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THE girls in my college were fond of forming cliques， I admit， I was one of them. We dined together， studied together， and if we fell out， factions broke off until we got over whatever grudge we were holding and the gang could reform.
In Dorm 315， there were two groups among the six girls： one included five girls， Wu Shasha， Tan Fang， Zeng Li， Liu Siqi and me； the other， had only one member， Lu Xiaolu.
We had to admit that Lu Xiaolu was really pretty， easily standing out of the crowd. Bestowed with a “film star face，”she took great care of her appearance. She always got up early to dress and apply make-up as if she were preparing to go on stage. In her shadow， other girls became plain Janes. Lu seldom struck up conversation with us. At weekends， there was always someone who came for her by car to take her out. Gradually， the distance between her and us grew wider and wider.
Then for a spell， Lu became listless. Although she still got up early for her daily ablutions， she lost her sparkle. Wu Shasha， who slept in the lower berth of the bunk that she shared with Lu， told us that she often heard Lu tossing and turning at night.
We all speculated that something was up and we’d soon find out what it was. Then it happened. One Monday， Lu did not return to the dorm. After a few days， when there was still no sign of her， and Tan Fang and Zeng Li had gotten their snide remarks about Lu out of their systems， we started to worry about what had happened to her. Liu Siqi， the dormitory leader， said we should call her， but it turned out that none of us had her phone number. Then the next day someone came to the dorm to collect Lu’s stuff. We asked the visitor what was going on with Lu， and were told that she had applied for a half-year’s leave.
This confused us， but we could hardly continue interrogating the visitor. Then， Zeng Li came up with the idea of asking our class counselor. The counselor replied， “Didn’t you know？ Lu Xiaolu has applied for leave to undergo surgery.”
Upon learning this news， we were all very sad and downcast. Although we weren’t friends with Lu， she was not a bad girl. On delving further into her story， we were horrified to discover that Lu suffered from congenital heart disease， but had been afraid of going under the knife. A recent check-up had revealed that she couldn’t afford to delay heart surgery any longer. On the doctor’s orders， she would have to go through four operations. If all operations were successful， she could resume her normal life. However， each one entailed huge risks. As the truth dawned on us， our dormitory quietened down. For several nights， nobody gossiped as usual. Eventually， Liu Siqi decided that we should go to the hospital to visit Lu.
That day we were all unaccountably flustered. In the sterile， white ward， we saw Lu Xiaolu in her customary pose in front of a mirror， meticulously applying make-up. By looking at her， you couldn’t tell she was terminally ill. As she applied the finishing touches， she turned round and saw us. At first， a look of pleasant surprise flashed across her face， but then she quickly turned her back to us and said， “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming？” Eventually， she turned round and said， “I thought you’d find out. I didn’t want anyone to worry about me.”
We were lost for words. Then Lu suddenly perked up and said she was going in for her first operation that afternoon. She said that if she didn’t survive， she at least wanted to die looking good， so she had spent all morning getting ready. “I’ve been to funerals， I know how bad funeral parlor workers’ are at applying make-up. I can’t die looking like that！”
We waited for several hours， feeling numb. We couldn’t even look at each other. Finally Lu Xiaolu was wheeled out from the operating theater. Her operation had been a success. She looked peaceful in the hospital bed， in a deep sleep. Once we had seen her settled back in the ward， we left. We were silent all the way home.
We visited her in hospital several more times， and every time， we were updated with good news of her successful operations. We were all happy for her. No ordinary girl， Lu persisted in putting on make-up before each operation， as meticulously as if she were going to a dinner party.
But， Lu’s wish to die “made-up” the way she wanted wasn’t to come true. Several days before her last round of operations， she suddenly ran a high fever and slipped into a coma. She didn’t wake up again. It all happened so quickly. When we arrived at the funeral parlor， a portly and rather ham-fisted woman was putting make-up on Lu.
We noticed Lu Xiaolu， now lying in peace， was thinner than before， her cheekbones protruding. The worker was delineating Lu’s eyebrows perfunctorily in a twisted line. We wept silently. Then Wu Shasha， who had always moaned bitterly about Lu’s excessive make-up in the past， all of a sudden rushed up to the woman and snatched the eyebrow pencil. The woman was puzzled. Wu shouted angrily， “How can you draw her eyebrows on so ugly！” The woman comforted her， “Don’t be sad. We can’t bring her back.” Throwing the eyebrow pencil to the floor， Wu wailed， “But she was so pretty. Please， don’t make her look so ugly.”
The next day was Lu’s memorial service. Troubled by Wu’s emotional outburst， Lu’s family didn’t invite us to attend. It was a Saturday， overcast， drizzling. The five girls of Dorm 315 stayed in. I can’t recall now who started it， but one by one， we began to put make-up on our tear-streaked faces to honor our beautiful roommate， Lu Xiaolu.
