Republic of China: Actor? Call Me Martial Grandmaster!

The year is 1931, and the snow falls like a curse over Peking's Tianqiao district. In an era of warlord skirmishes and a dying opera scene, human life is cheaper than a dog's. Lu Cheng is nothing more than a wooden, unremarkable martial-role actor in Qingyun Troupe—a poor soul who can barely scrape together money for his mother's medicine. In this chaotic world, opera singers rank among the lowest of the low. To survive without begging on one's knees, you either hold power or wield a fist. Then, on the winter solstice, during a performance of "The Wind and Snow Inn", as he grips his waxwood spear amid the crashing gongs and drums, a line of ancient script appears before his eyes: [Rating: B+. Reward: Ten Years of External Martial Arts Power!]. He discovers a stunning truth: as long as he performs, he can comprehend; as long as he loses himself in the role, he becomes a grandmaster. From that day on, Peking loses its dull extra and gains a martial legend who attains the Dao through opera. From the six-harmony spear of "The Wind and Snow Inn" to ripping tigers apart with bare hands like in "Wu Song Fights the Tiger"; from the mountain-moving strength of "Carrying the Chariot" to the heaven-defying might of "Havoc in Heaven". Years later, when the gangs of Tianjin kneel in submission, when Japanese ronin snap their broken swords, and when foreign warships retreat from Tianjin's harbor, Lu Cheng has not only upheld the name of Qingyun Troupe but also the crumbling spine of Chinese martial arts. "In my life," Lu Cheng declares, "I act out every sorrow and joy onstage, and punch through every injustice offstage. Warlords or foreigners—that's your show. But Peking? Peking answers to me."