Volume 1, Chapter 20: Friends

Many young girls, before cutting their hair, are as determined as you—yearning to become iron-willed warriors like the Iron Lady. But freshly cut hair often looks quite unflattering. After the haircut, they look in the mirror, and every one of them cries and begs me to help restore it. How could I possibly do that? Even I cried bitterly after my own haircut—once the hair is cut, how could it ever grow back?

Dong Qianqian stared at the faded magazine, listening to Jiang Tu’s lament. She understood the young girls’ desire for beauty, yet her own yearning to break free and flourish remained unchanged.

She wanted to cut her hair—not to fit in, but because in this world, the ability to cut one’s hair meant having a body completely under one’s own control.

This was something she had longed for but never had in her past life: whether short or long hair, the choice was hers alone.

She sought to master her own body and thus discover a new, authentic self—reaching a state akin to having hair like a monk’s yet remaining unstained by worldly dust; like dreaming within a dream, beholding an out-of-body self.

Yet, knowing that cutting her hair would deeply upset the barber, she did not withhold her verbal comfort.

“It can be restored! With the progress of time and technology, hair extensions will surely become possible.”

If she remembered correctly, by around 1990, hair extension technology had matured. And if all else failed, wigs were still an option.

Hearing this, Jiang Tu wiped away her tears and smiled. She was already an adult, yet here was a younger girl comforting her. But indeed, abroad, hair extension techniques were quite advanced.

With that thought, Jiang Tu revealed a cherished secret to the beauty before her.

“You seem like a good girl. Let me show you something secret, but you must promise not to tell anyone, alright?”

Jiang Tu casually hung a “closed” sign on the door and drew the curtains, paying no heed to her elderly grandfather outside in the cold.

Dong Qianqian watched Jiang Tu’s secretive behavior, reaching out to touch the spatial mark on her hand, ready to enter the space if needed.

Jiang Tu pried open the wooden floorboards and took out a tin box filled with colorful books. The vibrant hues instantly captivated Dong Qianqian’s eyes.

“What are these?” she asked, flipping through the pages and glimpsing a whole new world.

Most of the letters were unfamiliar to her, but the pictures were clear: women of Caucasian descent dressed in a dazzling array of styles, shimmering and diverse—completely unlike the uniform sea of blue here.

“Foreign magazines! They’re very old, saved with great effort by my mother. Look! The foreign models—aren’t they beautiful? Most of them have natural blonde hair, and eyes like sapphires, entirely different from ours.”

Each time Jiang Tu browsed these magazines, she was drawn to their hairstyles—the elaborate updos. If only she could style one herself.

But Dong Qianqian’s gaze was wholly captured by the avant-garde, bold clothing the models wore.

It was her first time seeing such revealing attire: a fiery red A-line dress with a plunging neckline, an orange floor-length Bohemian gown, a peach-pink women's suit jacket, an off-white one-shoulder evening dress, a brown velvet mid-length skirt, colorful bell-bottom pants, and strange hoop skirts. These somewhat scanty clothes stirred her curiosity and excitement.

She wanted to recreate them; she wanted to wear them.

Beneath the tranquil light, a tiny seed called “desire” was sprouting.

Just as these two girls were lost in their own fantasies, Master Wang’s knock interrupted everything. Jiang Tu’s face swiftly paled. She looked anxiously at Dong Qianqian, as if struggling to breathe.

“You won’t tell anyone, right?” Jiang Tu was sharing her secret for the first time.

Because Dong Qianqian was so agreeable in appearance, Jiang Tu momentarily forgot the consequences of such openness.

If these books were discovered, they would be deemed evidence of corruption by bourgeois ideology and result in public denunciation.

Dong Qianqian, perceptive to others’ moods, immediately understood Jiang Tu’s fear.

She quickly returned the books to the tin box and placed it back beneath the floorboards, handling it with ease as if it were her own.

Her actions made it clear: she would not betray Jiang Tu’s trust.

Leaning forward, she whispered to the nervous Jiang Tu, “Is this your first time doing something wrong? You’re so tense you’re sweating. You might get caught like this!”

She spoke as she wiped Jiang Tu’s sweat with a small piece of white cotton given by Feng Liping, hoping to calm her before anyone noticed her unease.

Jiang Tu inhaled Dong Qianqian’s fresh, sweet scent and suddenly recalled the juicy watermelon she once ate while feverish—the moist, succulent sensation.

The mingling of these two sweet fragrances swiftly steadied her nerves.

“Promise me! You won’t tell anyone.” Jiang Tu’s trembling pinky curled slightly as she made the childish pinky swear, seeking reassurance.

Dong Qianqian watched Jiang Tu’s anxious expression and shaky gesture—so childish! Yet warmth welled up inside her.

Had she been in such a situation, she might already be plotting how to silence witnesses.

Slowly, she extended her own pinky, gently hooking it around Jiang Tu’s, as if sealing a solemn pact.

Under Jiang Tu’s anxious gaze, Dong Qianqian’s eyes shone with sincerity and promise.

She nodded softly and whispered, “I promise, I won’t tell anyone.”

In that instant, the whole world seemed to hush. Between these two girls lay a secret that must never be revealed.

Master Wang, when admitted and seeing Dong Qianqian with her newly cut hair, wondered why the door was closed during the day for a simple haircut—what was there to hide?

He sighed inwardly, lamenting such beautiful hair having been cut. Luckily, it wasn’t chopped too short. Surely Jiang Tu didn’t close the door just because she begged Dong Qianqian not to cut it.

His mind wandered as the sky outside darkened considerably. Dong Qianqian would have to leave soon.

As Dong Qianqian prepared to depart, Master Wang noticed the two girls holding hands tightly, speaking quietly.

He suspected he might be overthinking. Their relationship seemed quite close—rare indeed for a barber and client to be like sisters these days.

By the door, Jiang Tu lingered, reluctant to part, holding Dong Qianqian’s hand.

“Will you come again?” she asked eagerly.

“Of course! Short hair needs trimming, doesn’t it?”

“Next time you come, I’ll show you something fun.”

“Deal!”

“What’s your name? I’m Jiang Tu, eighteen.”

“I’m…”

The whistle of the tram interrupted Dong Qianqian’s words—it was the last run back to the hospital.

There was no time for a proper introduction. Missing this tram meant she wouldn’t get back to the hospital tonight, though she could stay in her space.

But the hospital nurses were very responsible, checking rooms every evening at six. She could not be absent all night.

Dong Qianqian quickly boarded the tram and waved vigorously at Jiang Tu from the window.

“See you next time!”

Innately, Dong Qianqian held a traditional, almost ancient, loyalty to kindred spirits. For a kindred spirit like Jiang Tu, who shared her aesthetic sensibilities, she ought to have exchanged gifts and sworn eternal friendship. To casually say her name felt somewhat careless and perfunctory.

After the tram had departed, Jiang Tu remained standing at the door, gazing long after it as if her heart had been carried away.

After a long moment, she remembered she had forgotten to return the bag of cut hair. Maybe, just maybe, as Dong Qianqian said, there truly would be a day when severed hair could be restored.