ARCHIVE 17
THE DARK-LIGHT BALL

ACOUSTIC METADATA

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• TIMESTAMP: Summer, 1981

• LOCATION: University Dormitory / "Dark-Light" Ballroom, Beijing

• AUDIO DATA: Sanyo dual-cassette pulse, lewd villainous laughs

• OLFACTORY SENSOR: Ammonia-scented dopamine (Hair dye residue)

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​I pedaled my bicycle through the crowd, my newly dyed black hair acting as a cloaking device. I was no longer a target for stares; I felt like a Japanese ninja—comfortable in my invisibility. The wind rushed past my ears, severing the viscous, low-frequency infrasound of power that bled from Compound No. 7.

In the dormitory, my seven roommates jeered: "The White-Haired Girl has finally returned to the world of the living." Stimulated by the ammonia-scented dopamine of my "Japanese transformation," they mimicked leaders' accents and lewd villainous laughs. My mind, however, was submerged in instinct. I was thinking of the ball.

10:00 PM. The "Dark-Light Ball" commenced in a large classroom. Bedspreads were pinned over windows to seal out the world. A Sanyo dual-cassette recorder began to pulse with Western dance music. Da Guo swung the door open, followed by a group of university girls.

The last one was of medium height, with a ponytail and a faint, modest smile. She wore a plaid jacket and dark trousers—the overall impression was one of pride and solemnity.

“Lights out!” Da Guo shouted.

I sat in the dark, trying to isolate the melody, but I couldn't filter out the noise: the friction of fabric against skin, the wet sounds of kisses, and the sharp slaps of girls pushing away intrusive palms. A single light flickered on. The girl in the plaid jacket broke free from Da Guo’s crude embrace and walked straight to me.

"Care to dance?”

"Quick Waltz," I said. I could hear the mysterious sound of her rising chest rubbing against the fabric of her jacket.