The other thing that strikes me about the city is how clean it is. There are no empty cups or napkins or cigarette butts lining the streets. The garbage cans aren’t overflowing. For a big city, it doesn’t feel as massive as it should. It reminds me of home in some ways. There aren’t the towering high-rises of Chicago or New York. On this side of the river the building heights are limited. The skyscrapers are to the south, whereas here, the taller buildings can’t be much more than twenty or thirty floors. I read in one of my searches that this is because the old palaces are here and city zoning laws limit how high the buildings can get. Everyone deserves to see the palaces. I want to visit one. You can’t see what they look like from the outside, as tall walls surround the entire grounds, and it’s partly because they’re hidden that my curiosity is piqued. After I hunt down these five women, then I’ll go.

I don’t know how far I walk but my feet grow sore and my calves ache and there’s a low pain in the middle of my back and all of that is good because I’ve been able to successfully distract myself for a few hours. The traffic is starting to pick up and the quietness of the streets is being erased by the sounds of cars, buses, and people. The sun is baking my dress to my back.

Near one of the city gates, I discover the remnants of an old fortress wall. The stone stairs leading up disappear into a cove of trees. I find a burst of energy and clamber up the wooden steps. A woven burlap mat covers the dirt trail, providing cushion and grip. My thighs and calves appreciate it. Under one dense collection of trees, a bench appears. I collapse on it. I’m not fit enough for all this walking. Back home, I drive everywhere.

Around five minutes later, an older man, in his seventies, dressed in a sports coat and loafers, strolls by with his hands clasped behind his back. He barely gives me a nod of acknowledgment. A little while later, two ladies dressed in exercise gear huff up the hill. The two eye me with a frown, likely wondering why I’m not at work.

I pull out my cell phone and duck my head, pretending to be preoccupied, which is a mistake because the last text I have is the one I sent to Yujun. I scan my messages and am shocked to see my mom so low. I haven’t talked to her in a couple of days. I’m a little surprised she hasn’t texted me, though. I tap her name and then stop. Maybe it’s best that I don’t contact her. She might ask questions that I don’t feel comfortable answering, and I don’t want to lie to her. Plus, if she hasn’t contacted me, it means she’s occupied, which is good. Better not to wake the sleeping dog.