Shifu, You'll Do Anything For a Laugh

agreed that she could have made quite a name for herself if not for the Cultural Revolution. Too bad. Ruined by her family background. Proof of the two most frequently heard versions — that her father was a capitalist and that he was a capitalist-roader — was not actively sought, since the difference between the two is negligible. It was enough to know that her background was bad.
    He Liping was a taciturn girl who, in the eyes of the villagers, knew her place. She had been sent to the countryside with lots of other educated city kids: some ended up by going on to school, others took jobs, the rest returned to their hometowns. Only she was left behind, and everyone knew it was because of her background.
    Only once did He Liping demonstrate her martial arts skills, and that was soon after showing up in the village. Junior was no more than eight or nine at the time. Back then, “Mao Zedong Thought” propaganda meetings were common occurrences. The city kids were terrific talkers and singers, and some played the harmonica or flute or two-string huqin . There was a lot going on in the village back then: during the day the commune members worked in the fields, and at night they made revolution. With all the excitement, every day seemed like New Year's Eve to Junior. One night, very much like all the other nights, everyone poured out of the dining hall after dinner to make revolution. On the dirt platform, which had a post stuck in both ends to support gas lamps, the city kids filled the platform with their songs and instruments. Junior recalled that suddenly the young emcee shouted above the din: “Poor and lower-middle peasant comrades, our great leader Chairman Mao instructs us: Power comes out of the barrel of a gun! Now please turn your attention to He Liping, who will demonstrate her ‘nine-stage plum-blossom’ spear routine.”
    Junior recalled that everyone applauded like crazy, anticipating the arrival of He Leping. They didn't have to wait long. She came out in a skintight red outfit and white plastic sandals, with her hair coiled atop her head. All the hot-blooded young men buzzed about her pert breasts, which nearly popped out of their tight wrappings. Some said they were real, others said they weren't. One of the latter insisted that she was wearing plastic cups. She stood on the stage, striking a martial pose, red-tasseled spear in hand. With her chin held high, her back arched, and her dark eyes sparkling, she cut quite a figure. Then she began to twirl her spear, until all anyone could see on the stage was a red blur, and no one could follow the twists and turns of her lithe body. Finally she stopped spinning and stood ramrod straight with her spear, looking like a column of red smoke. The audience seemed frozen in place for a moment, no one making a peep. Then, suddenly snapping out of their trance, they clapped politely, as if physically drained.
    It was a sleepless night for the young men of the village.
    The next day, as members of the commune sprawled on the ground to rest, He Liping and her “nine-stage plum-blossom” were all anyone talked about. Someone said the girl's performance was like a flower stand: attractive but hardly practical; but someone else said it was like the wind, so fast she could keep four or five people at bay at the same time, and how much more practical can you get? Then someone said that anybody who took a girl like her for a wife was in for real trouble, that he'd get off lucky if all she did was beat him, that she definitely was a woman who rode her husband in bed, that no man, even one as strong as an ox, was a match for her “nine-stage plum-blossom.” At that point the tone of the discussion took a dive, and Junior, who was working with the older men at the time, was a little embarrassed and a little upset by what was being said.
    He Liping performed her “nine-stage plum-blossom” only that one time. Apparently, a report was sent to the commune revolutionary committee, from which emerged a pronouncement that spears belonged only in the hands of descendants of the reddest of the red. How could anybody have allowed one to fall into the hands of someone who came from the five black categories?
    Head bowed and utterly demoralized, He Liping worked silently alongside the other members of the commune. Then when all the other city kids spread their wings and flew off to their homes, she felt all alone and lonely, and that gained her plenty of sympathy. The team