On a Sunday afternoon in Beijing, applause rises from a modern theatre as Zhang Wanting performs a breathtaking pose in The Masked Heroine, a signature play from the Song School of Peking opera. Dressed in a red-and-white warrior costume, she balances on one foot atop the narrow handle of a rosewood chair, her other leg lifted, pheasant plumes in hand, striking a pose that evokes a flying swallow.
Zhang, 30, has spent over a decade perfecting her craft. Her journey began at age seven in Hebei province, where she first encountered Peking opera at a children’s cultural centre. Fascinated, she joined local classes and discovered both her talent and determination. After primary school, she moved to a theatre school in Jiangsu province, where early morning training sessions built the strength, flexibility, and discipline essential to Peking opera.
The chair trick she performs is a specialty of the Song School, tracing back to its founder’s family. It blends martial and acrobatic movements, and each move — from leaping through a chair frame to spinning it with a palm or balancing on a narrow handle — demands months of repetition. “The first thing I have to overcome is my fear,” Zhang says, recalling the countless hours she spent carrying a chair to practise at every opportunity.
Central to the technique is tanhai, or “gazing over the sea,” a foundational pose in Peking opera derived from Chinese martial arts. Mastering it requires balance, flexibility, and control. For Zhang, integrating tanhai into the chair sequence was another level of challenge, involving hundreds of leaps daily, bruised thighs, and trembling muscles. Yet after persistent practice, she reached a breakthrough: performing the trick with seeming effortlessness.
Peking opera’s history stretches back to the Qing Dynasty, originally tied to the imperial court. By the 19th and early 20th centuries, it evolved into a popular urban entertainment form. Today, digital media and modern performances challenge its appeal. Still, performers like Zhang invest years honing demanding techniques, striving to preserve the art for contemporary audiences.
In her role as Wan Xiangyou, a chivalrous heroine fighting injustice, Zhang integrates martial poses into the narrative, giving the chair stunts narrative weight. “A play without skill is not amazing; a play without emotion is not moving,” she explains. Her performances captivate audiences with both technical prowess and emotional resonance, as first-time viewers like Yang Hecheng, 26, attest.
Now a professional with the Jingju Theatre Company of Beijing, Zhang has performed more than 150 shows over nine years. Each production involves learning new stunts or refining established ones, making mastery a lifelong pursuit. “I just want to make progress step by step and perform each show the best I can,” she says. “The most rewarding moment is when the show ends and the audience applauds.”
Through dedication, acrobatic skill, and a deep respect for tradition, young performers like Zhang Wanting ensure that Peking opera continues to thrive in the modern era, proving that centuries-old art can still inspire awe today.
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