For Micky Wang, a 26-year-old Yale University graduate with a connoisseur’s love for traditional arts, a trip home to China is a pilgrimage to indulge his passion: Yue opera, a 120-year-old, female-dominated theater genre popular in the Zhejiang, Jiangsu, and Shanghai regions. His first stop, on October 12, straight from New Haven, was the Nanjing Yue Opera Museum in Jiangsu’s provincial capital. There, he lingered with reverence before costumes once worn by legendary masters. Shortly afterwards, he followed the sweet aroma of bubble tea to the museum’s trendy café, where he ordered a drink inspired by Yue opera—“Xiaosheng Piaopiao (小生飘飘)”—prepared for him by a young star from the Nanjing Yue Opera Troupe. Drink in hand, he moved into the museum’s courtyard, where he sat against the backdrop of the city’s Qinhuai River (秦淮河), accompanied by the timeless melodies from a live mini-performance of selected scenes from classic operas a few steps away.

Days later, in his hometown of Beijing, Wang’s journey culminated in a trip to Peking University, where the Nanjing Yue Opera Troupe staged its new production The Weaver (《织造府》), a time-travel reimagining of Cao Xueqin’s (曹雪芹) Qing-dynasty classic Dream of the Red Chamber (《红楼梦》). Captivated, Wang savored the show, with the line from the protagonist Jia Baoyu, “only one sight and fall for one life,” echoing in his mind. As the curtain fell, his rapture was broken not by the din of the audience leaving but by the buzz of a nearby fan meeting in the foyer just outside the performance hall—a chance for a technical deep-dive with cast members and heartfelt praise for the troupe’s newest talents, many his junior.

That night, lying awake, Wang chewed over the details of his recent experiences. What he’d seen wasn’t just performance, it was a century-old art form being reimagined for people his age, vibrant and in motion.

“To reach a new generation of audiences, we have to move with the times and take the initiative to close that distance,” says award-winning actress Li Xiaoxu and head of the Nanjing Yue Opera Troupe. “We want to give them a once-in-a-lifetime experience—so that with just one sight, they fall for Yue opera for life.”

Reimagining tradition

The phrase “一见钟情,” or “love at first sight,” once evoked the romantic tragedy of Jia Baoyu (贾宝玉) and Lin Daiyu (林黛玉) in Dream of the Red Chamber. Their bond is rooted in myth: Lin Daiyu, the mortal incarnation of the Fairy Plant (绛珠仙子), is fated to repay her cousin Jia Baoyu, once the Divine Attendant (神瑛侍者), with a lifetime of tears. Yet even this preordained love, set in a society where cousin marriage was customary, ultimately succumbs to the cruel machinery of arranged matrimony.

Now, the Nanjing Yue Opera Troupe is reimagining this century-old tale, boldly challenging traditional expectations of women as passive and obedient—a reinvention that fits naturally in a genre traditionally dominated by female performers. In The Weaver, the last in a trilogy of works the troupe has created, Cao, author of the Red Chamber, steps into his own novel, reincarnated as Jia Baoyu. The opera takes its Chinese name, literally the “Imperial Silk Manufacturing Bureau,” from Cao’s birthplace—the Jiangning Imperial Silk Manufacturing Bureau, a facility run by his family that once supplied textiles to the Qing court. As the semi-autobiographical protagonist, Cao becomes haunted by the characters he has created—especially the women—engaging in witty conversations and soul-searching debates with them regarding the defining moments of their fate.

“We wanted to explore the inner lives of these women through a contemporary lens; as Yue opera steps into the new generation, the narratives should also keep up with the ideas and lifestyle of the young audience,” explains Li, who plays both Cao and Jia Baoyu. “A time-travel structure allowed us to ask: If Cao Xueqin could travel into the world of his own novel, how would he have acted?”

Through this reinterpretation, Xue Baochai (薛宝钗)—often reduced to a conformist “feudal lady”—comes to recognize her own yearning for freedom by leaving the Grand View Garden (大观园), built by the Jia family for the imperial visit of Jia Yuanchun (贾元春), now a concubine of the Qing emperor, and later occupied by the family’s unmarried women and Jia Baoyu—a symbol of rigid tradition. Meanwhile, Lin Daiyu’s death is reframed not as the pure heartbreak of learning that Jia Baoyu will marry another, but as a conscious release after having experienced love fully. These can be seen as deeply modern acts of self-liberation, departing from the traditional love-drama themes that have long dominated Yue opera adaptations of classic stories—and resonating particularly strongly with younger audiences.

