At the very start of the first semester of the second year of high school, Teacher Tong convened a parent meeting to kick off the college entrance exam warm-up mobilization ahead of schedule.

“In an ordinary high school like ours, children who can manage and motivate themselves are, after all, a minority. Most children aren’t able to do that yet, which means family education must complement school education!” Teacher Tong spoke plainly. “Family education is not simply a matter of looking over a report card and beating the child once as punishment. Family education is a process, and time spent accompanying your child is the greatest investment you can make. Can you, as parents, start by looking at yourselves first — put down the mahjong tiles, turn off the television, and sit with your children to review and read together?”

As she said this, Teacher Tong looked on helplessly and saw that the factory workers in the parents’ seats, just like their children, were not taking any notes, but merely sitting in their chairs, drowsy and half-asleep.

“If any parent has made up their mind and wants to battle through these two years alongside their child, come find me for a private talk after the meeting,” Teacher Tong concluded just as directly. “If you only want your child to scrape through with a high school diploma, then there’s no need to come find me — that way we both save our energy.”

After the meeting, Teacher Tong tallied up the parents’ and students’ wishes, and quickly introduced a “One Classroom, Two Systems” model: seating was divided by grades, with the first row aiming for top-tier universities, the second row striving for ordinary bachelor’s programs, and the third row for vocational junior college and directed enrollment. Students who only wanted a diploma to attend a technical school were settled into the back four rows.

After this reshuffling of positions, the front three rows of the classroom became an intellectual concentration camp, while the back four rows became a juvenile sanatorium.

“As the saying goes, only those who endure the bitterest hardships rise above all others — I intend to forge you into capable people with full force,” said Teacher Tong, finishing her mobilization speech for the front three rows and then turning to address the back four rows. “Students in the back rows, your diplomas are not yet in hand. Take care of yourselves. Even if you don’t listen to the lessons, you must maintain classroom order. Is that understood?”

Xia Lei had been promoted from the second row to the first row, now one meter closer to the blackboard. Each subject teacher’s gaze swept over them like a searchlight, continuously interrogating and driving them forward. Xia Lei and Xiao Dan buried themselves head-first in stacks of exam papers every day, writing until their fountain pens ran dry and their eyes filled with stars.

Xiao Bai had been kicked down to the back four rows’ juvenile sanatorium. Here, far from the front lines of knowledge, life’s atmosphere was thick and rich — rather like the South City of Beijing, the Dao Bei district of Xi’an, the East End of London, or Brooklyn in New York. The teachers’ searchlights didn’t bother to shine over there, and the students were too lazy to lift their heads to look at the blackboard.

Xiao Man still sat steadily in the very last row, with nothing but underperforming students on either side who had no interest in the college exam. The girls in class read Yi Shu and Zhang Xiaoxian during lessons, or studied horoscopes and fortune, or leisurely sketched flowers and flower fairies in fine brushwork style; the boys drooped over their desks asleep, drool at the corners of their mouths, dreaming of fighting for rebounds on the basketball court along the cherry blossom road, then leaping to their feet the moment the bell rang to sprint for the court. Some early-romance couples had even secretly switched seats to sit together, holding hands lightly under the desk — the person before their eyes was the one in their hearts, and the classroom became a willow-lined shore.

Principal Hou often pressed himself against the window to inspect the classroom. Sometimes he would burst inside and separate the seats of couples caught in early romances. He was not tall; when pressed against the window, his head was just level with the window frame, so that at a sudden glance, he looked like a tea-colored-spectacled head placed on the windowsill. The students by the window played a prank: they propped three pencils upright below the window as three incense sticks burning in offering to Principal Hou’s three-dimensional memorial portrait.

More goosebump-inducing than Principal Hou’s three-dimensional memorial portrait was the voyeurism of Dean of Studies Old Lao Cai. He would peer into the classroom through the gap in the back door panel, and on several occasions came face-to-face with Xiao Man in a three-eyed stare-down. Xiao Man, not one to stand on ceremony, spat out his chewing gum to seal the gap shut. Lao Cai was undeterred and poked the chewing gum out again with the tip of his pen. Xiao Man had another trick: he signaled to Xiao Bai, who sat in the sunlight. Xiao Bai flipped over the metal bottom of his pencil case to reflect the bright sunlight onto the back door, making Lao Cai’s eyes fill with golden light.

The daily grind of math, physics, and chemistry was dry and flavorless, and English class was a discordant cacophony, but the one subject that stirred interest across all seven rows was Chinese Language class. One morning, the fourth period was Chinese, and the text was “A Bowl of New Year’s Noodles.” Teacher Dai finished reading the passage aloud, and everyone’s stomach couldn’t help but growl in response.

“Teacher Dai, what exactly are these New Year’s noodles?” Xiao Man asked a question everyone was curious about.

“Well… they might be a specialty noodle dish from Japan,” Teacher Dai replied vaguely. “The annotations and reference materials don’t explain it either.”

“The people who compiled this textbook are truly thoughtless!” Xiao Man swallowed a mouthful of saliva and said. “They’ve nearly drawn out the roundworms in our bellies, but didn’t bother to give a footnote to explain clearly.”

