Palms full of love, backs full of pain

Author: Jia Lifeng
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-04-01
Features: I remember in the distant past, back when I was named Dai Qian, people called me the "Miss Dai." But don’t get the wrong idea—don’t think I have any younger siblings. In reality, I’m the genuine only child in my family. Everyone called me that simply because my dad was wealthy. To put it bluntly, "Miss Dai" is the nickname for the daughter of a nouveau riche family, and the term carries a derogatory tone, not to mention a hint of sour grapes. My classmate Wang Jun often called me beautiful, but in truth, aside from being physically attractive, I had nothing else going for me—no connection to true beauty. I often complained about my parents being stingy. Looking at their old photos, they looked like a match made in heaven—beauty and gold together. Yet, they only gave me the status of an only child and didn’t pass on their virtues to me. Beyond the physical drawback, I had lived nineteen years without any other shortcomings. My classmates would tease me because my name sounded like "bringing money," and it was true—I always had enough money, never facing any financial crisis. So, I could boldly declare, "I’m Miss Dai, who do I fear?"
In the art academy, there were plenty of handsome and beautiful students, especially in our dance department. Everyone in the department was like a water-loving plant, radiating a fresh, watery charm. Whether male or female, they were all like green onions. As the saying goes, the world knows that Cao Xueqin once used green onions to describe the of a few women, causing countless lovesick men to suffer from melancholy and unrequited love. But I, who was like a green onion myself, didn’t like green onion-like boys, and Wang Jun was one of them.
Wang Jun had been my classmate since high school. In my sophomore year, my academic performance was terrible, so I desperately wanted to go to college and had no choice but to pursue a special talent path. As a child, I loved imitating dances from TV shows, acting all pretentious while bouncing and gesturing. My grandparents would boast to others about my talent for dance, so it was no surprise I chose it. But basic training gave me a harsh reality check—endless splits and leg stretches left me aching all over. My parents had predicted I’d give up within three days, but I shattered their zero-failure-rate prediction with my actions. After a few months, they were stunned to see their daughter had trained her body to be as flexible as a noodle, bending in any way she pleased.
Wang Jun had started learning dance earlier than me, and the teacher assigned him to help me with basic training. Little by little, he ended up being under my thumb, becoming my follower. Being my follower was exhausting. For example, on summer afternoons, after a grueling practice session, Wang Jun would just want to sit down and rest, but I’d demand ice cream. He’d have to run off, tired or not, and couldn’t complain. Or if I was slightly upset one day, I’d command Wang Jun to stay exactly between one and five meters away from me. He’d have to stay on high alert, never getting too close or too far.
When I entered university, Wang Jun and I were still classmates. Wang Jun told me it was a blessing from the heavens, and he was generously rewarded for his hard work as my follower.