Liang City, East Village.
On the top of the stage, the red banner reads [Mei Hua Youth Theater].
Behind the curtain, an empty stage is concealed, and a slightly plump middle-aged woman with a sorrowful expression is mourningly singing:
[My son sees the bright moon and beams with a smile...]
The audience area is completely empty, not a single viewer in sight. Yet, a few vehicles are parked in a square formation surrounding the area, making the blockade quite apparent.
There are only a few elderly men and women, and some young people holding up their phones, the former listening to the opera, the latter recording the performance.
The young people start murmuring:
"That Wu guy is really a piece of work! Always bragging about tens of thousands and millions, yet he still owes just 2,000 yuan and hasn't paid it..."
"Exactly! It's so hot here, the troupe suggested setting up a canopy for shade, but his old lady refused to spend the money... Hmph! Sooner or later, luck will run out."