“How about we discuss it — has anyone heard of this dish?” Teacher Dai put down her chalk and asked.

Wang Dongdong perked right up at the mention of food. He was the first to raise his hand: “I think the word ‘New Year’s’ in the name suggests it’s noodles eaten in spring, so could it be Chinese toon noodles?”

Teacher Dai shook her head: “You weren’t listening carefully. In the story, the mother and two children eat it on New Year’s Eve, so it shouldn’t be a seasonal noodle dish.”

Xiao Bai also raised his hand: “Could it be gravy noodles?”

Teacher Dai shook her head again: “You weren’t listening either. In the original text, the mother and children are eating it piping hot — it should be a noodle soup.”

Finally Xiao Dan raised her hand and said: “I’ve heard my mom mention it — Suzhou also has this dish.”

“Wonderful! Tell us about it then.”

“My mom says these noodles are also called plain noodles. They’re actually just clear-broth noodles — no gravy topping, no seasoned sauce.”

“What?!” The whole class let out a collective gasp. No gravy AND no sauce? They’d been drooling for nothing.

Xiao Man slapped the desk and stood up, saying: “Teacher Dai, I think this story’s writing is pretty mediocre! It doesn’t even hold a candle to ‘My Uncle Jules.'”

“Indeed, Li Liangping’s fame is nowhere near that of Maupassant,” Teacher Dai conceded.

“It’s not really about fame,” Xiao Man said, “but ‘My Uncle Jules’ at least had seafood in it.”

The whole class burst out laughing. Teacher Dai knocked hard on the blackboard: “We’ve gone off-topic! Students! We are not here to study food — we are here to learn vocabulary, sentence construction, and the spirit of struggling against adversity! And also… fine, class dismissed, I’m hungry too!”

Every year on the anniversary of the December Ninth Movement, the workers’ children’s school held a campus singing competition. The competition took the class as the competing unit, and was divided into two segments: a recitation lead and a choral performance.

At the class meeting in the first week of December, Teacher Tong and the whole class deliberated on the theme of the singing competition. She first assigned the recitation lead task to Xia Lei and Xiao Dan: “As for the choral portion, shall we sing ‘Great China’?”

“That’s a clash!” Wang Dongdong raised his hand and called out. “I heard that the class next door already decided to sing that song yesterday!”

“Well then, does anyone else have other good song recommendations?” Teacher Tong solicited.

The students all chimed in at once, with many different suggestions.

“Teacher Tong, I’d like to recommend a phenomenal song!” Xiao Man in the last row raised his hand. “If we sing this one, we’ll definitely drown out the lousy class next door.”

“Xiao Man, watch your language — no rude words,” Teacher Tong reprimanded.

“Alright, this outstanding… song is Zheng Zhihua’s ‘The Great Citizen!'”

Before his voice had even faded, the classroom’s noise transformed into a crackling, boiling uproar — like a handful of salt tossed into a hot oil wok. The whole class enthusiastically agreed: “That song is truly fierce! It’s got power!”

“I actually haven’t heard this song,” Teacher Tong said, full of puzzlement. “In that case, since you all like Zheng Zhihua so much, why not choose ‘The Sailor’ or ‘Star Light the Way’?”

“Boring, boring! We’ve been singing those two songs for years — we’re sick to death of them,” the whole class lamented collectively.

“It’s fine to sing them year after year — the more you sing them, the more solid they become,” Teacher Tong said. “Come on! Let me start it off. Everyone sing it through once first: ‘The feeling of bitter sand blowing across your face…'”

After the class meeting, the students were all rather dissatisfied with Teacher Tong’s designated choice of “The Sailor.” Several people found Xia Lei and Xiao Dan to say that they certainly wouldn’t have any advantage in the choral segment, so all hopes were on the two of them to shine in the recitation lead. Xiao Man also found Xia Lei and asked when he and Xiao Dan planned to rehearse the recitation — could he come and watch?

“Watching is no fun. I’ll give you the opportunity — you recite alongside Xiao Dan. Do you dare?” Xia Lei asked Xiao Man quietly.

“I dare, it’s just that Teacher Tong definitely won’t agree to it,” Xiao Man said, lacking confidence.

“There’ll be a way. Let me think.”

Xia Lei finally thought of a plan. The next day during a break between classes, he pulled Xiao Man out of the classroom to give him instructions: “When Xiao Dan and I rehearse, you stand to the side holding the script and memorize it along with us. On the day of the performance, I’ll tell Teacher Tong my voice has gone hoarse, and we’ll get you as a last-minute substitute to pair up with Xiao Dan — wouldn’t that come about naturally?”

“Alright, I’ll give it a try,” Xiao Man said, scratching his head. “In this lifetime I’ve got to step onto the big stage at least once. I can’t fall too far behind Xiao Dan.”

“Memorize the script fluently — don’t mess it up!” Xia Lei was worried.

“When I care about something, I definitely won’t mess it up!” Xiao Man patted his chest reassuringly.

