But it didn’t stop people from trying. A man broke away from the crowd and ran onto the tracks. The soldiers hauled him back onto the platform where he sprawled in a tangle of limbs. His leather shoes were cracked, his tunic greasy with stains. He clutched a bundle in his arms. He picked himself up and began berating the soldiers.

“Don’t treat me as if I’m worthless,” he shouted. “I’m a refugee now but I’m an educated man. I’m still that man! You should show respect!” He hobbled away, holding his bundle tight.

Spotting Daming, Shao called out to him, and Daming waved the soldiers to let him through.

“They don’t care anymore,” Daming said, who had also been watching the man. “That train he tried to board is taking soldiers to Henan, straight to the enemy. But refugees like him have nothing left to lose and they’re tired. They just want to stop walking. Some will get off at the next town, or the one after that, hoping to catch another ride.”

“We’re leaving Changsha soon,” Shao said. “This place is getting too many visits from Japanese bombers these days. They’re moving us to a small town called Shangtan.”

“So is Professor Kang more concerned about the Library of Legends or his students?”

They both laughed.

“Listen, old friend,” Daming said, “I’ve told you a few things. That the war is going pretty badly for us. We have more soldiers but the Japanese are far better equipped and better trained. It’s meat against machines. As an officer, I should’ve been more discreet. Given you more confidence in our military.”

“I understand,” Shao said. “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything.”

“I’ve never thought about patriotism or politics at school,” Daming said, “never joined any anti-Japanese rallies or cheered for the Nationalists.”

“You were always an idler, Daming,” Shao said. “You only came to college because you thought the parties would be good.” He gave his friend a playful punch on the shoulder.

“I’ll be shuttling between Changsha and Wuhan for the next little while,” Daming said. “Maybe we’ll be lucky enough to meet up again, old friend.”

Shao made his way to the station exit, pushing past uniformed men. They held their rifles awkwardly—the ones who had rifles. Daming had told him that due to equipment shortages, some Chinese regiments were still waiting for guns. In the meantime, they drilled with closed umbrellas. The soldiers joked, trading friendly insults and scuffing their cloth shoes on the platform’s tiled floor.

More than anything else, the cloth-soled shoes broke Shao’s heart. These soldiers only had khaki uniforms and thinly padded coats, poor protection against the winter. They were defending a poor country, fighting for generals who knew China had more men to spare than weapons.

Chapter 23