“The earliest they’ll come is Saturday morning,” Sparrow said, “so we must escape no later than Friday evening.”

“Why Saturday?” Shao said. She seemed so certain.

“Because the mail jeep comes on Friday,” Sparrow said. “If Wendian puts a note in this Friday’s outgoing mail, the Juntong in Changsha will get it Friday night or the next morning. Saturday morning is the earliest they would come to arrest Miss Hu.”

“Which was when they came for Mr. Lee,” Shao said, understanding.

They stepped out of the restaurant to the creaks and groans of rusty metal hinges. Street vendors were closing down stands, watched by stray dogs hoping for some final uneaten scraps. One sat down and scratched vigorously, making Shao wish he could scratch the rash on his own leg.

“The most important thing is to get as far away as possible in the first two days,” he said. “After that, it’ll be safe to travel more openly. With so many refugees on the road, the Juntong would have a hard time tracking us down.”

“We’ll need a few things,” Sparrow said, “and food for the journey. I’ll buy what we need while you’re in class.”

There had never been any question in Shao’s mind that Sparrow would come. And Sparrow hadn’t seemed surprised when he told her. But he’d experienced a moment of discomfiture when he first told Lian that Sparrow was coming. As if he and Sparrow should’ve been the ones running away together.

Briefly, the thought crossed Shao’s mind that without Sparrow, they wouldn’t get to Shanghai.

THE LAST DAY of the Lunar New Year had come and gone. The intensity of bombing raids had forced Minghua to keep their festivities subdued. But as if to compensate, Professor Kang reflected, February arrived with warm breezes and for the past several evenings there had been flocks of avian spirits crossing the sky. Like truant children, he and the Star often slipped away from Shangtan as evening fell to walk along the river. The airborne spirits flew into the west at sunset, making them difficult for his mortal eyes to see. Kang took great pleasure in watching their flight. The professor had seen poison feather birds, rainbirds, and three-legged greenbirds. Miraculous creatures he never would’ve noticed without the Star’s prompting.

They paused at the river’s edge, where the promise of spring hung from bare branches misted in pale green. Stems of new grass pushed through winter debris and the air carried a fresh, indescribable scent.

The Star gave him a nudge and he looked up. Silver-crested birds soared overhead, long scarlet legs trailing below white bodies. The professor strained his eyes to watch as they wheeled to the northwest, until the arc of white vanished against a drift of clouds.