Volume One, Chapter 19: Aesthetic Appreciation

Master Wang has been running this state-owned barbershop since 1957.

The shop is staffed only by him and his granddaughter, Jiang Tu—one man, one woman; he cuts men's hair, she cuts women's.

With no one to cover shifts, and unwilling to let anyone else take over, they have kept the shop open every day, rain or shine, for sixteen years. Yet today, they face an unprecedented dilemma.

A remarkably vibrant young woman, pointing to a yellowed, faded poster, requests a haircut exactly like the one pictured.

For eighteen-year-old comrade Jiang Tu, a barber with ten years of experience despite her youth, this short bob with straight bangs was familiar territory. After all, she had styled countless heads across the city. But facing Dong Qianqian’s glossy black hair—silky and fine as the finest silk, smooth and inviting to the touch—she felt for the first time a hesitation with scissors in hand.

Jiang Tu glanced helplessly at her grandfather, who, shielding his broad face behind a drinking cup, gave her a look that said he could do nothing but be grateful such beautiful hair wasn’t in his hands, lest he ruin a work of art.

To Master Wang, the girl’s hair recalled a line from Li He’s poetry: “A single braid of fragrant silk scattered on the ground, where jade hairpins fall without a sound.” From afar, it cascaded like a mountain waterfall; up close, one could almost taste the sweet freshness of spring water.

Master Wang dared not look closely at the girl’s face and took the excuse of getting some fresh air to leave the shop, leaving Jiang Tu and Dong Qianqian alone in the quiet, spacious barbershop.

Dong Qianqian remained silent, unsure if her soft Wu dialect would alarm the reserved, aloof barber and cause an unfortunate snip. Jiang Tu, with her naturally stern expression, kept quiet because the girl was simply too charming.

From the moment Dong Qianqian stepped in, Jiang Tu felt the entire shop brighten as if illuminated by her presence. Standing there, she was like a vibrant painting of blooming flowers and birds, captivating and impossible to ignore.

Especially when Jiang Tu untied Dong Qianqian’s two braided pigtails and the hair tumbled down—each strand seemed infused with sweetness that permeated the air, intoxicating the mind.

Jiang Tu thought she saw a living Vivien Leigh; Dong Qianqian’s softly curled long hair made her strikingly resemble the actress in her youth—a vivid, fragrant portrait come to life.

After a long pause, the beauty finally spoke through the mirror: “May I remind you—were you just sleeping?”

The ethereal voice startled Jiang Tu back to reality as she realized the girl spoke in Mandarin.

Flustered, Jiang Tu waved her hands and stammered in her halting Mandarin, “No, no, I was just… um…”

Dong Qianqian, not catching her words, glanced at the clock; it was nearly five o’clock.

“If not, then please hurry! It’s almost dark; I need to get back,” she said.

Only then did Jiang Tu notice the early dusk settling over the city in winter. The girl was alone, and nighttime Shanghai could be restless and unsafe—it was likely she was causing her some trouble.

Blushing deeply, Jiang Tu set down her scissors and mustered courage to say, “Young lady, you’re beautiful—I mean, truly beautiful! More so than any movie star! You don’t need a haircut; you’re perfect as you are.”

Hearing this praise, Dong Qianqian suddenly felt it rude to speak to someone reflected in a mirror. She gently turned her body, and the metal barber’s chair rotated with her.

Her softly curled hair spun through the air, playfully falling around the chair. She brushed the strands that had fallen over her chest behind her shoulders, deliberately ignoring Jiang Tu’s unnaturally flushed face.

With a warm smile, she said, “Thank you for your kind words. I didn’t expect you to be someone whose face is chilly but heart warm. But the haircut must be done! If you won’t do it, then I’ll have to do it myself.”

She picked up the scissors Jiang Tu had just set down and winked playfully. “I’ve never cut my own hair before. If I botch it, you’ll have to fix it for me.”

Jiang Tu hurriedly snatched the scissors away, fearing the beauty might ruin her hair. Dong Qianqian let go easily; she had no intention of actually cutting it herself—after all, she’d paid the five-cent fee. Could she really do it herself?

As night approached and the young beauty remained firm, Jiang Tu reluctantly began to cut the long hair.

Strangely, unlike before when clients would cry in the chair, this time the barber was the one whose tears flowed unceasingly from start to finish.

Dong Qianqian looked up into the mirror at the silent tears and wondered why this modern girl seemed even more traditional than herself.

If she truly believed in the sacredness of one’s body and hair as something bestowed by one’s parents, why did she keep her hair short?

But Dong Qianqian had no desire to pry into the girl’s private thoughts—her guesses remained silent musings.

Closing her eyes to avoid witnessing those tear-like beads, when she opened them again after the cut, she found Jiang Tu had not trimmed her hair to ear length as requested.

At most, it reached her shoulders, leaving her dissatisfied and feeling her money wasted.

Realizing she might have to take matters into her own hands, Dong Qianqian’s gaze settled on the scissors just as Jiang Tu quickly locked them away in the cabinet.

Sincerely, Jiang Tu said, “Trust my sense of beauty. Not showing your forehead is already a great loss. If I had cut it very short, you would have cried—like the other girls who come here forced by their parents. They roll their eyes at me in the mirror, secretly cry behind my back, and kick the shop sign when no one’s looking. I know it all.”

“If the old Clairol perm machine were still here, I’d have ignored your protest and given you big waves, intricate braids—dressed you like a princess. But it was confiscated, so all I can do is simple cuts.”

Sighing, Jiang Tu gazed at the carefully preserved hairstyle and earnestly advised, “Everyone’s head shape, face, and hair texture differ, so the hairstyle must suit the individual. Choosing to ruin your own beauty just to fit in is truly unwise.”