“Lu’an is famous for melon seed tea so I bought some while we were there,” the professor said, “but this variety of longjing from the Lion’s Peak region is still my favorite.”

The Star settled on a stool across from his desk. “I’ll pay attention to what the local stores carry,” she said, “and hopefully find you some more.”

The professor poured, inhaling deeply in appreciation. The Star took the small cup and did the same before blowing on the surface of the tea and taking a sip.

“About the Library of Legends,” the Star said. “When Minghua goes on the road again to Chengtu, you must take the books to the caves near Zunyi. That’s where the Legends must be stored.”

“But the university is going to Chengtu,” Kang protested. “Shouldn’t the Legends stay with us?”

“The Library must go to the caves at Zunyi,” the Star said gently but firmly, “where they’ll be safe until this war is over.”

Each time the professor thought of leaving the Library behind, it was with a sharp stab of loss. But he knew they had been lucky. The Library of Legends was intact. Minghua 123 had lost only two of its members. Three if you counted Yee Meirong.

The Star finished her tea and pulled a well-worn shirt out of her bag. She threaded a needle and began patching the elbows. The needle slid in and out of the fabric, her fingers barely seeming to make an effort.

“I’m guessing that’s one of his shirts,” he said.

“I accepted long ago that he might never recognize me,” she said. “I’ve been happy just to be a part of his lives.”

She finished sewing and slid her needle into a square of red felt. She folded the shirt and tucked it inside her bag.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she said.

Professor Kang put on a heavy coat and they went out into the winter night. It was silent, too cold for the rustle of nocturnal animals, all hibernating in their burrows and dens. Too early yet for frogs to sing from the mudbanks. The only sound was that of the Hsiang River lapping against its shores.

When she finally spoke, the Star sounded weary. “I’ve been down here too long, Professor. Learned too many human traits. Forgotten how things work in heaven.”

“Is there something in particular you’ve forgotten?” he asked.

“When I asked the Queen Mother of Heaven to bring back my Prince each time to a life of comfort,” she said, “it was because I couldn’t bear to think of him coming back as a beggar or a starving peasant. So he’s always reborn as a person of privilege. To a wealthy family. Sometimes royalty. But even so, he never seems truly happy in any of his lives.”

“Perhaps it’s because he misses you, even while not knowing it,” Kang said.