I have a strange love for Teochew opera - its lilting voice, its subtle movements (no acrobatics here). For the mid-autumn festivities, the temple by my flat has sponsored three nights of Teochew opera. Tonight, it's a tale of revenge. The backdrop is faded. The costumes' water sleeves are stained. The heavy velvet stage curtain has holes. The erhu musician plays with a cigarette between his lips. At one point, the prop guy - an unshaven 70 year-old man in a printed shirt and red trousers - walks out to adjust the actor's head gear. Despite all this, in a scene where she pleads with her brother the judge, the actress sheds real tears. Under the harsh light of the makeshift stage, you can see the trail left by the tears on the thick white and pink makeup.