Very soon, Xiao Man had copied out a version of the script for himself. He memorized it every morning when he got up and every night before bed, until the words appeared even in his dreams. Xia Lei even came to Xiao Man’s home to coach him on expressions and hand gestures, and after Xia Lei left, Xiao Man continued practicing in front of the mirror. Day after day passed, and he felt his presence growing stronger with each one, the person looking back at him in the mirror becoming more and more confident. “You can definitely do it,” Xiao Man said, pointing at his own reflection for encouragement.

On the morning of December Ninth, Teacher Tong had just arrived at the staff office and hadn’t even had time to unwrap her scarf when Xia Lei came in with a hoarse voice to apologize, saying his voice had given out and that even herbal throat lozenges were doing no good.

Teacher Tong was at a loss just as expected: “What are we going to do? It’s too late to have someone else memorize the script from scratch!”

Xia Lei coughed and suggested: “Every time we rehearsed, Xiao Man was there with us. He’s seen it so many times, he basically has it memorized.”

Faced with this situation, there was nothing to do but let Xiao Man step in as a substitute. So Teacher Tong called Xiao Man to the staff office to run through the script. In half a morning, Xiao Man had it perfectly memorized without looking at the page, and Teacher Tong finally let out a breath of relief. Her last puzzlement was: “Xiao Man, memorizing this script is so effortless for you — so why don’t you want to study your textbooks properly?”

When the afternoon competition arrived and the red curtain was drawn back, Xiao Dan in her overall skirt swept her ponytail up high, and Xiao Man in his suit stood straight and tall as a birch tree. The golden boy and jade girl made their entrance and surpassed countless others — every judge on the panel clicked their tongues in admiration.

Xiao Dan turned her face slightly to give Xiao Man an encouraging look, and Xiao Man swept back his parted hair with a flourish, spread open his arms, and recited with full voice: “Ah! The yellow earth gave us yellow skin, yellow skin — five thousand years of resilience…” The two of them complemented each other naturally and fluidly, like pearls rolling across jade, like mercury spreading across the floor, drawing thunderous applause from the entire audience.

In the end, Class Two of the second year of high school overcame Class One with full marks from the judges — a unanimous victory.

After this singing competition, every teacher and student in the school remembered Xiao Man’s smiling face, and he was quickly rated by the school’s gossip girls’ group as the campus heartthrob. Many girls turned their heads to sneak glances at him on the path. Even in the bitter cold, when Xiao Man had bundled himself into a puffy military coat, everyone still thought he and the coat both looked incredibly handsome.

“We’re all wearing the same military coat — why do people say Xiao Man looks good in it?” Wang Dongdong grumbled, refusing to accept it.

“Because Xiao Man is a clothes hanger!” the girls answered. “Whatever he puts on looks fantastic — it just does!”

That period was Xiao Man’s lucky streak, with good things coming one after another. Not many days had passed before Teacher Tong recommended Xiao Man and Xiao Dan’s recitation to the factory television station.

The factory television station was in the administrative office building, some distance from the workers’ children’s school. Xiao Man rode his bicycle with Xiao Dan seated on the back to get there. Xiao Dan, embarrassed to hold Xiao Man around the waist, only gripped his belt. All the way there, Xiao Man mischievously sought out the most pothole-riddled stretches of road to ride along, bouncing Xiao Dan so violently that she cried out and called him hateful.

The two of them horsed around all the way to the factory television station — this was their first time facing a camera. The cameraman switched on the fill lights and asked them to stand in front of the backdrop.

“Uncle, could you maybe turn off the lights? I can’t quite open my eyes,” Xiao Man asked.

“The lights have to be on to illuminate your faces clearly! It’s the same principle as a flash when taking a photo,” the cameraman said.

“You don’t know this about him, Uncle,” Xiao Dan said with a grin, “but Xiao Man had his eyes exposed to chlorine gas in chemistry class and has been suffering from after-effects ever since.”

“Nonsense! Spreading rumors! I recovered ages ago!” Xiao Man bared his teeth at Xiao Dan and made a face.

“Come on, good-looking young man, stop fooling around. We’re about to start filming — three, two, one, go…” The cameraman gave the signal.

Xiao Man and Xiao Dan quickly took their positions, spread open their arms to strike their pose, and recited: “Ah! The yellow earth gave us yellow skin…”

That night, Xiao Man appeared on every one of the thousands of televisions in the residential compound. The people of Xi Tie Cheng pointed at their screens and said: isn’t that the kid who used to sell dressed vegetables at the crossroads? He’s grown up to be so impressive! The next day when classmates met him at school, everyone said that television-Xiao Man was even better-looking than the real person — the narrow face had an artistic quality — and Teacher Tong also praised him: “That little face really photographs well. You should get up on stage more often to gain experience.”

This appearance on the factory television station was the highest point of Xiao Man’s life since the day he was born. Of course, it was all thanks to Xia Lei’s great assistance. Later, Xiao Man privately asked Xia Lei how he had managed to make his voice go hoarse.

“The night before, I cracked and ate sunflower seeds in the dark for an hour. In the morning I went to the river and shouted for half an hour, and then finally drank a glass of sugar water with the sugar so thick it wouldn’t dissolve,” Xia Lei said, wrapping his arm around Xiao Man’s shoulders. “When you and Xiao Dan finally get together, whatever you do, don’t forget me — the matchmaker who sacrificed his voice.”

