In Wang Zhaoju’s childhood, the arrival of a village temple fair meant only one thing: opera. For several days, a traveling troupe would perform on an open-air stage, offering the most captivating entertainment the countryside had ever known. When the gongs and drums sounded, people from miles around would gather, forming a lively and grand spectacle.

Those in the autumn of their lives would arrive regardless of wind or rain, losing themselves in familiar stories they had watched countless times. During the day the audience was mostly older spectators, but as night fell, young people streamed in from every direction. The excitement was electric. In the stillness of night, the echo of drums and the rising operatic voices carried far across the fields—so far that neighboring villages felt as though the stage stood just beyond their own gates. Decades later, those melodies and the thunder of percussion still seem to linger—vivid yet dreamlike, like a painting or a scene half-remembered from a distant dream.

Wang Zhao Ju’s artistic journey was profoundly nurtured by his father’s devotion. His lifelong affection for opera was deeply shaped by his father, a generous and warm-hearted man. In those difficult years, despite their modest life, his father devoted himself to the community. Whether serving as a cook for weddings and funerals or working tirelessly behind the scenes of village operas, his father’s quiet dedication provided the foundation for Wang’s own creative spirit.