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 The Heavenly White Pagoda I arrived at Lanzhou Station on a bright morning in February  in an elated mood. I would be in a university, the place I had been dreaming of for so long. For six long and grueling years I had been struggling for this day, and I had won. On that day I felt that I was truly happy for the first time in many years. The dreaded white factory, the mysterious suicides and grotesque illnesses, Comrade Thus and Red Calf and Combat Zhu were all behind me now, and I would never have to go near that place again. From the train station, a school van took me and a few other new students to the university. It was a pleasant ride through the downtown and we arrived in just a few minutes. Lanzhou University has an impressive front entrance, consisting of two long cast-iron sliding gates between two pillbox-like towers and a giant statue of the Great Leader facing the entrance. When I got off the van and walked into the gate, I smiled happily and waved to His Excellency. The student dormitory was a large L-shaped brick building. The corridors inside the building were dark and the uneven concrete floor sounded hollow, spooky, and fragile when I walked through it with my luggage. My room was similar to the one I had at the aircraft factory, but a little smaller, with two bunk beds on each side and a narrow walkway barely a yard wide from the door to the only window. Four people shared the room, but I certainly did not mind the crowded living conditions. From the laughter and happy shouting in the hall, I sensed that everybody in the dormitory shared the same elation. I heard genuine laughter everywhere, a laughter free of worries, a laughter I had never heard before in my life. This was the class of , the first crop of students who had been admitted to universities and colleges solely on the basis of academic merit since the Cultural Revolution. All of us knew our elite status in society . Fewer than one in nineteen people who took the national examination were admitted, and we were the ones. Parents and friends were very proud of us. The whole society looked up to us—partly in envy.  wood The three roommates who came early helped me unpack and get settled on the last bunk bed and we introduced ourselves. The one sleeping above me was Zhao Congming—or ‘‘Clever’’ Zhao. As he told me his name, he added, with a funny country accent, ‘‘Don’t laugh at my name. This is not a nickname; it is my real name.’’ Wearing a faded blue Mao jacket, with a square, deeply tanned face, Clever Zhao looked much older than the average student. Judging from his worn out shoes— homemade and hand-stitched from rags—he had to be a peasant’s son. I liked him immediately. The lower bunk bed facing mine was occupied by Qian Le, a chubby, happy-go-lucky young man, whom we would soon call ‘‘Squirm’’ because of his slow speech and uncoordinated movements. He had been a crane-operator at a coalmine in Datong, the coal capital of China. In the bunk above him was the youngest member of the class, barely sixteen, from Xi’an. His name was Huang Laishi, but his nickname from the previous school, ‘‘Six-Finger Huang,’’ followed him here. Next to his right thumb he had an extra finger, which he regarded as a lucky charm. Having settled in, we went down to lunch. The dining hall was just across the street from our dorm. It was about the size of two basketball courts, similar to, but larger than, the ones at the East Wind Aircraft Factory. When I entered it, it was like walking into a steam bath, but a steam bath with a dank sour odor instead of the clean smells of steam and soap. The hall was jammed with people in long lines. Each line was for a different item of food. At the door, Clever Zhao suggested that we form a partnership to get lunch. ‘‘If you’ll get rice for me, I’ll get a dish for you. We have to get that boiled pork rind before it’s sold out.’’ I gave one of my enamel bowls to Clever Zhao, who handed me an extremely large wooden bowl in return. I was...

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