When Lian arrived at Minghua under her false identity, Mr. Lee guessed she didn’t know her father’s name had been cleared. Thus when Mr. Shen was killed and Lee needed another student informant, Lian’s secrets made her the easiest to intimidate.

“I had to improvise,” he said. “I’m very sorry.”

“Is there anything else?” she said. Lian didn’t know what she wanted to do more. To sink to the ground in relief or slap him.

“No. Nothing more.” He paused. “I’m sorry. Truly sorry.” He closed his eyes.

“If you really mean that,” Lian said, “forget you saw me today.”

“I gave them years of loyal service,” he said, eyes still closed, “and it meant nothing when an anonymous source sent in a false accusation. Don’t worry. You were never here.”

Lian couldn’t stay in the same building with Lee anymore. She ran out the hospital door. Outside, she sat on the stone steps, one refugee among hundreds milling about the grounds. She tried to still the roil of emotions churning her insides.

All those years of hiding. All those years of living in dread, of seeing her mother’s eyes cloud over with suspicion at every new face who entered their lives. She put her head between her knees. Once she found her mother, she would tell her there was no more need to worry. But how would her mother feel, to know all her precautions had been useless?

“There you are, Lian,” said Shao at her shoulder.

He and Sparrow sat down on the steps beside her. Sparrow had found a nurse who knew Wei Daming. They were expecting Daming at the hospital in two days with the next trainload of wounded.

“We should stay off the streets as much as we can,” Shao said. “Avoid running into anyone we know.”

“It’s already happened,” Lian said. She repeated her conversation with Mr. Lee.

Shao swore. “He can identify us.”

“I think we should keep to our plans,” Sparrow said. “Mr. Lee doesn’t know all three of us are here. And it doesn’t sound as though he’s eager to help the Juntong. We’re still better off in a crowd.”

They used some of Shao’s money to rent an overpriced room above an herbalist shop. Shao was irritable, restless. And scratching a lot. The herbalist sold Shao some balm for his rash.

“Just flea bites,” he said, inspecting Shao’s arm. “Nothing to worry about.”

They weren’t the only ones lodging above the shop, so Shao stayed in the room to watch over their belongings while Lian and Sparrow went out to buy food. Changsha had been the right decision. Its streets were congested with new faces, refugees and workers, soldiers and reporters. No one paid them any attention.