“I’ve always loved Baochai, but many people misunderstand her, thinking she’s scheming or calculating,” says Xiao Siyu, a freshman law student at Peking University who watched the show on campus in October. “But in The Weaver, I’m happy to see her struggle as a woman. I feel the portrayal of Baochai’s inner world is exceptionally insightful.”

Though not everyone is pleased with this new take on the Red Chamber. On the review platform Douban, where the show holds a modest 7 out of 10, reactions are divided. Most praised the show for its performers and intricate staging and lighting, though some viewers questioned the logic of Cao reincarnating as Jia Baoyu, and others felt the characterization strayed too far from the original novel.

The production team tells TWOC that they welcome different interpretations, noting that The Weaver offers just one possible take. Classics endure because they can be revisited and reinterpreted across different times, audiences, and perspectives. Li isn’t too bothered by the criticism either, choosing instead to focus on refining her craft. Wang, the longtime Yue opera fan, feels the same: as long as the singing is good, he’s satisfied.

A feminine heart

Originating in Zhejiang’s Shengzhou in the early 20th century, Yue opera mostly focuses on traditional love dramas and “scholar and beauty” storylines, such as Butterfly Lovers (《梁祝》) and Romance of the Western Chamber (《西厢记》). Freed from the restrictions that once barred women from the stage during the Qing dynasty (1616–1911) and riding the boom of the entertainment industry in Shanghai and Tianjin’s foreign concession areas, Yue opera gradually evolved from a village pastime into an all-female tradition, gaining professional prestige. This, in turn, won the favor of an increasingly conscious and vocal female audience and their growing pursuit of agency in affairs related to love, counter to, for example, arranged marriages, which were still prevalent at the time. The appearance of women dressed as male literati added further charm and attraction to fairy-tale-esque depictions of romance.

That female edge continues to serve as a means for audiences and actresses to examine and explore themes of female growth, self-liberation, and modernity, pushing narrative and aesthetic boundaries of what is possible in modern Yue opera.

In 2023, the Yue opera production of New Dragon Gate Inn (《新龙门客栈》), adapted from the eponymous wuxia film by the Zhejiang Xiaobaihua Yue Opera Troupe, became an overnight sensation after its pay-per-view livestream on Douyin, priced at just 9.9 yuan. A clip of the curtain call, featuring a one-armed spin between the leads with a tender, transfixing gaze, went viral, introducing the classic tale to a new generation and expanding Yue opera’s audience. The Douyin broadcast on August 6 garnered over 9.25 million views, with nearly 4,000 viewers leaving more than 14,000 comments in real-time.

Xiao, the Peking University student, was also captivated by the online buzz two years ago while still in high school. The actress’s elegant and vibrant reinterpretation of the male character left a lasting impression on her, so when she learned that the Nanjing Troupe would be performing at her university, she signed up without hesitation.

Seeing a live Yue opera performance only deepened her fascination with the art form. She joined Peking University’s Yue opera society the same week after seeing The Weaver. At the orientation, she began to learn about the rich history and cultural significance behind the art form’s most distinctive convention: the nü xiaosheng (女小生), or “female scholar” role.

This tradition—in which actresses play handsome, romantic male leads—lies at the heart of Yue opera’s unique connection with its audience. These cross-gender performances do more than showcase artistic skill—they reframe classic romantic narratives, often penned by male scholars in feudal China, through a distinctly female lens.

Many of these tales, while celebrating ideals of love and freedom on the surface, often depict male behaviors that, by modern standards, verge on harassment. According to Chen Tian, a professor at the School of Drama, Film, and Television Studies of Nanjing University, the nü xiaosheng role resolves this problem: “Visually, the nü xiaosheng role appears more delicate and slender, carrying a youthful, boyish charm. Psychologically, the tension between same-gender performers creates a safe emotional distance between the male and female roles...In Yue opera, the nü xiaosheng represents the idealized male figure in the minds of female audiences, stripped of masculine coarseness while retaining a gentle, feminine grace.”

