As China advances toward a new stage of development, discussions about culture often revolve around innovation, industry and global outreach. These are all important. But at its core, the mission of a national performing arts institution is much simpler — and much more demanding: to create works that genuinely move people.

If I were to describe the responsibility of a national opera and dance theater in a few words, I would borrow two Chinese idioms: "let the general's horse take the lead" and "a thousand horses galloping forward". A national-level theater must set standards in artistic excellence, creativity and professional ethics. At the same time, it should help energize the broader cultural ecosystem, encouraging more artists and institutions to thrive.

Leadership, however, is not measured by scale or statistics. It is measured by impact — by whether a performance resonates enough to remain with audiences long after the curtain falls.

Take the classic Chinese production The White-Haired Girl, which has been performed for more than eight decades. Today's audiences may not fully understand the social background that gave birth to the work. Yet every time it is staged, many viewers are still moved to tears. Why?

Because at its heart is a universal truth: the struggle of a vulnerable individual fighting for dignity and survival. Historical context changes. Social systems evolve. But the human impulse to resist injustice and to seek hope remains. That emotional connection has not weakened with time. If anything, it has grown stronger, because audiences are responding to humanity.

This is what defines a true classic. It transcends its era by illuminating something enduring about the human condition.

The same principle guides us when creating new works, including a recent production inspired by the life of the Ming Dynasty (1368-1644) painter and poet Tang Yin, better known as Tang Bohu. Many young people today know him as a romanticized cultural icon. But his real life was marked by frustration, false accusations and repeated setbacks.

What sustained him was art.

Stripped of official ambition and social recognition, he turned to painting and poetry as a form of self-redemption. In our conversations with young members of the audience after performances, many shared an unexpected reaction: If Tang Yin could endure so much and still create beauty, why can't I face my own challenges?

Art, at its best, offers more than entertainment. It offers perspective. It reminds us that hardship is not the end of the story. That creative expression can transform suffering into meaning. In that sense, art becomes a form of quiet strength.

For a national theater, balancing artistic integrity with audience engagement is a constant challenge. We cannot simply chase market trends or tailor every production to short-term popularity. At the same time, we cannot ignore the audience. A performance must capture attention, but, more importantly, it must capture the heart.

In our internal discussions, we often emphasize that while technical innovation, stage design and marketing all matter, shared human emotion matters most. If all other elements account for 10 percent of a production's success, the remaining 90 percent lies in whether audiences feel seen, understood and connected.

This focus on common emotional ground also shapes how Chinese performing arts engage with the world. Cultural exchange is not achieved by emphasizing difference alone. It begins with what we share — love, resilience, humor, longing, hope. When children in different countries laugh at the same scene, or when audiences abroad respond to the struggles of a Chinese historical figure as if he were their contemporary, it becomes clear that art can cross borders more effectively than rhetoric.

In an age defined by rapid technological change and global uncertainty, the performing arts may seem fragile. Yet their power lies precisely in their ability to bring people into a shared physical space, to create moments of collective emotion and reflection. That experience cannot be downloaded or replicated on a screen.

As China continues to strengthen its cultural sector, we should remember that lasting influence does not come from volume alone. It comes from authenticity and depth. A national theater must take the lead not only in scale, but in sincerity — in the courage to explore complex human stories and the discipline to present them with excellence.

When art speaks to the heart, it does not need translation. And when it reflects our shared humanity, it will always find an audience.

Feng Li is president of the China National Opera & Dance Drama Theater, and a member of the 14th National Committee of the Chinese People's Political Consultative Conference. This is an excerpt of the interview with China Daily reporter Yao Yuxin.

The views don't necessarily represent those of China Daily.

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