Less than five minutes later, a young woman came quietly in through a side door, walking straight to the lectern with a laptop satchel slung over her shoulder.

From his seat in the back he could make out only a vague profile of her in the faint light. She was wearing a trench coat over white blouse pants.

‘Today’s agenda is simple,’ she started, speaking in a crisp voice, and taking a laptop out to the lectern. ‘Preview. But mind you, it’s not the final version of the documentary. There is still room for change.’

Shanshan’s voice, which he immediately recognized, though it was slightly different at this moment. A note of mature confidence, he contemplated, speaking as a well-known environmental activist with millions of followers online.

She did not look in his direction, for she was leaning down to a technician beside her, who appeared busy setting up a cable connection at the lectern.

Chen was able to take a better look at her the moment the technician turned on the overhead light, which fell streaming over her face with a soft, intense transparency. She was as strikingly attractive as he remembered, her oval face framed by long black hair, vivacious with a radiance pouring out from within, a serene look in her clear, large eyes.

She said some words in an abated voice to the technician while still smiling with her mouth subtly curved, explaining some computer issues to him.

Then she turned to slip off the maroon trench coat, her long hair waving in a graceful move, which galvanized him with a sense of déjà vu.

Was it the trench coat she had worn, coming to him in the small sampan by Tai Lake that morning?

That so-long-ago morning, while waiting at the lakeside, he saw her moving through a gourd-shaped stone gate at a distance, tripping light-footed across the verdant meadow dappled in the shadow of a boxwood tree. She was dressed for the occasion, wearing a maroon trench coat of light material over a white strapless dress, and high heels. He was overjoyed with the idea that she was dressed for his company, like in a Confucian saying: ‘A woman makes herself beautiful for the man who appreciates her.’

He registered the details vividly at the time. Later on, he realized it was like the scene he put – slightly modified – at the beginning of that long poem.

She walks in a red trench coat

like a bright sail cutting

through the poisonous smog

enveloping the lake and its shore.

Amid chemical drops from a network

of corroded pipes overhead, long

in disrepair, a mud-covered toad

jumps upon the pollution report

in her hand, opening its sleepy eyes,

seeing all around still murky,

slumping back to sleep …

‘During our previous meetings,’ she resumed speaking at the lectern with the light getting dim again, ‘we discussed a number of issues. We have since incorporated your suggestions into the documentary. After the preview today, we are going to have another short discussion.’