Shan forced himself not to acknowledge old Tibetans he had been imprisoned with as they passed through, casting nervous glances at the shadowed figure leaning against crates. Finally, a tired, familiar voice called out in response to the clerk’s question. “Shan Ko, Barracks Nine.”

As Ko entered the back chamber, Zhu shut the door behind him. Shan stepped into the light.

It had been nearly two months since he had last seen his son, and they had only a few minutes at most now, but the weary, determined smile on Ko’s face spoke volumes. His first few months in the 404th, like Shan’s, had been about learning how to survive the brutal conditions of the hard labor prison, but now he was learning about more important things from the older prisoners, most of whom had been monks and lamas.

“Is life really so dull in Yangkar,” Ko said as the door latch clicked shut, “that you wanted to join one of our ridiculous audits?”

“Never boring. And the audit was staged so I could speak with you.”

Ko was no stranger to the intrigues that surrounded his father. He just nodded, but before Shan could continue, he spoke one word. “Yara?”

“She thrives and looks forward to our visit. But for now, I must ask about six prisoners who arrived here a little more than a year ago. They came in a special convoy, from the east, from Sichuan. Try to recall.”

“Of course, I remember because the convoy brought in two dead soldiers. The windshields of every vehicle were shattered, the roofs and hoods all pockmarked. Everyone talked about it for weeks. The old ones said the fools must have come down Ice Ball Alley, a high mountain road that gets hail almost every day in the summer. They say the hail protects an old god who lives in the great mountain above.”

“Who were the prisoners?”

“Six Tibetans, all from that Larung Gar place, the big Buddhist school. Most seemed to be monks, though not all of them. Word was that they had resisted the rationalization, when thousands were forced to leave, though everyone assumed they had done more than simply protest for them to be sent here instead of the Shoe Factory.”

Shan considered the report. Huan had not understood the significance of revealing the name of the teaching center to him. Larung Gar, in the traditionally Tibetan region of western Sichuan Province, had been a highly popular Buddhist learning center, one of the few that had been allowed to grow in recent years. But then the population had swelled to over ten thousand monks and nuns, including scores of Chinese students. After busloads of tourists started arriving, the government had decided it had grown a little too popular and announced that half the population must leave. Without warning it had begun bulldozing homes and classrooms.

“Who were they? Why those six?”