NANCHANG, April 1 (Xinhua) -- William Shakespeare's King Lear is often associated with the grand theaters of London's West End or New York's Broadway. But on a winter night in Leping, a county-level city in east China's Jiangxi Province, the tragic king takes an unexpected form as Li Er, brought to life through Ganju, a centuries-old local opera tradition.
Backstage, 51-year-old actor Hu Haidong dabs gold powder across his brow and adjusts his dragon-embroidered robe as he readies for the role. When the first piercing notes of Ganju fill the air, Shakespeare's tragedy unfolds anew through high-pitched singing, stylized gestures and the distinctive rhythms of Chinese regional opera.
Also known as Jiangxi Opera, Ganju dates back more than 500 years and is known for its soaring vocals, martial movements and ornate costumes. In 2011, it was inscribed on China's national intangible cultural heritage list.
Leping is hailed as one of Ganju's cradles. With more than 400 well-preserved ancient opera stages scattered across its villages and towns, the art form has long been woven into local life. At the heart of this tradition stands the Leping Ganju Opera Troupe, which has trained performers and kept the genre alive on both rural and urban stages for decades.
Hu grew up immersed in this world. Born into a family of Ganju performers, he began learning from his father at the age of 13 and later joined the troupe.
Yet his life on stage was not uninterrupted. Like many traditional Chinese operas, Ganju faced mounting pressure in the late 20th century: audiences aged, markets shrank and rigid management left many state-backed troupes struggling to survive.
"I saw no future back then. It felt like the old art was fading away slowly," Hu recalled. "The pay was almost the same whether we performed once or ten times."
In 2005, he left the troupe and headed south to Hainan Province, where he spent years working in banana fields to make a living. He never imagined he would return to the stage one day.
The turning point came around 2012, when local authorities reformed the Leping Ganju Opera Troupe, reshaping it into a more performance-driven and market-oriented organization. Artists gained greater freedom to choose repertoire, adapt scripts and respond directly to audience demand.
"We returned creative initiative to the performers and let the market test their work," said Cheng Hui, the troupe's director. "The pressure to survive became a driving force for innovation."
One of the troupe's most ambitious experiments was adapting Shakespeare's King Lear into a Ganju production.
In the revised version, the story is set in a fictional ancient Chinese dynasty. The central figure is renamed Li Er, a name that evokes Chinese classical culture while echoing Lear. Core themes -- loyalty, filial duty, betrayal and moral collapse -- remain at the heart of the drama, but they are expressed through Ganju's unique vocal style, musical patterns and symbolic movements.
For Hu, this production was more than just a new role. It reignited his faith in the art form he had once left behind.
"I wanted to see for myself whether our opera could truly carry Shakespeare's story," he said.
It did more than succeed -- it exceeded all expectations. Since premiering in 2024, King Li Er has drawn audiences in rural communities and city theaters alike, proving that a local opera rooted in tradition can still resonate powerfully with contemporary viewers. For performers like Hu, the success has also brought tangible rewards, with income now directly linked to the number of performances and audience response.
The troupe's revival does not rely on a single production. In 2014, it launched a youth training program, nurturing the next generation of performers through years of instruction and stage practice. It has also experimented with new ways to engage younger audiences, from adapting Ganju rhythms for school campus activities to livestreaming performances for students and online viewers.
These efforts appear to be paying off. "I used to think opera was slow and hard to follow," said 17-year-old Peng Xin after watching King Li Er. "But this story really drew me in. The costumes were stunning, and I could feel the king's pain."
The production has also gained attention beyond China. Last October, Leping's King Li Er shared the stage with a British production of King Lear, offering audiences a rare chance to experience the same classic through two distinct theatrical traditions. David Gareth, who played Lear in the British version, described it as his first real encounter with the emotional depth and expressive power of Chinese regional opera.
Ganju's revival has also benefited from stronger policy support. Recently, China has stepped up efforts to revitalize traditional opera through measures focusing on talent training, creative adaptation and integration with modern cultural industries.
Chen Li, a professor at the School of Arts of Nanchang University and a national inheritor of Ganju Opera, said such policies have provided regional operas like Ganju with clearer support and direction.
"Traditional opera can only thrive if it preserves its artistic core and finds ways to connect with modern audiences," she said. "That means nurturing young performers, encouraging innovation and making better use of digital platforms."
For Cheng, that is the path forward. "In the future, we will continue reviving endangered classics, refining innovative productions like King Li Er, and creating new works rooted in contemporary life and tailored to younger audiences," she said.
Talent development remains central to this goal. Veteran performers like Hu now mentor younger actors born after 2000, while partnerships with universities aim to better link academic training with stage practice.
Today, the troupe stages more than 600 performances a year, many on ancient rural stages that still dot the Leping countryside. There, amid carved beams, weathered wooden pillars and centuries of local memory, Ganju remains part of everyday cultural life even as it continues to evolve.
During the busy season, Hu often performs for four or five hours a day. His voice grows hoarse, and sweat streaks his stage makeup under the lights. Yet night after night, he stays onstage with a sense of purpose he once thought lost.
"When I hear the applause," he said. "I know the art is still alive, and I made the right choice coming back." ■