After New Year’s, the final review period began.

Xiao Dan sat in the first row of the classroom and Xiao Man sat in the last row, yet even mountains and rivers couldn’t sever the thoughts they had for each other. During breaks, Xiao Man would often go and sit dumbly in the second row, looking at Xiao Dan’s back without saying a word. Xiao Dan seemed to sense the burning gaze behind her, and when no one was paying attention, she would turn her head and give Xiao Man a gentle smile.

As the weather turned cold, one evening before the self-study period, snow began to fall over Xi Tie Cheng. Xiao Man filled Xiao Dan’s thermos with hot water and pressed a slip of paper underneath the cup. Xiao Dan opened the note and read: “Eloping to tread in the snow during the second period.” She tucked the note away, turned her head, and gave Xiao Man an OK gesture.

The evening self-study session began at seven. At just past seven-twenty, the electricity suddenly went out across the entire building. Every classroom erupted in cheers like a tidal wave, and in the darkness everyone pounded on desks and chairs without stopping.

“Everyone, please don’t get excited first! Let’s wait and see — perhaps the power will come back on!” Class teacher Teacher Tong did her best to maintain order.

Xiao Man used the dark confusion to feel his way to the first row, hooked Xiao Dan’s schoolbag over his arm, grabbed her hand, said “Let’s go,” and the two of them ran out of the classroom at full speed.

The power was restored very shortly after, and the classroom was suddenly bright again. Teacher Tong looked over and found that all seats in the back four rows were already empty, and in the front three rows, only Yan Xiaodan was gone.

Xiao Man pulled Xiao Dan up to the rooftop of the teaching building, where great snowflakes were drifting and swirling through the air. Xiao Dan trembled and said she was cold, so Xiao Man broke open the insulation layer of the heating pipe, exposing the scorching hot inner pipe, then padded it with his own schoolbag and let Xiao Dan sit on it to warm her backside. Xiao Dan pouted and said her feet were cold too. Xiao Man said there was a solution for that as well. He crouched down, removed Xiao Dan’s shoes, and cradled both her feet in his arms.

“No, no, don’t freeze yourself,” Xiao Dan said hurriedly.

“It’s fine, it’s fine — I’m a blazing fire in winter,” Xiao Man said, puffing out his chest and pressing against Xiao Dan’s feet.

The snowflakes danced and spun lightly above the young man’s head as the two of them watched the snow and chatted idly. Xiao Man asked: “What were you girls all laughing about in class this morning?”

“Did you not notice anything strange about the English teacher?” Xiao Dan said with a suppressed smile.

“No — I stared for half the class and couldn’t figure it out.”

“I won’t tell you — unsuitable for boys.”

“Please, tell me quickly. I’ve been puzzling over it for an entire class and couldn’t work it out.”

“Hmm… the English teacher had put her compression tights on backwards,” Xiao Dan couldn’t hold back her laughter. “She had her backside on the front.”

“No wonder only you girls were laughing — there’s no way we boys would have noticed that. Oh, and do compression tights even have a front and back?”

“Of course they do — any girl can tell at a glance.”

“Maybe the teacher got up too early and put her pants on in the dark without turning on the light.”

“All the main subject teachers — language, math, and English — work so hard,” Xiao Dan said. “Oh, speaking of which, I have a secret to tell you. Don’t tell anyone else.”

“Hmm?”

“Principal Hou has a few of the core subject teachers giving special tutoring sessions to us children of cadres. Every Sunday we go to the principal’s office for extra lessons. The families of those tutoring teachers will benefit in return — some will get promotions, some will receive model worker citations, some will be allocated larger apartments.”

“Let me guess who’s in your group: the factory director Meng’s child, Secretary Niu’s child, and — there should also be Principal Hou’s own nephew,” Xiao Man said. “Xia Lei probably wouldn’t be in the group?”

“He wouldn’t be. His dad is only a fleet captain. He can only rely on himself.”

“Xia Lei relying on himself is no problem — he reads every night well past midnight. He’s going to fight with his back to the wall at the college exam.”

“Xiao Man, have you never thought about… studying hard yourself?” Xiao Dan asked. “Why not give it a real effort? It would be fine to get into a vocational college.”

“When you’re already at the peak of the human world, why bother reaching for the heavens?” Xiao Man caught a snowflake for no particular reason and sang a line quietly. “Xiao Dan, look — what does this snowflake look like?”

“Edelweiss, edelweiss — like a dream, like a fairy tale,” Xiao Dan also opened her palm and caught one.

“Darling, do you know the song ‘Snowman’? Shall we sing it together?” Xiao Man spread his arms and held Xiao Dan close.

“Yes, yes, let’s sing together, let’s sing together!”

“Snow, flake by flake by flake by flake, piecing together the bond between you and me. My love was born because of you; your hand felt out the tender spot in my heart…”

The very next morning, Teacher Tong called Xiao Man to the staff office.

“Xiao Man, you mustn’t hold back Yan Xiaodan from getting into university!” Teacher Tong said, cutting straight to the point with a serious expression. “You only need to wait for graduation and then go to a technical school, but she is going to apply to Beijing Institute of Technology.”

