On her first day to work, Liu Min was stopped at the gate by the guard.

That was an autumn day in 1999 and the guard at the People's Liberation Army (PLA) Academy of Art would not believe the beautiful woman with a ponytail was a senior colonel. It took him a call to find out that the person in military uniform with insignia of two patches and four stars was the new deputy dean of the dance department.

It took her colleagues much longer to gauge the potential of the former queen of dance. People simply could not imagine that a star on the stage could morph into a competent administrator. "They thought I was there to grab a senior but comfortable position," Liu reminisced.

For the first 20 days, she was not given an office of her own. Then came the time of humiliation: In a formal meeting when she was introduced to all the teaching staff of the department, she was greeted not by applause of welcome, but by cold indifference.

What could she do? Could her elegance and glamour win them over?

It might work for a while, but to win respect, Liu Min needed something solid, something that could squash all murmurs of jealousy and distrust.

She was given the task of preparing dancers for the upcoming Taoli Cup national competition. The academy had not won a single gold medal in the previous 15 years in this or any other national dance contest and teachers were embarrassed to wear their army uniforms at functions participated in by peers from other schools.

Liu Min was one of the gold medalists during the first Taoli Cup in 1985. Now she was faced with a challenge more daunting: to channel her energy and talent to a younger generation and act as the "wind beneath the wings" of future dancing stars.

She changed the methodology from process-oriented to results-oriented and during the next months drove herself so hard that her health suffered.

On the night of the grand finale, her husband called her from Hong Kong, where he worked, and gingerly asked her about the contest result: "Did you win one gold medal?"

"Try a higher number," answered Liu.

"Two? Three?"

After several misses, she conceded: "We won seven gold awards, six in performance and one in choreography."

From then on, her peers have looked at her admiringly. She was not just competent; she was as brilliant in the classroom as she was onstage.

Taking Beijing by storm

Liu Min was born and grew up in the eastern province of Anhui. After attending a local performing arts school, she arrived in Beijing at the age of 20. "I was determined to excel. I'll take the Beijing stage, I told myself," she recalled.

And excel she did. In 1979, she performed three works in the celebration of the 30th anniversary of the founding of New China and received one gold medal and one silver medal.

In the mid-1980s, she won gold medals in various national competitions for five consecutive years.

Liu still considers the early years of her career "the most sparkling moment of my artistic life." She has essayed roles from classic Zhu Yingtai the butterfly lover, Wang Zhaojun the autocratic lady who was married off to a nomadic king, Wu Zetian the Tang Dynasty (AD 618-907) empress to modern ones like the mother of Yellow River and the tragic Xianglin wife from Lu Xun's tale.

But the fondest memories are reserved for three roles in the earliest phase of her career: Zhang Zhixin, the woman who sacrifices her life for speaking the truth during the dark days of the "cultural revolution" (1966-76), Chen Tiejun, the revolutionary martyr who marries her beloved before they are executed for their ideals, and an army nurse taking care of her fiancé who loses his eyes in military action.

"These roles seem to be political in nature, but the way the choreographer and I interpreted them, we effectively humanized them. For example, I downplayed the political part of the story, and highlighted the heroines' emotional attachment with their family members," Liu analyzed.

At the end of each performance, there were three ovations. Audiences clapped their hands in tears. They waited for her at the stage door. More than thrilling them with her pyrotechnics, she had touched their heartstrings.

"Dance is a cruel art form. It is the only art where one starts by being measured for physical perfection," she said. Fortunately she was born with an impeccable physique - long arms and legs and a long neck, a graceful figure and a striking, yet expressive face.

Liu Min infused her solid techniques with emotions. But the highest world of her art, as she muses, is when she loses herself in her roles and forgets about her dance movements. In that state, she may veer away from the choreographer's routine and get into a spontaneous mood.

"Were the choreographers unhappy with me for what I did? No, they offered to list me as a co-choreographer," she laughed. Because of her tendency for spontaneous creativity, she never had an understudy when starring in dance dramas.

Role change

The road from a star dancer to an administrator was not easy. Liu Min recalled an incident when the Academy's students won accolades and the teachers were wiping their tears in a dark corner. "Tears streamed down my cheeks, too. It was a feeling I never had before," she revealed. "To be a teacher is to give silently, to yield the limelight to a younger generation. But I'm proud to be one."

To broaden their horizon, Liu Min took her best dancers on tour to Europe. In 2000, they performed in six European countries; and in 2003 a 3-month tour of France racked up a total of 60 performances. Last year, 20 shows were given in Germany, Belgium and the Netherlands.

Meanwhile, awards have been piling up, with a total of 17 first prizes in the last five years. Liu, dean of the dance department since April 2002, admits that the academy is now the envy of the nation's dance community. "I had to take a later flight after we were lavishly lauded at a major competition so that others wouldn't get embarrassed," she laughed.

"I'm fair. Actually I'm more than fair when scoring contestants," said Liu, who sits on many judging panels. "I tend to give lower points to my own students to avoid conflict of interest."

Liu Min is strict with her students. She demands discipline. But she is against the old idea of cramming knowledge down the throats of students. "You have to convince them, and for that to happen you have to communicate with them."

And for communication, she has a knack. She does not like to pontificate, but has a natural eloquence that befits a talk-show host. To get welfare benefits for an ordinary staff member, she would talk to all the officers with voting power and plead with them. "I never debased myself when I edged onto the cutthroat CCTV Spring Festival Gala or when I got my promotion. But now that I'm the guardian of my team, I have to protect my team members' interests."

For her crowning achievement, Liu Min was promoted to the rank of a general, the only dancer to be so honored. In China, military ranks are conferred upon all who serve in the military, including non-combat personnel, and Liu has worked within the military system ever since she joined the Zongzheng Song and Dance Troupe and is very proud of her service, especially when performing for troops stationed in remote areas.

"She holds very high standards and seeks perfection," comments Umit Ubul, a rising dancing star of Uygur ethnicity at the PLA Academy of Art and winner of two big awards. "But on the other hand, she treats us students like a mother."

(China Daily April 5, 2006)