Copper coins were loaded in large bamboo baskets.

Seven or eight maids and servants worked together to count them. A string of a thousand coins made up one guan—equivalent to one liang(tael) of silver.

They spent nearly an hour counting before finally getting an exact total.

Holding the ledger, Biyu spoke slowly:
“So far, entrance tickets have been sold for twenty-three days. There are three performances a day, all sold out. There are five hundred regular seats at thirty coins per person, one hundred front-row seats at eighty coins per person, and twenty private rooms, each at five liang of silver. In total, over these twenty-three days, we’ve made 8,487 guan of money.”

“Hiss!”

“Hiss!”

Sounds of people gasping filled the room.

Old Tian was in disbelief: “We only sold tickets for one afternoon, and we’ve already nearly made back the money spent building this grand theater… just one afternoon!”

He had worried constantly during construction because of the huge costs, afraid the theater would be a failed investment.

But reality proved those worries completely unnecessary.

And the theater would also earn from selling tea and snacks—another stream of revenue.

Li Zhiyue smiled: “Tomorrow is the grand theater’s opening day. Everyone will be busy, so get a good night’s sleep and be ready to show your best.”

…

The next morning, people began entering the theater by showing their tickets.

Each ticket had a seat number, and with signs to guide them, guests easily found their seats.

Groups of audience members walked in together.

After entering, they passed through a courtyard decorated with portraits—any fan of opera would recognize the faces of actors from the Lingfeng troupe.

Passing through the corridor, the grand theater finally came into view.

Three stories tall, the building was majestic and awe-inspiring.

Inside, it was even more stunning. Four large round columns stretched from the ground to the top floor, painted with purple wisteria vines and blossoms climbing upward.

From the ceiling hung forty-nine large lanterns, brightly illuminating the interior.

Black floor tiles lined the ground, filled with backrest chairs.

The more expensive front-row seats were even paired with Eight Immortals tables, providing superior comfort.

At the very front stood a large square stage made of premium wood, one meter high and more than ten meters wide.

Red curtains fell from the highest point, with a deep blue backdrop behind—solemn and elegant.

“It feels like we’ve stepped into someplace extraordinary!”

“Common folks like me actually get to be in a place like this—it’s eye-opening!”

“Sigh, my seat’s in the very back. I wonder if I’ll even hear anything.”

He wasn’t worried about not seeing—because the seats were tiered higher the further back they went, ensuring clear sightlines.

…

Li Zhiyue sat in a private room on the third floor.

About fifteen minutes before the performance, she finally saw the Cheng siblings arrive.

“Zhiyue!” Cheng Wanfeng ran over and clung to her arm. “This grand theater—was it your idea? You’re amazing!”

“Oh, not at all, just average,” Li Zhiyue laughed. “Wanfeng, you and your brother can sit here. I’ve prepared pearl milk tea for you.”

Cheng Wanfeng’s eyes lit up: “I’ve heard my mother mention pearl milk tea before! Zhiyue, you even know how to make that—so impressive!”

“Pearl milk tea has been in the capital for over a month now. Wanfeng, your brother never told you?”

Cheng Changyan looked a little annoyed.

Previously, Li Zhiyue always called him “Lord Cheng.”

Now? Just “your brother.”

He had lost both his name and his title.

He remained calm and said mildly: “There are no outsiders here. We can use first names, just like in your world.”

“Alright, then I’ll call you Changyan,” said Li Zhiyue with a nod, then tugged on Wanfeng’s hand. “Isn’t the pearl milk tea delicious? If I can find coffee beans someday, I’ll make coffee too. When I used to work, I drank a cup every morning.”

Cheng Wanfeng smiled: “Great! I’ll be waiting for it.”

Cheng Changyan quietly interjected: “Zhiyue, what kind of work did you do before?”

“I was a librarian. Simply put, I managed books,” Li Zhiyue said with a smile. “Our national library holds millions of books from ancient times to now. I spent years there and didn’t even read one percent. Reading is such a joy.”

Cheng Wanfeng’s eyes sparkled: “My mother told me that in your world, women can also earn titles and official ranks—is that true?”

Li Zhiyue tilted her head in thought.

The university entrance exam was equivalent to the imperial exam. So yes, women could indeed earn ranks.

There were even female leaders in government.

She nodded: “Not just that. In every aspect, men and women are equal. Anything a man can do, a woman can do too. Women aren’t confined to the home raising children. They can pursue anything they want.”

Cheng Wanfeng’s eyes showed longing, then she lowered her head and sighed:
“No wonder my mother is so unhappy here. She has no freedom. She was forced to bear children. She gave up so much…”

“Alright, enough of the sad talk,” Cheng Changyan looked up. “The play is about to begin.

..

Music and singing rose from behind the stage. The actors began to appear.

The vocals were clear—even those seated in the furthest corners could hear every word.

To a modern audience, it was a melodramatic tale of a real versus fake daughter.

The heroine was mistakenly switched at birth, and when she returned to her real family, her parents didn’t like her.

The fake daughter targeted her constantly, and her brothers didn’t accept her.

Longing for affection, she was repeatedly hurt and eventually left.

Unexpectedly, she then met her fated love—a marquis.

They fell for each other and got married.

Later, her birth family was falsely accused and thrown into prison.

The kind-hearted heroine spared no effort to save them, leading to a classic happy ending.

The audience was deeply moved—many cried.

Cheng Wanfeng was sobbing uncontrollably.

Li Zhiyue chuckled: “You’re crying over this one? The next few plays might kill you with emotion.”

As the performance ended, the crowd buzzed with discussion about the plot.

Others marveled at the theater’s design.

“Even in the last row, I could hear the actor sobbing—that’s incredible!”

“My cousin helped draft the blueprints. He secretly learned this theater cost over ten thousand liang of silver to build.”

“My goodness, what did I do to deserve watching a show in a place like this in my lifetime…”

…

Li Zhiyue stood at the private room doorway, watching the Cheng siblings leave.

Just then, the neighboring door opened too.

Out came a group of well-dressed young ladies, led by the legitimate Sixth Miss of Grand Tutor Song’s family.

There were four or five of them, including Lu Jingxue, who was temporarily living with the Songs.

Lu Jingxue looked over at Li Zhiyue.

After finding out the theater was owned by the Marquis of Xiangyang’s household, she hadn’t wanted to come.

But Sixth Miss Song had strongly invited her, so she had no choice.

The theater’s luxurious extravagance was beyond her imagination.

She didn’t even want to think about how much silver Li Zhiyue could earn in a single day…