“Teacher Tong, you’ve separated me from Yan Xiaodan by five whole rows — wider than the Milky Way between the Cowherd and the Weaver Girl. What kind of power output would I need to interfere with her?” Xiao Man said with theatrical exaggeration, spreading his hand and counting on five fingers.

“Don’t talk back! The two of you have been making eyes at each other — do you think I’m blind like the blind erhu player Abing?”

“But Teacher Tong, can you really say there’s no such thing as pure friendship between male and female students?”

“Think you’re so clever with words, don’t you?” Teacher Tong spread open in her palm the note she was holding, and demanded: “You explain to me — what kind of friendship requires eloping to tread in the snow? What kind of friendship?”

Only then did Xiao Man remember that Xiao Dan had forgotten to throw away the note last night. With black-and-white evidence laid out before him, he stiffened his neck and said nothing, prepared to play dead like a pig unafraid of boiling water.

In handling such cases of early romance, Teacher Tong’s usual approach was to summon both students’ parents for a stern reprimand. But Xiao Man’s household had only one hard-of-hearing grandmother. Teacher Tong thought it over — it takes two hands to clap, and these two were clearly mutually smitten. So she called Director Yan and reported Xiao Dan’s early romance.

Upon receiving the call, Director Yan decided to step in personally to meet this Xiao Man. He walked with his hands clasped behind his back all the way from the factory office building to the workers’ children’s school, pushed open the principal’s office door, and gave Principal Hou quite a fright.

“Director Yan, what brings you here — what a great honor to have you visit…” Principal Hou quickly got up to pour water and brew tea.

“Cut the nonsense. Hurry up and call that little rascal Xiao Man in here,” Director Yan waved his hand to silence Principal Hou.

Shortly after, Xiao Man followed the principal into the office.

“Hello, Uncle Yan,” Xiao Man greeted Director Yan with a bow.

Director Yan looked Xiao Man up and down, and finally understood why Xiao Dan would have feelings for a boy from an ordinary family. Xiao Man before him was dressed in a plain blue-and-white school uniform, yet it could not conceal his natural good looks; the smile formed by the arrangement of his features was a pleasure to look at. Director Yan’s anger immediately subsided by half. He cleared his throat and asked: “Xiao Man, I hear you and my Xiao Dan have quite a close relationship?”

“We’re good friends. We were in the same kindergarten when we were little,” Xiao Man replied. “Do you remember? One year at kindergarten, Xiao Dan fed a coin to a classmate and the child swallowed it.”

“That was… because Xiao Dan was still very young at the time!” Director Yan looked somewhat displeased. “How do you know about that incident?”

“I was the child who swallowed the coin,” Xiao Man said, “but fortunately, there was no lasting harm.”

“So it was you, of all people… what a coincidence…” Director Yan shifted forward slightly in his seat. “Xiao Man, let me ask you — on what grounds do you like Xiao Dan?”

“I don’t really know. But every time I see Xiao Dan, I feel like there’s a Beam shining down on her.”

“A what?” Director Yan and Principal Hou both leaned forward, tilting their ears.

“B-E-A-M — it means a ray of light in English,” Xiao Man explained with complete seriousness.

“Is there actually such a word in English?” Director Yan looked at Principal Hou.

“I’m terribly sorry, Director Yan, I… I studied Russian,” Principal Hou said with an apologetic smile. “I’ll go ask the English teacher right now.”

Principal Hou closed the door and left, leaving only Director Yan and Xiao Man in the room looking at each other.

Director Yan rested his chin on his hand, completely at a loss. The logic of this child’s speech was nowhere near the ambush route he had planned! If this child was describing a genuine sensation, then all one could say was that beauty is in the eye of the beholder — and so, it seemed, was radiance. That glow, perhaps, was precisely what adults could not perceive: the light of the raw force of youth!

The ambush having failed, a direct assault would be difficult too. Director Yan began to calculate inwardly: early romance is like a scalding hot light bulb — dousing it with cold water only makes the bulb explode. Thinking this, he shifted from direct assault to strategic persuasion, turning to Xiao Man with a smile that showed eight teeth: “Xiao Man, you’re a good child. You always have been, since kindergarten — you were especially obedient to Xiao Dan, even swallowing a coin for her. You and Xiao Dan must be fated, isn’t that right?”

Xiao Man was actually confused by this: “Of course — and Uncle Yan, you think so too? That’s wonderful!”

“We are both men of responsibility. We should love and protect women for a lifetime, not just for a moment of passion — don’t you agree?” Director Yan began to guide him gently.

“Naturally — Du Dewei sang it right: love for a lifetime,” Xiao Man said, veering off-topic again.

“Let’s not worry about who Du Whatever-Wei is,” Director Yan quickly steered them back on course. “The coming year of the third year of high school is very important for Xiao Dan. If her exam doesn’t go well and she resents you for it in the future, how will you explain yourself to her?”

Xiao Man had genuinely never thought of it this way, and fell silent.

“So then — whether it’s love or friendship, both mean protecting someone for life, not just liking them for a moment. Think about it. Am I not making sense?”

“Uncle Yan, I understand,” Xiao Man finally nodded. “This year, I won’t interfere with Xiao Dan.”

