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THE CHOSEN ONES

I guess I deserved what I got. I forgave Biggest Sister later, when she helped me tie strips of cloth soaked in ice water around my hands. But it was a long time before Master let any of us forget the crime. It seemed like he’d figured out that we’d all shared in the ill-gotten gain of my thievery, and so he ran us ragged, extending our practices by hours, pushing us to the very limit of our endurance.

And then, finally months later, he made an announcement over dinner that served partly to explain why he was driving us so hard.

“Students, I have trained you for many years, and your skills have become nearly acceptable,” he said. The words were as close to words of praise as Master could come. “But you are not training in order to please me,” he said.

We looked at one another in silence. That was news to us.

“No, you are working for a much greater goal, and a much more demanding group of critics,” he continued. “The audience! Because when you make a mistake before me, you may suffer punishment, but when you make an error before them, you damage your reputation, and the reputation of the school and its master. This is not something that will heal as easily as a bruise. And that is why you have been working so hard these past few weeks. Because when you step on the stage, even for the first time, you must be perfect. And that time is coming soon.”

The dream. Applause, the cheering of the crowd, fame and glory. It was about to come true!

Master told us the date of our first public performance, which would take place at the theater at Lai Yuen Amusement Park—familiar ground. He explained that each of us would play important roles during the show—some of us behind the scenes, working the curtains and shifting props, others assisting with makeup and costumes and still others in the chorus that would play crowd scenes and fill the ranks during battles.

But a select few—the best and most skilled of us—would be placed in positions of special honor. They would be the school’s stars, performing each opera’s heartbreakingly difficult leading roles. These chosen ones would stand at that grand altar of communion between player and audience: center stage. For the brief space of an opera

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turn, they would command the attention of a mob  of rapt worshipers, becoming princes and emperors and  heroes—and gods. Upon hearing Master’s words, each of us knew in our hearts that this, and only this, was what we wanted, that any other place in the repertory would be second-best, and thus, nothing at all.

We practiced with extra determination that evening, knowing that Master would be announcing his selections in the morning. Each of us tried to catch his eye, although it was unlikely that a single night’s work would alter an opinion formed after years of observation. Afterward, we prepared for bed, cursing ourselves for mistake we remembered from months gone by, or congratulating ourselves for recollected moments when we’d brought a tiny smile to our master’s face.

“Lights out!” shouted Yuen Lung on schedule, and we settled into our blankets. But none of us could sleep.

“Hey, Big Nose,” whispered Yuen Kwai. “Who do you think got it?”

I knew what my guesses were: Biggest Brother, of course, because he was the school’s best fighter, and because he was Biggest Brother. Yuen Tai would probably be selected as well. Yuen Wah, certainly. But I didn’t want to say anything for fear of being overheard. Clustered together as we were for warmth, a private conversation was impossible. “I dunno,” I said.

“I bet you got it,” he said. “You’re the prince, right? How could he not pick you?”

I thought for a moment. Was Yuen Kwai right? I was Master’s godson. But ever since the cigarette incident, he’d barely spoken to me and treated me with no particular favor. “He’ll probably not pick me just to spite me,” I said.

I felt a sudden sharp pain in my ankle as something heavy hit me. It was Yuen Lung’s foot. “Hell!” he said. “How many times do I have to tell you to shut up when other people are trying to sleep?”

“Sorry, Big Brother.”

“Sorry, Big Brother.”

We pulled our blankets over our heads and tried to doze off. It took a very long time.

The morning sun seemed especially bright the next day, filling the practice hall with light. We stood in our rows, hands at our sides, listening to Master with undivided attention.

“I will now announce the students who have been selected for our performance troupe, which will be known as the Seven Little Fortunes,” he said.

So there would be seven lucky students. Seven chances to be a star.

Each of you, as you are called, please come to the front of the room. Yuen Lung!” he said, looking at Biggest Brother. Yuen Lung stepped forward, swaggering like there’d never been any doubt.

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“Yuen Tai!” Again, no surprise.

“Yuen Wah! Yuen Wu!” Our school’s reigning king of martial arts stances joined Yuen Lung in line, followed by another older boy who was one of the academy’s best singers.

“Yuen Kwai!” Yuen Kwai gave a jump and looked up. Grinning like an idiot, he walked up to join the line. Just two more, I thought. Two more shots.

“Yuen Biao!” As disciplined as we were trying to act, the sound of Yuen Biao’s name triggered an involuntary buzz of whispering. Little Brother was one of the youngest of our student body; for him to be selected as one of the stars of the school was outrageous. But, we had to admit, he was a natural acrobat, capable of twisting his small body into positions we could only dream of, as comfortable in the air or upside down as we were upright and on our feet.

There was just one position left, and dozens of qualified candidates. I was sure I’d lost. I was destined for a future of lurking in the wings, or carrying spears. I was going to be a nobody. And all of my father’s ambitions for me to become a great man, all of my spotlight dreams, were for nothing.

“Quiet!” shouted Master, silencing the muttering. “There is still one more member of our troupe to be named.” And we all leaned forward, our mouths slightly open, anticipating the call.

“Yuen Lo, step forward.”

My mouth dropped open. Me! He’d picked me!

I bolted from my position and ran forward. Out of sheer ecstasy, I did a forward handspring on my way to the front of the room. Master looked surprised at my impromptu stunt, but smiled benignly.

The seven of us stood proudly by Master, our backs straight, our faces fixed in wide smiles.

“Fortunes, bow to your brothers and sisters,” said Master. We bent at the waist and dipped our bodies low. “Students, welcome the Seven Little Fortunes of the China Drama Academy.”

And, as disappointed as they were, our siblings broke out into cheers. They were proud of us. They were happy for us.

It was our first moment of applause, but certainly not our last.