He turned instead to Lian, who met his gaze briefly then looked down at her food. The hollows under her eyes were gone. Her face was scrubbed, her cheeks pink. The high-collared vest she wore over a long-sleeved dress gave her an old-fashioned look at odds with her short hair.

“Mrs. Deng lent me some of her clothes,” Lian said, “while mine are being laundered.”

“Please keep them,” the other woman said. “They have never fit me very well.”

Mrs. Deng’s clothing, while obviously of good quality, was what a woman his grandmother’s age might wear.

“I’ve been telling Mrs. Deng about the Library of Legends,” Lian said. “She’s very knowledgeable about folktales.”

Her voice was overly animated, her smile too bright. As though she were a different person now, someone who didn’t want to be in his company. How could he blame her? She had seen him at his lowest, covered in filth, babbling out his delusions. A liability for most of their journey.

“Mrs. Deng,” he said, “is your husband also an employee of our company?”

“I am widowed,” she replied. “Your brother Tienming was kind enough to make me his housekeeper.” She shrugged. “I’m also his mistress.”

The news didn’t surprise him at all. The new Republic of China frowned upon concubinage, but in many cases, the practice of multiple wives and concubines had simply adapted to keeping women as mistresses. Many of his father’s friends kept separate households, lavishing as much money and affection on their illegitimate children as those by their wives. He was a little surprised at his brother, though. Tienming was absorbed in running the family businesses under his care. He’d never shown any interest in taking a mistress. Tienming’s children seemed to give him and his wife enough common ground to maintain a cordial, if somewhat distant, marriage.

“May I ask how long you’ve known each other?” he said.

“We met just a few weeks ago in Shanghai,” Mrs. Deng replied. “But he was very persuasive. And I liked the idea of living in Wen-chou.”

A few weeks. His brother must be thoroughly infatuated to have made her his mistress so quickly. Yet here she was in Wen-chou instead of with him in Shanghai.

“Why didn’t you go to Shanghai with Tienming?” he asked.

“I don’t like Shanghai.” Another nonchalant shrug. Then she looked at Sparrow, who had just entered the room. “And who would’ve been here to welcome you?”

Sparrow held up a brown paper package, firmly bound with string.

“Good, you’ve got the drugs,” Shao said, reaching for the package. “I’ll take some and we can get on that ship tomorrow.”