“That’s right! A man must bear responsibility,” Director Yan continued to press his advantage. “Xiao Dan saw you correctly — you have self-discipline, you won’t be short-sighted!”

“But I… still want to be able to talk with Xiao Dan normally,” Xiao Man said with some reluctance to let go.

“That’s perfectly fine. I promise — after the college entrance exam, during the summer holiday, you can come to my home every day to chat with Xiao Dan,” Director Yan held out a tempting yet empty promise. “But right now, during this phase — no. Truly, before the college exam, it won’t do!”

“That’s quite a long time. There’s still more than a year before the exam.”

“‘If this feeling is to last forever, why need it be with us every moment of the day?'” Director Yan pressed on while the iron was hot, and took Xiao Man’s hand with both of his own. “Come, come! Let us two men of upright character make a solemn oath together. I promise to let you two properly spend time together after the exam — I make this promise, and I can keep it!”

“Alright, I also promise. I can keep it too — I won’t disturb Xiao Dan for now,” Xiao Man reached out and bumped fists with Director Yan, and the oath was made.

Director Yan smiled and rose, putting his arm around Xiao Man as they walked out of the principal’s office together. At the staircase, he offered one final consolidation of the outcome: “This is a pact between us as men — a gentleman’s word is his bond.”

“Uncle Yan, rest assured. I always keep my word,” Xiao Man swore.

“Good child. Hold on a little longer. A watched pot never boils,” Director Yan patted Xiao Man on the shoulder. “After the exam, come to my home for dinner — Xiao Dan’s mother makes excellent Suzhou cuisine.”

Director Yan walked down the stairs and came upon Principal Hou trotting up.

“I asked the English teacher — the word Beam does exist. It means a ray of light,” Principal Hou reported, panting and out of breath.

“Oh, Hou, Hou!” Director Yan said, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. “Has your mind gone soft? Are you really suited to political and ideological work?”

Director Yan had personally dealt with Xiao Man. Xiao Man no longer took the initiative to seek out Xiao Dan. But now it was Xiao Dan who was unhappy — after the final exams, she invited Xiao Man up to the rooftop and asked him if he had had a change of heart.

“I haven’t at all. It was your father who spoke with me,” Xiao Man felt he had been wronged. “I made a vow to your father — I can’t interfere with you sitting the college exam.”

“Just don’t you forget me,” Xiao Dan said with a pout. “What will you do if you miss me over the winter holiday?”

“When I miss you… I’ll strum the guitar. Once I’ve practiced my first song, I’ll call you and sing it over the phone.”

“Alright then. Over the winter holiday, practice well at the newsstand, and call me when you miss me. Oh, by the way — have you decided what song to practice?”

“‘Always in My Heart’ — dedicated to you!”

“Xiao Man, you’ve gone scatterbrained again! ‘Always in My Heart’ is about a mother’s love. I’m not your mother,” Xiao Dan covered her mouth laughing. “You should sing Lin Zixiang’s ‘Dare to Love, Dare to Do’ — that melody is my favorite.”

“Alright, alright — then I’ll practice ‘Dare to Love, Dare to Do’ until I’ve got it down!”

“That’s it! And you could sign up for the factory’s New Year’s Eve gala — you sing on stage, I’ll listen from below.”

“Yes! Great! I’ve been waiting for a chance to get on stage!”

Every year, the Xi Tie Cheng factory’s New Year’s Eve gala recycled the same few old acts: the opening yangko dance need not be mentioned — several old ladies were prepared to dance right up until the day they died; the song “An Undying Sun Rises Over the Grasslands” was never missed year to year; the dance “Little Dragon Person” had practically become the relay baton passed down through each class of kindergarten children; the poetry recitation “I Am Proud to Be a Xi Tie Cheng Person” was the designated toilet break for the audience; the “Empty Bowl Becomes Water” magic trick had long lost its suspense — people were already applauding before the water appeared. But that year, newcomer Xiao Man brought a fresh and fashionable stage breeze: he strapped on his guitar and walked onto the stage, and his performance of “Dare to Love, Dare to Do” won him the first-place prize of the event.

That year, Zhuang Qiang also followed Xiao Man’s lead and signed up for the New Year’s Eve gala. If Xiao Man’s act was a gentle breeze, Zhuang Qiang’s act was a wild and unruly gust of wind — when his hot dance number ended, the entire audience went into frenzied cheering, and the stage was pelted with several pounds of apple cores and banana peels. By the time he stepped off stage, Zhuang Qiang had nearly been hauled off to detention by the factory security office.

After graduating from high school, Zhuang Qiang had gone to the workers’ technical school. Yearning for the glamorous world out there, he feigned illness to take a leave from his production internship and headed to Beijing to chase his dreams, drifting around for a great circle. He first hung around outside the Beijing Film Studio to try to get work as a background extra, but performed in countless scenes as battlefield corpses without ever encountering the legendary talent scout. Later he went to a contemporary dance school, practicing during the day and going to various entertainment clubs to dance as an accompaniment dancer at night, sometimes performing three or four sessions in a single night.

