Adam's apple

Author: Mu Tong
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-07-01
Features: The major I studied—drama—was a newly established program at Peking University, so the less than 20 of us became the natural founding seniors. Every cohort of students at Peking University lived in agony, because the department, in its effort to build a brand, would impose immense pressure on them to produce as many talents as possible. Fortunately, we didn’t feel this sense of walking on eggshells. Perhaps drama, like painting, film, and music, belongs to the realm of art. Excessive oppression might stifle the creativity of geniuses. Despite this, it might also nurture our carefree personalities. But in today’s Peking University, who isn’t like that?
During the first week of school, the department held a general student assembly, which seemed to be a routine in every university to help students and teachers get acquainted quickly. Since it was a newly established major, the number of students was naturally small. Besides the undergraduates of our year, there were several graduate and doctoral students wearing thick glasses. Bored, I sat in the back row, earphones in my ears, waiting to hear the lectures from those elderly and renowned professors.
The meeting time arrived, and to everyone’s surprise, a young woman with a slender figure and elegant demeanor walked lightly onto the stage. The older students had once earnestly warned us not to expect any “stunning” impressions at Peking University, as it would only lead to disappointment, for it was an academic. But the woman before us was truly stunning. She was around thirty-five, tall, with slightly curled long hair cascading softly over her shoulders. A captivating black mole at the corner of her mouth—she was a truly beautiful woman.
All the students present were bewildered, thinking it must be the female secretary of some department head. But when this woman introduced herself in a slightly low voice, we realized she was our department head. I had never imagined that Peking University had such a young and beautiful female professor. Older students had once told me that Peking University students fell into three genders: males, females, and female doctors. This wasn’t very respectful toward female doctors, but it was somewhat true. Imagine a beautiful young girl sitting in the cold air-conditioned room of a library for a decade—most of her natural charm would likely be worn away. But clearly, the elegant female doctor before me was an exception.
I noticed the other three in my dorm had also put down their idle books and comics, fully focused on the stage. The girls gathered together were whispering in admiration, a testament to how the awe of beauty transcends gender. The beautiful department head introduced the tradition and history of drama at Peking University in a slightly accented Mandarin, and detailed the academic arrangements for us students in the coming four years. These dull announcements were already well-known to us from the admission brochures and the university’s website. But hearing the department head deliver them in such a captivating manner was a pleasure in itself.
“You guess how old she is?” I whispered to Chu Xiong below. Chu Xiong seemed not to hear me and just pushed his glasses up with his hand, blinking his little eyes. I knew he was probably pondering some profound philosophical question again. This kid liked to torture himself, and there was nothing anyone could do about it.
P10-11