In Dorm 315， there were two groups among the six girls： one included five girls， Wu Shasha， Tan Fang， Zeng Li， Liu Siqi and me； the other， had only one member， Lu Xiaolu.
We had to admit that Lu Xiaolu was really pretty， easily standing out of the crowd. Bestowed with a “film star face，”she took great care of her appearance. She always got up early to dress and apply make-up as if she were preparing to go on stage. In her shadow， other girls became plain Janes. Lu seldom struck up conversation with us. At weekends， there was always someone who came for her by car to take her out. Gradually， the distance between her and us grew wider and wider.
Then for a spell， Lu became listless. Although she still got up early for her daily ablutions， she lost her sparkle. Wu Shasha， who slept in the lower berth of the bunk that she shared with Lu， told us that she often heard Lu tossing and turning at night.
We all speculated that something was up and we’d soon find out what it was. Then it happened. One Monday， Lu did not return to the dorm. After a few days， when there was still no sign of her， and Tan Fang and Zeng Li had gotten their snide remarks about Lu out of their systems， we started to worry about what had happened to her. Liu Siqi， the dormitory leader， said we should call her， but it turned out that none of us had her phone number. Then the next day someone came to the dorm to collect Lu’s stuff. We asked the visitor what was going on with Lu， and were told that she had applied for a half-year’s leave.
This confused us， but we could hardly continue interrogating the visitor. Then， Zeng Li came up with the idea of asking our class counselor. The counselor replied， “Didn’t you know？ Lu Xiaolu has applied for leave to undergo surgery.”
Upon learning this news， we were all very sad and downcast. Although we weren’t friends with Lu， she was not a bad girl. On delving further into her story， we were horrified to discover that Lu suffered from congenital heart disease， but had been afraid of going under the knife. A recent check-up had revealed that she couldn’t afford to delay heart surgery any longer. On the doctor’s orders， she would have to go through four operations. If all operations were successful， she could resume her normal life. However， each one entailed huge risks. As the truth dawned on us， our dormitory quietened down. For several nights， nobody gossiped as usual. Eventually， Liu Siqi decided that we should go to the hospital to visit Lu.
That day we were all unaccountably flustered. In the sterile， white ward， we saw Lu Xiaolu in her customary pose in front of a mirror， meticulously applying make-up. By looking at her， you couldn’t tell she was terminally ill. As she applied the finishing touches， she turned round and saw us. At first， a look of pleasant surprise flashed across her face， but then she quickly turned her back to us and said， “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming？” Eventually， she turned round and said， “I thought you’d find out. I didn’t want anyone to worry about me.”
We were lost for words. Then Lu suddenly perked up and said she was going in for her first operation that afternoon. She said that if she didn’t survive， she at least wanted to die looking good， so she had spent all morning getting ready. “I’ve been to funerals， I know how bad funeral parlor workers’ are at applying make-up. I can’t die looking like that！”
We waited for several hours， feeling numb. We couldn’t even look at each other. Finally Lu Xiaolu was wheeled out from the operating theater. Her operation had been a success. She looked peaceful in the hospital bed， in a deep sleep. Once we had seen her settled back in the ward， we left. We were silent all the way home.
We visited her in hospital several more times， and every time， we were updated with good news of her successful operations. We were all happy for her. No ordinary girl， Lu persisted in putting on make-up before each operation， as meticulously as if she were going to a dinner party.
But， Lu’s wish to die “made-up” the way she wanted wasn’t to come true. Several days before her last round of operations， she suddenly ran a high fever and slipped into a coma. She didn’t wake up again. It all happened so quickly. When we arrived at the funeral parlor， a portly and rather ham-fisted woman was putting make-up on Lu.
We noticed Lu Xiaolu， now lying in peace， was thinner than before， her cheekbones protruding. The worker was delineating Lu’s eyebrows perfunctorily in a twisted line. We wept silently. Then Wu Shasha， who had always moaned bitterly about Lu’s excessive make-up in the past， all of a sudden rushed up to the woman and snatched the eyebrow pencil. The woman was puzzled. Wu shouted angrily， “How can you draw her eyebrows on so ugly！” The woman comforted her， “Don’t be sad. We can’t bring her back.” Throwing the eyebrow pencil to the floor， Wu wailed， “But she was so pretty. Please， don’t make her look so ugly.”
The next day was Lu’s memorial service. Troubled by Wu’s emotional outburst， Lu’s family didn’t invite us to attend. It was a Saturday， overcast， drizzling. The five girls of Dorm 315 stayed in. I can’t recall now who started it， but one by one， we began to put make-up on our tear-streaked faces to honor our beautiful roommate， Lu Xiaolu.