My second brother Cunyuan was a volunteer at the local hospital in Qingdao looking after some of the earthquake victims, who came in by the trainload. Those victims were so shocked that any loud noise at all would terrify them, Cunyuan told me. One knocked a hot-water bottle onto the floor in the middle of the night. It exploded and sent the earthquake victims into immediate panic- they started to scream and tried to run for cover and that in turn caused the whole building to shake. One of the nurses tried to calm them down by blowing a whistle but that made the situation even worse. Panic turned to utter terror. People became desperate. A few poor injured victims jumped out of the building and killed themselves in an attempt to escape.

Then, later that year, the unthinkable event…

Our beloved Chairman Mao died.

China paused. The whole nation mourned. It was early September and I remember gathering in front of a loudspeaker on the sportsground and hearing the announcement of his death by his successor Hua Guofeng. We cried our hearts out. I thought of my na-na's death. But this time, crying for Chairman Mao, it was like a religious experience mixed with a certain fear. I had worshipped Chairman Mao. His name was the first word I had learnt in school. The words from his famous Red Book were embedded in my brain. I would have died for him. And now he was gone.

The day after we heard about Mao's death, the Bandit and I gathered at a quiet corner of our academy grounds and sat on a concrete ping-pong table to talk about this shocking news. China 's future was now uncertain. Mao's death could only mean immense insecurity. As a young Red Guard, I was plunged into grief. I felt lost. There hadn't been much colour in China before, but now things would be bleak indeed.

"There will be total chaos in China soon," the Bandit said despondently. "There will be civil war, maybe even the old chieftain warfare will return again. We should be prepared!" he said, becoming emotionally charged.

"Where would you go to fight a guerilla war!" I said, amused.

"Back to the mountains of Shandong Province of course!"

"I'm not sure I want to leave ballet and live in the mountains for the rest of my life," I replied.

"Where is your courage? Didn't Chairman Mao fight many years of guerilla warfare?"

"Yes, but you don't have to be a guerilla to serve the communist cause. Our best weapon is ballet," I argued.

But the Bandit wasn't convinced. "Only guns will determine the final outcome!" he said.

We went on, arguing philosophically for a while about wars and communism and politics. "All right," he said, "who do you think will be our next leader?"

"I don't know. Who do you think?" I asked.

"Hua Guofeng, Chairman Mao's chosen successor, who else?" he replied.

I laughed. "I think someone with stronger military backing will be China 's next leader!"

"You don't think Hua Guofeng has military backing? Don't you think Chairman Mao would have secured military backing for him before he died?"

"I don't know. Hua Guofeng came from nowhere. He doesn't have a military history."

We talked about which leader in the central government did have a military history. We thought of three. Suddenly I shouted, "What about Deng Xiaoping?"

"Shh!" The Bandit looked around and made sure there was no one close who could have heard. "Are you crazy? He has just been disgraced! His reputation is damaged for ever. Besides, if Chairman Mao didn't like him, we shouldn't either."

Both of us sank into our own thoughts. I knew what he said made some sense but I didn't agree with him entirely. "Deng Xiaoping did very well with the economy while he was managing it and he has a military history," I said.

"How do you know he did well with the economy?" he asked.

"The standard of living improved in my home town."

This was true. My family's living standard had gradually improved under Deng's leadership and some of the seasonal planning decisions had been handed back to the peasants.

"Do you think Madame Mao will become our next leader?" the Bandit asked.

I shook my head. "Haven't you heard the rumours about her male concubines?"

"Do you believe them?"

"No, but if there are rumours like this in Madame Mao's own academy, just think what people are hearing all over China."

A month after Mao's death, on 6 October 1976, our academy received another enormous shock. The news came casually. Madame Mao was arrested along with the other members of the Gang of Four. I felt like an abandoned child.

The Gang of Four were removed quickly and easily. Neither the military nor the police backed them. At our academy we carried on our normal routines, except when the political heads were removed, which meant no more political studies and more time to practise our dancing.

Hua Guofeng made no attempts to change the direction which Chairman Mao had set for the country. For the first six months of his government, it was business as usual. But everyone could feel that change was inevitable. The military may have adopted a low profile but few people knew what was really going on.

In the meantime, my dancing had caught Vice-Director Zhang Ce's attention. All of a sudden, not only was I Teacher Xiao and Zhang Shu's targeted student, but now Zhang Ce's favourite. The end-of- year exam was so enjoyable that I could have done it again and again, even with all the future uncertainties in China. I had found my confidence at last.

I was nearly sixteen by now. It was the time when our academy doctor told me that I had to have my tonsils removed. I'd had repeated infections over the years, so I was placed on a threemonth waiting list.

On the day I went to hospital I was not allowed to eat or drink anything. The scheduled time for the operation was 9 a.m. but the doctor didn't see me until noon. Then a nurse poked some acupuncture needles into my body-the Chinese anaesthetic. I had no idea what to expect.

During the hour-long operation I could feel the pain, the cutting sensation, and I lay there as the blood gushed down my throat. It felt as though the doctor was using a very dull knife. I thought of the poor pigs in my home town and how I used to watch them being slaughtered on my way to and from school.

I was exhausted when I was wheeled out of the operating room. I could not talk and my throat was so swollen that it felt as if there was a big hot ball stuffed down it.

The nurse took me back to my room where the Bandit, Fu Xijun and Xiongjun were waiting for me. They'd sneaked out of the academy to visit me, and they'd brought me two thermoses full of popsicles. I loved popsicles but I didn't feel like eating them that day. My throat throbbed relentlessly. Still, the Bandit insisted I eat at least two to keep the swelling down. He'd had his tonsils out the year before and he said I should be thankful -both medical technology and doctors' skills had improved significantly since last year, he said.

What significantly improved technologies? The useless needles? The dull knife? I couldn't imagine anything worse than what I'd just been through. But I didn't say anything-it was too painful to talk.

That night I couldn't sleep. The pain was excruciating and there weren't any painkillers. How I wished my niang was there to comfort me.

July 1977: our sixth year at the Beijing Dance Academy. We were allowed to go home for our three-week mid-term summer holiday this year, but we had a choice: we could stay back and practise if we wanted to.

I wrote to my parents and told them I had decided to stay. Of course I dearly wanted to see my family and I missed them: the thought of the cricket sounds, catching dragonflies, eating my niang's dumplings, all seemed so tempting, but this was the first time I felt happy staying on.