By the end of the year, with his wallet nearly empty, Zhuang Qiang, who had been drifting in Beijing for more than half a year, bought a ticket and came back to Xi Tie Cheng. Hearing that Xiao Man had signed up for the factory’s New Year’s Eve gala, he felt an itch of inability to resist, and went to the labor union to register as well, with a program name nothing short of extraordinary: “American Space Thunder Lightning Electric Dance — Billie Jean.”

At the rehearsal without costume, Zhuang Qiang moved roughly through the choreography along to the cassette accompaniment, not revealing too much of his full ability.

“This dance looks about the same as breakdancing,” Liu, the group affairs department head of the labor union reviewing the program, commented. “But those tight pants are too provocative — you can see the shape of the eggs in the crotch. You need to change your pants!”

“Why don’t you get Master Ding to dance instead? He doesn’t show anything,” Zhuang Qiang snapped back.

“Cut the nonsense — who do you think you are, negotiating conditions? No changing your pants, no getting on stage!”

“Don’t worry. My actual performance costume has a lower hem. It’ll cover things up.”

“Fine — make sure it covers up! Passed!” Department Head Liu waved his hand, and the review was approved.

On the night of the gala, Zhuang Qiang and Xiao Man arrived backstage early, carrying guitar and travel bag, and busied themselves in the dressing room.

Zhuang Qiang first put on a golden, glittering bullet jacket — this was the performance costume he had brought back from Beijing, identical to the cover of Michael Jackson’s “HIStory” album: four gold paper strips arranged like brass bullet chains from a machine gun, with three crossing strips wrapped around his chest and back, and the fourth cinched at his waist as a belt.

“Big Zhuang, this outfit really does look like an album cover!” Da Xu, the labor union official who was backstage overseeing the event, exclaimed in admiration.

“How about that? Do I look like Michael Jackson?” Zhuang Qiang then pulled on white socks and black, tight ankle-length trousers.

“Quite like him! You’ve really spared no expense,” Da Xu the official gave a genuine thumbs-up.

Xiao Man then pulled a wig from the travel bag and helped Zhuang Qiang put it on. It was a curled ponytail with a few styled, wavy strands hanging at the fringe.

“This wig is so spot-on — where did you get it?” Da Xu the official exclaimed in admiration once more.

“Wenzhou hair salon, fifty yuan,” Zhuang Qiang replied. “Oh, right — Xu, when I get on stage in a moment, I’ll strike a pose and stay completely still for one minute. Go tell the music and lighting crew ahead of time so they don’t get nervous. There’s definitely nothing wrong with the tape. The lighting just needs to hold — wait for me!”

“All set!” Da Xu the official agreed. “Michael Zhuang, tonight you’re going to blow everyone away!”

The gala programs proceeded one after another. After the children’s dance “Little Dragon Person” came Xiao Man’s guitar performance of “Dare to Love, Dare to Do.” “This song is dedicated to all the good friends of Xi Tie Cheng,” Xiao Man stood on stage and called out, raising his guitar, “and especially dedicated to my dearest YXD!”

After the applause, the audience below were all guessing who YXD was. In her seat, Xiao Dan couldn’t contain her excitement and wept quietly, light tears coming.

When Xiao Man had sung about halfway through, a Little Dragon Person crawled up onto the stage to present flowers. After presenting the flowers, the Little Dragon Person didn’t leave but stood beside Xiao Man, shaking his fake tail while clapping in time to the music. After the whole audience laughed out loud, they joined the Little Dragon Person in clapping along for Xiao Man, the applause warm and sustained.

“Everyone says I’m too wild, laughing at my unruly ways, but I dare to give true feelings — how could that be contemptible?” At this line, Xiao Man’s gaze met Xiao Dan’s below, and he raised his guitar high over his head. “Let the universe collapse, the world become wasteland, the sun and moon shatter into meteorites — you and I will still be kissing our way through every age!”

Amid the wave upon wave of applause, Xiao Man hugged the Little Dragon Person and they took a bow together. The announcer applauded as she walked onto the stage and saw them off, then turned to face the audience and raised her voice by an octave: “The final program of tonight’s gala! American Space Thunder Lightning Electric Dance — Billie Jean! Performed by the Workers’ Technical School’s Zhuang Qiang!”

The stage lights rapidly went dark. The factory director and the Party secretary in the front row both asked Department Head Liu together what kind of dance this was and why all the lights had been turned off. Department Head Liu said it was more or less like breakdancing — it needed lightning effects.

With a thunderous “BOOM” in the darkness, a spotlight shone onto the center of the stage, and Zhuang Qiang stood boldly in the column of light, his body wound with four rows of fake bullet chains, the toad-eye sunglasses and styled fringe on his face looking elaborately artificial, his face powdered even whiter than Michael Jackson.

The audience immediately erupted in a mixture of laughter, complaints, and whistles.

Zhuang Qiang stood on stage without moving. Five seconds passed, ten seconds, twenty seconds — and the racket below grew louder and louder. The veteran model workers in their seats, decorated with red sashes and colorful ribbons, murmured to each other: why is this fellow just standing there with no music? Is the tape jammed? Another ten seconds passed, and Zhuang Qiang still didn’t move. Labor Union Department Head Liu turned to Da Xu the official and asked what was going on. Da Xu the official said: no problem, this is his posing time.

