.
They were an entertainment-focused troupe, so they had a lot of attractive, charismatic actors who would look great in elven costumes.
I’d only signed a contract with them for <Chaplin’s Comedy> so far, but I’m sure Isabella, the troupe manager, would be thrilled to see the <Farewell My Concubine> script.
“No, it’s not about that. I’m aware that human actors can be dressed up as Elves. With suitable makeup and pointed ears, it won’t matter much to the audience.”
However, the professor shook her head and explained.
“There’s a more important issue. If this is an action-heavy war drama, who will play the main character in <Farewell My Concubine>?”
“The main character?”
“The story structure requires the protagonist to be at the center of all battles, right? So, it would be difficult to cast just any human actor in that role. If they haven’t trained in martial arts, they couldn’t do the part justice.”
“Well, how about asking the elven acrobatic troupe? They’re skilled in performing complex action sequences, so they should be able—“
“That won’t work. Acrobats are performers, not actors. They can do tricks, but they can’t bring a character to life, especially not the protagonist, the heart and soul of the play.”
“I see…”
I’d overlooked this.
In my previous plays, casting an experienced lead actor had never been an issue.
But this time, with the unique demands of the script, finding the right person for the role was proving to be a challenge.
The play wouldn’t work without a strong actor to play Xiang Yu.
I couldn’t cast a Geloroushina actor; they lacked the necessary martial arts training.
Should I postpone production and focus on training the actors in action sequences? But that would delay the premiere.
“Hmm, you mentioned wanting to utilize my connections, right?”
Just then, Professor Gaby, who had been tapping her index finger on the table, made a suggestion.
“If it’s alright not to have a professional actor, I could recommend a candidate from our academy students as the protagonist.”
“Hmm? From the academy students?”
“Looking at the project plan, it seems like this special performance will mainly occur in the evenings over a relatively short period, right?”
Professor Gaby glanced at the returned notes and continued.
“In that case, it could be a good experience for our students to participate without much burden. It doesn’t overlap with their lectures, and it’s not like your previous works that will be performed regularly.”
Ah, right.
The <Farewell My Concubine> was a limited-time engagement. A short, intense burst of creative energy.
The students were at each other’s throats, having misinterpreted the message of <Dialogue>. I’d deliberately made this play a grand spectacle in order to distract them, to redirect their aggression.
The elven acrobatic troupe I’d hired for the music and stunts… Even our collaboration was temporary, a matter of scheduling.
“Actually, I have the perfect student in mind. He’s been training in swordsmanship for years, and he’s not bad at acting or singing either.”
“Is that so? That’s quite a talented student. Who is it?”
I asked with anticipation, and the professor smiled before answering.
“His name is Balthazar Arture. He’s a member of the Arture family, a prestigious martial arts lineage from the southern part of the empire.”
“Cough! Cough! Cough! Hack! Hack!”
“Goodness, are you alright? Did you get a fishbone stuck in your throat?”
“I-I’m fine. I just choked a little. Cough, cough!”
I dabbed at my mouth with a floral-patterned napkin, trying to regain my composure.
But in reality, I was so flustered that I was spouting all sorts of nonsense.
Who? Me?
Why so suddenly? Since when was I considered an asset in performing arts? Huh?
“Ah, a young noble from the Arture family. Interesting. May I ask why you specifically recommend this student?”
“I’ve been mentoring him since his first year, and he has quite a bit of hidden talent.”
Professor Gaby answered with a chuckle.
“I have a good eye for talent, and I knew Balthazar was special from the moment I met him. He’s definitely someone I’m keeping an eye on.”
“…He must have made quite an impression on you.”
“He did. I had him do a dramatic reading as part of his liberal arts class, and I saw a spark in him, a natural talent for acting. He needs some polishing, of course. He’s a bit rough around the edges, still a little too green, but that can be remedied with proper guidance.”
Ah, right. The dramatic reading from freshman year. I’d put in a lot of effort for that assignment. All for those sweet, sweet academic credits.
Despite the fun and engaging lectures, Professor Gaby was quite strict when it came to grading.
“Well… alright. I trust your judgment, Professor. But won’t an academy student be too busy? I doubt they’ll have time for this with all their studies.”
I was lying, of course.
Honestly, ever since I consumed the Philosopher’s Stone, I had plenty of free time.
My writing speed had literally skyrocketed to overwhelming levels. Tasks that took others hours to complete, I could finish in just ten minutes.
Professor Gaby shrugged and replied nonchalantly.
“I’ll just ask him. If he refuses, it’s no big deal. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?”
“Hmm.”
“And it’s a personal request, so if he accepts, I’ll compensate him. That should be enough to entice him, don’t you think?”
“Compensation? Are you talking about sharing the profits from ‘Farewell My Concubine’?”
“Of course, he’ll get a share of the profits for playing the lead role. But I’m talking about something a professor can offer a student. Hmm, let’s see…”
After pondering for a moment, Professor Gaby smiled brightly.
Then, she looked at me with a cheerful tone.
“The midterms are coming up soon… how about a guaranteed A+ on his exam? I was planning to assign an alternative project related to arts collaboration anyway.”
“……………”
“Hm? Phantom?”
I’ll do it. Absolutely, I’ll do it.
Not only would I earn money from my play, but I’d also get a free A+ just for having fun playing the main character?
Oh, there’s no reason not to. None at all.
Trivia :-
Xiang Ji (c. 232– c.January 202 BC[1]), courtesy name Yu, was the Hegemon-King of Western Chu during the Chu–Han Contention period (206–202 BC) of China. A noble of the state of Chu, Xiang Yu rebelled against the Qin dynasty, destroying their last remnants and becoming a powerful warlord. He was granted the title of “Duke of Lu” (魯公) by King Huai II of the restoring Chu state in 208 BC.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Xiang_Yu
— End of Chapter —
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