Safeguarding Shaanxi's melodic heritage

The apprenticeship began humbly. In the autumn of 1995, Qiao arrived at his cousin's home with nothing but a pig's trotter as a gift and studied under him for two years. "I couldn't even afford a bottle of liquor," he said.

Once his apprenticeship ended, performance invitations followed, sending him from village to village with a packed schedule. But before long, the spread of television dimmed demand. "I was still young then, and I didn't think much about what the future might hold," he said.

The decline was even starker for older artists. He Si, a fellow performer in his 60s, still remembers the sting.

"The number of requests for my performances fell sharply," he said. "Everyone around me who quit Shuoshu to pursue business ventures seemed to be getting rich."

Today, Qiao is an official "inheritor" — a government-appointed guardian of intangible cultural heritage — and no longer worries about his livelihood. The title is part of a broader central government push to preserve China's fading traditions.

Shaanbei Shuoshu was among the first traditions added to a national protection list in 2006.

Local authorities have built dedicated venues, including the Shaanbei Shuoshu Center in the ancient city of Yulin, which hosts regular performances and interactive cultural experiences.

The government also organizes annual events such as the Shaanbei Shuoshu Convention to promote the art form and encourage exchanges among performers.

"The government has done a lot to support us," Qiao said. "But official recognition alone isn't enough."

Now his concern is for the future of the art form. "What troubles me most is that I don't see enough young performers emerging," he said. "They need to be able to make a living."

The dilemma is embodied in his apprentice, Fu Mei. At a rehearsal room in a performing arts center in Yan'an, she practices the sanxian daily. Initially, she was drawn to it for the financial benefits, but over time, she has developed a genuine love for the art. "I've thought about giving up," she said. "I don't know whether I'll be able to make a living from it in the future, but some things are worth more than money."

On a recent workday at the center, young artists chatted between rehearsals at one end of the hallway. At the other, Qiao packed away his old cassette tapes — relics of his own training, now used to teach the next generation.

"The tape recorder was my teacher when I started," he said. "Now I am the teacher, and these tapes are the bridge. I want to see a new generation of performers I trained myself, active across the land of northern Shaanxi. Let this treasure of our region be passed on healthily, sustainably, and for the long term."

Naziyeerke Bahetinuer, Wu Jiawei, Tao Jiayi, Ju Yiping and Wang Sihan contributed to this story.

lilei@chinadaily.com.cn