I could see his face had tightened with worry, but within minutes the Bandit was making him smile. The Bandit had booked us into one of the best hotels in Beijing at the time, called Front Gate Hotel. By Western standards it was more like a three-star hotel. It was named for the first gate of many that people had to pass through before they could get close to the Forbidden City and the emperor. This hotel was famous for its food.
But the tension returned soon after we checked in to our room and three Chinese officials knocked on the door. One of the men was three times Li’s size.
Li said they wanted me to leave the room. ‘Absolutely not,’ I said. ‘Tell them I don’t understand Chinese anyway and there’s no way I’m going to leave my husband.’ As if I would leave Li alone with the Chinese secret police!
They were surprised by my firm reply – I don’t think there would have been many occasions when their orders were disobeyed. I could see Li was apprehensive, but I knew they wouldn’t force me to leave. Not a Westerner. And they eventually relented.
They stayed for over three hours and asked Li many questions in Chinese. The room was full of smoke as two of the secret police kept smoking one cigarette after another. I just sat beside Li on the sofa. He told me later they had asked all sorts of questions about his defection to the USA. He was exhausted and relieved when they finally left with the parting message: ‘We will be watching you while you’re in China – for your safety.’ Of course, we knew exactly what they really meant. We were just happy to get on with our visit.
Li’s friends returned with drinks and snacks. They tried to catch up on all the years apart. It had been nearly ten years since Li had last seen them. To me, the rapid Chinese language sounded quite harsh, like they were arguing. I’d occasionally ask, ‘Are you fighting?’
‘No! No! It’s all fine,’ Li would laugh. When he translated what I’d said, his friends laughed too.
Li had to get used to riding a bike again with millions of people fighting for an inch of space on the road. It was a zoo – just mayhem! There were four lanes of bicycles, not even in actual lanes. I rode on the back of the Bandit’s bicycle. I didn’t mind, as he was very capable. We started on our adventure. The most important thing was that Li was finally back in his country as a free man after a decade of not being able to return. In fact, he was no longer a citizen of his country, but a foreigner on home soil.
Li and the Bandit took me to his old academy. We met some of his teachers, including his ballet teacher, Teacher Xiao, who had been such an important influence on Li. They asked Li to demonstrate and share his knowledge. As he warmed up I could see how nervous he was. He had danced many performances in front of dignitaries, even royalty, and won medals in international competitions, but I could tell that this small audience meant very much to him. It was almost like doing an important exam in front of his teachers.
Li first danced the Prince solo from Act Three of Swan Lake, and then, upon request from one of his teachers, he danced two contemporary solos, one from Bruce’s Ghost Dances and the other from Tetley’s Le Sacre du Printemps. I could see that Li’s teachers were thoroughly impressed with the versatility and standard of the dancer he had become, especially Teacher Xiao, whose eyes became moist as he watched.
Teacher Xiao was now a professor at the Beijing Dance Academy, in charge of the choreography department and widely considered one of the best teachers in China. He was a small man, full of life – funny and smart. I thought how lucky Li had been to have him in his early life, a brilliant teacher who had inspired his passion for ballet. As more requests and endless questions poured in, he intervened. ‘All right, all right, let’s not kill Cunxin off.’ He then invited us to his home for lunch. He had a nice apartment compared to the Bandit’s one room. His charming second wife, who was a model, cooked us a delicious meal. I could clearly see just how proud Teacher Xiao was with all of Li’s career success, and he told Li that after his defection, he could only dream of ever seeing him again – let alone seeing him dance – and that he was so proud of having been his teacher. Li told Teacher Xiao how grateful he was for the inspiration he had given him, and that he would never have had such a successful career without his love and care. Both of them were very emotional.
After the lunch, we visited the Bandit’s small room at the Beijing Dance Academy, and met up with Fengtian. The Bandit was still living in the old dormitories where he and Li had slept, so they showed me Li’s old room. Just as Li had told me, the room was tiny. I couldn’t picture eight students crammed into such a small space to sleep. Not in a million years could I imagine that this was where Li had grown up and spent his formative years in such primitive conditions.
Everyone who lived in the building had to cook in the dormitory hallway on small gas cooktops, so it smelt strongly of food. It was dark and smoky. There was a bathroom down the hallway, and the smell from it was so foul that I just turned around and decided to hold on. Li had warned me about the challenging conditions, but even with my very low expectations I was shocked by the living standards. Li explained that it was vastly improved since he had lived there, and that not many people in China today could enjoy even this standard of living.
The Bandit then took us to a Peking duck restaurant. It had five floors, with large rooms and round tables, traditional wood carvings of dragons and phoenixes, and lanterns hanging from the ceiling. True to its name, it seemed every dish was duck – roast duck, duck liver, duck tongue, duck feet and duck soup, plus condiments of plum sauce, spring onions and cucumber, and pancakes to wrap. So delicious! I’d never had Peking duck before, and later craved that particular Peking duck each time I was pregnant.
People we were with were happy, and there was lots of drinking. I found out about a custom called gan bei, the Chinese version of ‘Cheers’ or ‘Bottoms up’, where you have to scull a whole glass of alcohol – it is considered rude if you don’t. Luckily I was let off the hook most times because I was a Westerner, but poor Li had to gan bei all the time! All the talk was about planning the next party, the next meal, and all the people they were going to meet. Parties always included a dinner, and restaurants didn’t always provide alcohol, so it had to be taken with you. There were very strong Chinese spirits, beer and one main wine called the Great Wall, which was pretty dreadful.
I was learning how many good friends Li had, and how marvellous he was at expressing his gratitude to them. He spent as much time as he could entertaining them.
Li wanted to thank all his teachers and friends, so on our last night in Beijing he hosted a dinner for over forty people in the famous Front Gate restaurant. The Bandit had helped Li organise it, contacting fellow classmates, academy officials and teachers. Li sat beside me at dinner, happily translating when he could – it must have been exhausting! The head of the academy spoke and said how proud everyone was of Li and all he’d achieved. We were congratulated again and again on our marriage. The food just kept coming, along with fancy Chinese wine that was a treat for them all. Others made small toasts and of course we had to do a lot of gan bei. Many gan beis later, everyone became cheery and I could hear the laughter grow louder and louder.
Finally, Li thanked his teachers and academy officials, then raised his glass to his friends. He told them how important they had been during his time at the academy. He said being with them now was a dream come true: ‘Over those seven years you taught me and cared for me and befriended me. You have given me things I can never repay. I don’t know where I would be today without you.’