I didn't know for certain who had put that book under my mat, but I had a rough idea and I knew it would be far too dangerous to show the book around. Whoever put it there would have wanted me to keep it to myself.

Zhang Ce's and Zhang Shu's arrival at the academy marked the beginning of our new focus on technique. Extra time was devoted to dancing and some of our academic classes were dropped. Like Zhang Shu, other experienced teachers who had previously been accused of being rightists were now rehabilitated and allowed to return. One was a Russian ballet expert who spoke very good English and who had also translated several Russian ballet books into Chinese before he was labelled a rightist. He'd had to do the lowest and filthiest jobs while he was in the countryside, but his only crime had been his knowledge of Western arts.

Around the same time another "anti-revolutionary" also came back to our academy from the brain-cleansing camps. He was a piano tuner, about fifty years old, with large ears that curved forwards. He'd been recalled because all the pianists had complained so profusely about the out-of-tune pianos and because there simply wasn't anyone else the academy officials could hire who wasn't classified either as a rightist or an anti- revolutionary. That piano tuner tuned and banged on the piano keyboards all day long. He took his time and always walked with his head lowered, constantly afraid that if he ran out of pianos to tune, he would be assigned cleaning, washing or any number of other lowly jobs.

The Russian ballet expert was not as lucky. He had to sweep, clean and scrub floors, walls and toilets. One day he was assigned to push a heavy two-wheeled cart while some of us loaded it with soil mixed with horse manure. Some of my classmates began calling him "the filthy rightist" and accused him of being too slow and lazy. I couldn't stand it-I didn't know what crime he had really committed, but after a few trips of pushing the heavy cart I could tell he was exhausted and I volunteered to help.

"Thank you, young man," he said quietly.

"You're welcome," I replied.

"What is your name?"

"Li Cunxin."

"I will always remember it!" he said, profoundly grateful.

The next day, during one of our political meetings, I was accused of being weak because I'd felt sorry for the rightist.

"I wasn't feeling sorry for him," I lied. "I wanted to make the process faster so we could contribute more to the peasants."

In the second half of that same year, our academy auditioned some music students. They'd already had some music training and had come from all over China. I never understood why they didn't go to the music academy instead, but they didn't and they lived in a couple of small crowded rooms in our own studio building. One of the violinists in that group, Liu Fengtian, was also a good hairdresser. I often asked him to cut my hair because I couldn't afford to go to a professional hairdresser. He was the first person ever to use a pair of scissors on me. Before that we roommates cut each other's hair with a pair of blunt hair clippers, and our hair often got caught in the middle of the clippers. The only way to get it loose was to pull the hair out.

Needless to say it wasn't a very good look but we were thankful all the same. A haircut was always a painful experience before Liu Fengtian's arrival. He was a good violinist who played with real passion. I loved watching him practise on the sportsground. He became one of my closest friends.

It was in this third year that my attitude towards dancing finally changed. For the first time since I had come to the academy I felt confident in my ballet class. I began to do well with our two new, technically difficult steps for the year: the single tour en l'air and the triple pirouette. With Teacher Xiao's gentle nurturing I made noticeable progress. I worked hard and listened to every word he said. I tried to understand the essence of his corrections and wrote down my new discoveries in my diary every day. I practised on the side or behind the first group, even if it was not my turn, and my rapid improvement surprised many of my teachers and classmates.

My progress in ballet also helped me in other classes, especially in acrobatics. Now I was making good progress with backward somersaults, which I had been terrified of the year before. But one day, as I was doing one, I thought the teachers were waiting and ready to support me. I was wrong. They had turned their attention to another student. I took off, then suddenly panicked because I couldn't feel their hands supporting me. I crashed down from shoulder height, my back and head landing on the hard wooden floor, which was covered only by a thin threadbare carpet. I was knocked unconscious.

When I recovered I looked up to see my teachers and my classmates leaning over me with anxious, panicky looks. My head and neck throbbed with pain.

They carried me to my bed and told me to have a good sleep. At lunchtime, the Bandit and Fu Xijun brought me a bowl of noodle soup with an egg in it-a special treat if you were ill. We had to have the academy doctor's written report to be allowed such special food.

No official assistance, no medical care, no X-ray was offered. I was told to go back to my normal routine that afternoon. But my neck pain was intense and persistent.

By the next Sunday I was no better and the Chongs took me to a 75-year-old lady, a local healer, who massaged my neck and cracked it with amazing force. A few days later the pain disappeared but my neck was never the same after that accident and it often gave me problems. Regardless of injuries, however, the teachers in our acrobatics classes believed in working under harsh conditions. Once they even made us do our class, including somersaults and backflips, in the snow. Luckily for us, Teacher Xiao complained to the academy director and lessons in the snow never happened again.

A few weeks before our mid-year exams, Teacher Xiao finished our class late one day and I was desperate to go to the bathroom before our next class. I only had ten minutes and as usual there was a long queue. I was a couple of minutes late for Gao's Beijing Opera Movement class.

He stopped the music. "Here comes my prized student with the brainless big head! Why are you late?" he shouted.

I had intended to apologise sincerely to him and explain why I was late, but to my great surprise, entirely different words came out. "I'm not a brainless big head! I do have a brain!" I was so angry and short of breath that I stuttered badly.

"Get out of my class! Get out! Never come to my class again!" He pointed at the door and his face was red with fury.

I ran to our dormitory and sat on my bed. There were no tears. I was in such a rage that I simply felt like killing him. He had treated me unfairly. He had called me names. He hadn't even noticed my improved attitude over the last few months-he probably never would.

I couldn't just stay in my room though-I feared he might report me. I had to do something, and I had to act fast.

I ran to Teacher Xiao's office and found him alone, reading. I stuttered my way through my story, telling him what had happened with Teacher Gao, and he listened attentively.

"Sit down," he said when I'd finished. "Cunxin, I understand your anger and I think Teacher Gao was wrong. He shouldn't have called you names. I will go to Director Xiao and tell her what you have told me. If Teacher Gao goes to her, she will at least have both sides of the story and I will carry a little more weight than you. However, before I go to Director Xiao, I would like you to do a difficult task for me," he said.

"What?" I asked, puzzled.

"I want you to go to Teacher Gao and talk to him."

"I don't want to go near him! He hates me!" I jumped up from my seat.

"I know how difficult this will be, but I want you to give it a try. Have you ever told Teacher Gao how you feel about him calling you names? Are you the only boy he has singled out?"