Li Xiaoxu, who played Jia Baoyu in The Weaver, describes the gaze her male character gives his female counterpart as “gentle, full of feeling, and devoid of aggression.” Perfecting this ideal male image requires years of disciplined training. Growing up in a family that cherished the art form, Li immersed herself in Yue opera from a young age. Her professional journey began at the Jiangsu Provincial Drama School, where she auditioned for the role of Jia Baoyu—a character she found deeply compelling.

Her rigorous training to master the “Four Skills and Five Methods (四功五法)”—singing, recitation, acting, and combat, along with precise techniques relating to the use of hands, eyes, body, rhythm, and footwork(手、眼、身、法、步) during performances—has allowed her to transcend imitation and embody a refined, artistic version of masculinity.

In 2019’s Wuyi Alley (《乌衣巷》), the first installment of the Nanjing Troupe’s “Jinling Trilogy,” the story follows the layered love affair between noblewoman Xi Daomao (郗道茂) and the two sons of the famed calligrapher Wang Xizhi (王羲之). Li plays both male leads, transitioning seamlessly between characters with distinct vocal styles and textures. In Phoenix Terrace (《凤凰台》), the trilogy’s second work, she portrayed the poet Li Bai (李白)—a role that earned her both the 30th China Drama Plum Blossom Award and the Shanghai Magnolia Award, China’s highest theatrical honors. These experiences served as the precursor and inspiration for the time-travel motif in The Weaver, where Li explores Cao Xueqin’s imagined response to the female fate within Jia Baoyu’s world.

A new stage

Li believes Yue opera’s relatively short history compared to other traditional Chinese opera forms is an advantage. Without the weight of centuries-old conventions, it has freely absorbed influences from Shaoxing opera, Peking opera, and spoken drama. Her own specialty, the Bi School, founded by artist Bi Chunfang, is known for its bright, robust vocals and comedic flair. It incorporates elements from Peking opera and Huangmei opera, creating a distinctive style marked by syncopated rhythms and unique vocal techniques.

What makes contemporary Yue opera particularly compelling, however, is the sense of proximity it cultivates—a closeness felt not only in performer-audience interactions but woven into the very design of its stages.

Environmental elements—compact layouts, integrated lighting, and immersive soundscapes—increasingly adopted in recent productions, transform the stage into a dynamic space that dissolves the traditional boundaries between performer and spectator.

Unlike many other traditional opera forms that are slowly losing ground due to aging performers and audiences, Yue troupes in Hangzhou, Wenzhou, and Nanjing have increasingly promoted young actresses to leading roles, blending vibrant youth with classical artistry. These performers—many born after 2005—infuse their roles with fresh interpretations while innovating new forms of fan engagement.

When Xiao attended the fan meeting at Peking University, she found the performers’ youthful faces nearly indistinguishable from her classmates’. “They look so young, yet deliver such mature artistry on stage,” she observes. “Exchanging thoughts with them about the roles and the shared challenges in our lives as young women makes me reflect more deeply... It’s encouraging to know that our generation has a voice within the troupe—that they can speak to our tastes and needs in new productions.”

Wang, who jokingly calls himself a “rare specimen” in the largely female fanbase, also feels that this women-centered culture offers a model for how men can show respect and understanding in their relationships with women.

Unlike the polished distance of commercial idol culture, Yue opera fosters genuine closeness. Post-show conversations often blend technical discussion with personal encouragement. “The relationship between us is more equal,” Wang observes. “Fans don’t feel belittled.”

Even fan practices like “shipping” are viewed not as a modern distraction but as a continuation of tradition. “The idea of shipping has been around since the early days of Yue opera. Back then, we simply called it a ‘golden duo,’” Li, the head of the Nanjing Troupe, explains. “I actually see it as an affirmation of the leads’ rapport and chemistry.”

Troupes nurture this bond with the audience through immersive events—such as a 68-yuan package featuring a mini-show and a drink prepared by cast members—transforming Yue opera from a museum piece into a living part of youth culture, where stardom meets fandom. Many of these actresses also maintain their own social media accounts, allowing them to engage directly with their fans.

Inspired by these experiences, Xiao has signed up for a Yue opera performance class through her student society this semester. She hopes to experience the enduring appeal of this feminine art form firsthand and, schedule permitting, attend more performances. For her, it’s a cultural tonic—a refreshing companion to her unfolding academic life as a young woman.