Students of fine arts all know that the 1980s held a pivotal position in the history of contemporary Chinese art. With the advent of Reform and Opening-up, a vast number of Western academic works were translated and introduced. The thoughts, culture, and art history of the West from the past century were rapidly digested by China’s powerful metaphorical stomach. The trend of Modernism stirred the nerves of young artists, and "groups" with distinct programs and social critiques quietly emerged across the country. China's artistic landscape underwent significant changes and renewals. Textbooks refer to this event as the "'85 Art Movement." People's minds became more open, and artistic exchange broke through national borders. The A City Academy of Fine Arts was among the first domestic art institutions to establish international exchange relationships with foreign schools, and the exchange Liang He mentioned was one of them.
In those days, seeing a foreigner was a true novelty—rarer than seeing a dinosaur. The most prominent spot on the school’s bulletin board had long been plastered with welcome posters, written in both Chinese and English. The faculty also took it very seriously, holding a major meeting to emphasize that when foreign friends arrived, students must be polite, generous, and enthusiastic. They were to promote the traditional virtues of the Chinese nation, refrain from staring, and avoid bringing shame to the motherland.
After a week of buildup, a group of blonde-haired, blue-eyed foreigners finally arrived at the A City Academy of Fine Arts, received personally by the academy's president.
"Hey, hey, did you guys see them today?" Chang Huan asked excitedly as soon as she returned to the dormitory. "So many foreigners!"
"I saw them, I saw them. It’s my first time seeing a live one," Liu Yujin said.
Wang Chen tucked a letter into her bag and sighed. "Foreigners are all so tall, just like in the movies."
"Da Chen, did Brother Feng write to you again?" This small movement didn't escape Chang Huan's eyes, and she said with a grin, "When are you going to let us meet him in person?"
Wang Chen gave her a smiling glare but ignored the comment. "What are they doing at our school?"
"An exchange, obviously."
"What kind of exchange?"
"Maybe they’ll just watch how we attend classes, look at our work, and eat some tofu and green beans?"
"If I run into one and say 'hello,' will he understand?"
"They probably speak Chinese, right?"
"Probably not."
"Then do they know how to use chopsticks?"
"Who knows."
As the three of them went back and forth with their guesses, Qiu Yun listened, thinking to herself how adorable these three silly girls were.
"Hey, Xiao Yun," Wang Chen noticed only three of them were talking and called her out. "You don't seem excited at all."
"I am, I'm very excited," Qiu Yun jumped up with an exaggeration that was as fake as could be. "I was a bit stunned when I saw them for the first time today, too."
"Oh right, do you guys know about the international salon?" Wang Chen asked again.
"Yeah, I saw the notice downstairs. What does 'salon' mean?"
"It seems to be a free exchange for students," Wang Chen said.
At Wang Chen's mention, Qiu Yun suddenly slapped her forehead—she had almost forgotten. Earlier that day, Liang He had told her to be at the activity room at seven o'clock for a Sino-American student exchange. It wasn't official and there would be translators, but he requested she go as well, just in case.
She told the other three in the dorm about it.
"Then let's go, let's go. We'll all go and see the excitement," Wang Chen said immediately.
"They're all foreigners," Chang Huan, usually bold, was now a bit bashful. "What would we do there? It'll be like a chicken talking to a duck—so awkward."
"Just go! I heard the first ten people to arrive get a Coca-Cola."
The "International Salon" was a segment created out of thin air specifically for the American delegation's arrival. To align with international standards, the school had cleared out the weekend ballroom used by teachers for these three nights. They had set up several round tables with chairs and benches, and were playing popular music from Hong Kong and Taiwan, striving to create a relaxed, lively, and international atmosphere where Chinese and American students could have close contact.
When Liang He ran into Qiu Yun that morning, he had urged her to attend. First, because of that morning reading session in the grove where Qiu Yun had listened to his Walkman, he had an intuition that her English was quite good—at least her listening and speaking should be above his. Second, he felt it would be better if Qiu Yun was present at such an occasion. As for why it would be better, he hadn't thought deeply about it, simply taking it as a given. Although Qiu Yun had lived her university years in a daze in her past life, she was, after all, a child who had grown up in the 21st century. The foundation she had accumulated through osmosis was far better than the education of the 1980s. While her level wasn't high enough for technical terminology or forum speeches, she could handle daily conversation and the social scene well enough. So, when Liang He asked her to go, she didn't refuse much, treating it as just going to watch the show. Liang He, however, had carefully watched her expression. If it had been anyone else, their first reaction would have been to decline out of nervousness or avoidance, given it involved foreigners and speaking English. Liang He had even prepared a persuasive speech, but Qiu Yun remained calm and normal. She thought for only a moment before agreeing, as if she were agreeing to help him buy a steamed bun from the cafeteria. A hint of amusement had appeared on Liang He's face.
