Zhang Cheng was high in spirits as he stepped on the stool with one leg.
He puffed out his chest, straightened his back and pointed a finger. Then he began to sing.
"Back in the days, I had a horse, I had a spear. I dumped my girl, I left Shangyang, and I went to the capital, to temper my style…"
Zhou Yi had been living in Luojing for nearly a year, and he had paid many visits to theaters. He did not want to go, but his colleagues' repeated invitations left him with no choice.
In the workplace, socializing was inevitable.
Having seen and heard much, he had gained some understanding of Great Qian's theater plays. A cultivator's extraordinary retentive memory worked wonders in studies of any sort.
Right now, Zhang Cheng was singing in Luojing's local theater style. Melodious voice, mellow charm; he was by no means any inferior to the famous professionals.