Another ten seconds passed, and Zhuang Qiang still didn’t move. “What the hell, are you going to dance or not?!” A few rowdy young workers ran down to the front of the audience and started throwing banana peels and apple cores at him. The apple cores hit Zhuang Qiang’s body, but he remained unmoved, holding his frozen pose. It wasn’t until he had held the pose for a full minute that the music sounded with another thunderous “BOOM” — and only then did Zhuang Qiang mechanically turn his head, then slowly remove his toad-eye sunglasses and give the entire audience of more than a thousand people a wickedly charming smile.

“What the hell — you’re rising from the dead!” someone shouted in the midst of the booing below.

Zhuang Qiang paid the jeering no mind whatsoever. He tossed the sunglasses casually to one side, kicked away the apple cores and banana peels at his feet, and launched into his first moonwalk. Only then did everyone stop heckling and hold their breath to watch him come back to life on stage.

Zhuang Qiang had trained at a contemporary dance school, and even the most difficult backslide was perfectly executed — he genuinely had something of Michael Jackson about him. Midway through, he stripped off his bullet-chain jacket and switched to a black top hat, then began an exaggerated hip thrust. This was enough to leave the veteran model workers below utterly dumbfounded. What kind of American dance was this? It looked no different from a dog mounting something.

Onstage, Zhuang Qiang thrusted his hips several more times, then turned to walk backwards with three wide moonwalk strides, turned back around, and switched to simultaneously grinding his hips while hanging his hand down and touching his crotch!

“Ahhhh — shameless!” Several hundred female workers in the audience covered their eyes all at once, screaming with laughter.

“Get lost, you degenerate!” The male young workers were cheering right along with them.

Nobody could say if they were happy or angry — in any case, everyone was immensely stirred up. The roar of more than a thousand people heckling together was louder than a tsunami, nearly lifting the roof off the workers’ club. What should have been a traditional and harmonious New Year’s gala was thoroughly turned into a wild-man disco by Zhuang Qiang’s antics.

Seeing the situation on the verge of getting out of control, Department Head Liu rushed up onto the stage and gave Zhuang Qiang, who was still shaking his behind, a hard kick. Zhuang Qiang was sent flying by the kick, his wig went airborne, and he fell off the stage, landing in a solid, flat-on-his-face sprawl.

The factory Party secretary in the front row smiled bitterly and asked the head of the security office beside him: “Can we arrest this kid? He’s an affront to public morals!”

The head of the security office said: “No problem — we can arrest him even without affronting public morals.”

The factory director cut in: “Let’s forget it. Times have changed — that’s how these young people are nowadays. Better to just give him a disciplinary notice and don’t let him get on stage to embarrass us all again next year!”

Zhuang Qiang, kicked off the stage, went home when the gala was over and was given a good thrashing by his father. Father Zhuang swung his fists while he cursed: “I thought you went to Beijing to study computers — and this is what you come back with? A hoodlum’s dance?”

“It’s not a hoodlum’s dance — what I danced was the Super Bowl halftime show from 1993,” Zhuang Qiang still tried to argue. “You bunch of country bumpkins, making a fuss over nothing. This is fashion!”

“Fashion, my foot!” The furious Father Zhuang slapped Zhuang Qiang twice across the face. “If this was back in 1983 during the anti-crime crackdown, hooligans were shot on the spot. You might as well go find King Yama underground and grind up against him!”

With his identity card confiscated by his family, Zhuang Qiang had no way to go back to Beijing to drift around, and could only wait until he graduated from technical school. By the time his first day of work at the factory arrived, the impossibly ugly work uniform and safety shoes were placed before him, and even he — normally utterly shameless — actually cried: “Does this mean my whole life will be spent wearing such ugly clothes? Will I spend every day stirring nitric acid in this mountain valley?”

“That’s right — our workshop has no need for any Michael or Jackson,” the workshop director said. “What we need is Zhang Side and Wu Yunduo! If you don’t want to work here, get lost now!”

His heart scratching with a hundred claws, Zhuang Qiang endured until he got off work and came home to find Xiao Man waiting at his door to learn guitar. He waved his hand listlessly and said: “No lesson today. Xiao Man, I feel like my good days have run out. I really don’t want to spend my life squatting in this mountain valley as a factory worker.”

“You’re different from other people, Zhuang. You’re so capable of making a scene and stirring things up — sooner or later you won’t be able to stay either,” Xiao Man said.

“But what else can I do?”

“You understand how to put together outfits. At the very least you could set up a stall selling clothes — start your own thing, like Xiao Wenzhou did opening a hair salon!”

Zhuang Qiang thought about it for a whole week, and then actually quit.

Relatives and close friends all said he had truly lost his mind — he had barely picked up the iron rice bowl before he tossed it away. His father, mother, aunts, and uncles all fell out with him, every one of them wishing they could execute him with the kind of Arab family stoning he’d brought upon himself.

After quitting, Zhuang Qiang went to the city to deal in clothes — wholesaling at the market by day and peddling retail at the night market by night. After two years of this, he had saved up his capital and opened a franchise brand shop on the Xi Tie Cheng pedestrian street. He named it “Billie Jeans.”