Qiu Yun and her roommates arrived at the ballroom a few minutes before seven. There were already some students inside, both Chinese and American. It looked like the Coca-Cola was a lost cause, and Chang Huan was a bit dejected. The atmosphere wasn't very lively; the Chinese students were mostly sitting on benches, behaving properly and speaking only when spoken to. The American students were slightly more active and outgoing, asking many questions, clearly curious about China. Qiu Yun and the others found a round table and sat down. A blonde, blue-eyed American girl saw the new arrivals and greeted them warmly: "Hi."
"...Ni hao." Chang Huan also wanted to reply with a trendy "Hi," but the word spun three hundred and sixty degrees in her mouth before finally turning into a timid Chinese greeting.
A translator sat in the middle; they were currently chatting about Chinese food. Basically, the American students would say a string of words, the translator would turn it into one or two sentences, the Chinese students would explain with hand gestures, and the translator would translate it back.
Qiu Yun looked around; the neighboring tables were much the same. The activity room's speakers were playing a soft Teresa Teng song, but the overhead chandeliers were glaringly bright, as if they were at a leadership briefing. The Chinese students were already shy to begin with, and the bright lights only served to fully expose the awkward, bashful scene.
Just then, someone pulled out a chair nearby. Qiu Yun looked over and saw Liang He sitting down.
"When did you get here?"
"Chang Huan wanted to drink Coke, so we came a bit early," Qiu Yun's eyes drifted toward Chang Huan as she whispered, "But there wasn't any left."
Liang He listened for a while and asked, "Have you been talking about food this whole time?"
"The American student," Qiu Yun gestured toward the blonde girl directly opposite them, "Lucy, seems to be a real foodie. She even asked us to take her for roast duck."
"That's quite a high demand," Liang He laughed.
"If we take her, can we get reimbursed?"
"Wishful thinking."
"This is contributing my own stomach to Sino-American relations."
"You can go eat first and talk about it later," Liang He said, half-joking.
Qiu Yun gave a playful "psh." Sitting there was a bit boring, so she added, "Teacher Liang, don't you think the atmosphere is lacking something?"
"How so?"
"Do you know what a 'salon' is?"
"Oh?" Liang He looked like he was all ears.
"A salon is an import, a transliteration of the word 'salon.' It's generally a group of people, holding wine glasses, eating small pastries, listening to music, moving around in small groups, talking, exchanging ideas, telling stories... But look at this now," Qiu Yun's gaze swept across every table. "The Chinese students are sitting primly as if they're in class, each table has a translator, and it's one question, one answer with the American students. It's like an interrogation."
"It is a bit like that, now that you mention it," Liang He asked. "Do you have a solution?"
Qiu Yun tilted her head and thought for a moment, the corners of her mouth curling up. "I do. Do you dare?"
The exchange was still proceeding in its semi-awkward state when suddenly, all the lights in the activity room went out. Amidst the gasps of the crowd, the rotating disco ball on the ceiling lit up, and then, eerie spots of light scattered down. Simultaneously, the soft Teresa Teng song stopped, replaced by high-energy disco music. The Chinese students were a bit restless, but the American students reacted first. Someone let out a long whistle, and two beautiful girls stood up, swaying to the rhythm.
Soon, more American students got up to dance, warmly inviting the Chinese students around them. The Chinese students were a bit shy at first, but then someone shouted into the microphone: "Let's get high, students! Whoever is the best tonight gets ten bottles of Coke! Let's dance! Get dancing!"
Soon, more and more people left their seats, moved the benches aside, and merged into the dance floor.
The serious and awkward atmosphere of academic exchange vanished instantly, replaced by the surge of youthful, vibrant hormones in the dim light.
"You really do have a way of thinking," Liang He stood by the switch for the rotating light, watching the entire atmosphere shift abruptly with the change in lighting and music.
Qiu Yun smiled. Looking at the scene, she couldn't help but think of her true university life—muddled and wasted. Suddenly, she had the illusion that she had remembered it wrong, and that everything before her eyes was what her university life should have been. She let out an unprompted sigh: "Youth in university is truly wonderful."
Liang He turned his head. The atmosphere was heated, but her face was tinged with melancholy. He found it amusing and asked, "How old are you this year?"
"I..." Qiu Yun almost said "twenty-four." Her mouth opened halfway, then she broke into a grin. "Just eighteen, the most beautiful age."
"You don't look like it."
"Then how old do I look?"
"Thirty-eight."
"Are you saying I look jaded?"
"I didn't mean it that way."
"Then what did you mean?"
Liang He thought for a moment and turned back to look at the lively crowd on the dance floor. The light and shadow flickered, casting spots of light on his face like playful spirits. His profile had always been handsome—high brow bone, straight nose, slightly upturned chin, and a distinct Adam's apple. At this moment, his gaze was unfocused, his eyes slightly narrowed, making the folds of his double eyelids even more prominent. In the interplay of light and dark, his silhouette was as profound as a statue.
This profile, Qiu Yun thought, was something she could probably remember for a very, very long time.
***
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