My name is Lu Xingye. I ranked third in the province on the college entrance exam, yet somehow I applied to the only all-female art department in the country because the admissions brochure promised “a full scholarship and a private dorm room.” On registration day, I stood at the school gate with my suitcase as two hundred girls turned to stare at me in unison. The department head adjusted his glasses. “You’re the only male student this year, and the first in our department’s history.” I hadn’t even had time to celebrate when I discovered the school had a secret: for three years in a row, male auditing students had mysteriously dropped out before finals, all citing “personal reasons.” My roommate, Chi Weiwan, a prodigy in the oil painting department, climbed through my window in the middle of the night and tossed me a yellowed photograph. “Before the guy from last year disappeared, he slipped this into a hidden compartment in my drawing board.” On the back of the photo was a line of writing: Don’t trust the department head. During my first week, my sketching talent made me the star of the freshman exhibition, but the dean summoned me to his office. “Lu Xingye, you’d better withdraw voluntarily.” I stared at the withdrawal form on his desk, which hadn’t even been stamped, and laughed. “My score was high enough. Why should I leave?” Why? Because I’d discovered the secret this department least wanted anyone to know.
