Swan's tears

Author: Xi Lingxue
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2006-09-01
Features: Dan Bing is the type of client every makeup artist loves to serve. Dancers usually have highly active sweat glands due to long-term physical exertion, but Dan Bing isn’t like that—she has ice-like, jade-like skin, cool and sweat-free. Powder is evenly applied to her delicate skin, instantly absorbing without leaving a trace. The person in the mirror turns around—it’s a face of breathtaking beauty. It’s not necessarily exceptionally beautiful, but dazzling, the kind of radiance that shatters the air and glistens like dew on petals. Her eyes sparkle, her skin has a natural glow even without makeup, her nose is delicate and straight, and her lips are well-defined. With a sudden proud smile, she radiates an irresistible brilliance. Today is her big day. Her first solo performance, the lead role of the Swan in the curtain-raiser The Death of the Swan. It’s the opportunity every ballet dancer would give everything for, the highest honor a dancer could ever aspire to. Some performers spend their entire careers without ever getting a solo role. Dan Bing was eighteen. After twelve years of dancing the Swan, she finally had the chance to soar gracefully under the lights of a grand theater. All the hardships and efforts she’d endured meant nothing—truly to excel, she had to be cunning, perceptive, and spirited, standing out among a group of calculating peers. To fight for a solo role, many sisters had "shone" through, and those who offered gifts and flattery were commonplace. Dan Bing despised such methods but wasn’t entirely innocent either. Her leverage was her own talent—she firmly believed she was better than everyone else, and what mattered was how to convince the leaders of the same. She designed a game. To be precise, a bet. A month ago, just before selecting the soloist for The Death of the Swan, during a break, Dan Bing sat in a corner of the rehearsal hall, staring at a print of the founder of pointe work, Taglioni, performing the ballet La Sylphide on the wall. She said casually, “The book says that when Taglioni danced the Sylphide, her heels could strike each other six times in the air, setting a world record. But no one has ever seen it—was it really true?” It was common knowledge in their circle, and someone immediately chimed in, “Now even top-tier national performers can only manage four, which is already highly advanced. I think Taglioni’s record might be false—people exaggerated it, deifying her.” “Exactly, when the Central Drama Academy came to perform, they could only strike three times at most.” Dan Bing said at this moment, “How about we bet on it? See who can strike more, who can break Taglioni’s record with six.” “Impossible! If there really was a living person who could strike six times, I’d bow to her and give up dancing. I’d be her fire-stoking maid instead.” “Then let’s make a bet!” “Bet on what? We need a witness.” “The director will be the witness. The bet is that whoever wins gets to dance The Death of the Swan.” “In the name of Taglioni!” Taglioni smiled at them from the wall. She was the founder of pointe work and pointe shoes, and she was also the first to perform The Death of the Swan. She was the embodiment of dance, the most impartial judge. And just like that, an excellent competition spot was won through a bet.