How frustrating it must be for Sparrow, to live an immortal yet powerless existence.

Lian turned the key and pushed open the door to a dim, high-ceilinged space. To quiet. To serenity. Long velvet drapes covered tall windows and muffled street noises. She pulled the drapes open to bring in the sunshine and saw the room’s gracious proportions. There was hardly any dust on the parquet floors and the large crystal chandelier reflected back sunlight.

The living room was furnished traditionally with elegant lacquered tables, chairs of bent elm wood, and inlaid cabinets. Beside it was a small formal dining room with a round table and six chairs arranged below a smaller chandelier. The tiled bathroom held a white porcelain tub, a marble counter lined with soaps and fragrant oils in glass bottles of European manufacture, luxuries she had only seen in shop windows. There was a small kitchen equipped with an empty icebox and a two-burner stove connected to a gas bottle. There was rice and flour in the pantry, jars of pickled vegetables, bags of beans, and dried fruit. Mrs. Deng had stocked all the basic necessities. There were even boxes of foreign biscuits and tinned meat. It was more than what her mother’s pantry in Peking contained, most days.

Feeling like an intruder, Lian peeked in the main bedroom, took in the four-poster bed and matching armoires, their carved and gilded ornamentation. Inside were beautiful clothes in both Chinese and Western styles, all new. Possibly not ever worn. Stylish suits and casual skirts. Cocktail dresses and evening gowns. A wardrobe purchased by a man besotted.

The second bedroom was much smaller and to Lian’s eyes, more comfortable. She put her bag down beside the bed, a modest traditional platform of rosewood with drawers built under the bed. The window looked down on a lane between buildings and she opened it just enough to allow some air in, then sat on the edge of the bed.

She had done as much as she could for Meirong. The relief of having found Shao’s father and the flat gave way to fatigue and the reality of her circumstances. She had a place to live, but not very much money. Shanghai was a city in turmoil, and her mother could be anywhere. She would rest for a moment, then go to the Red Cross and begin her search. She couldn’t wait to tell her mother that her father’s name had been cleared. That there was no longer any need to live like fugitives.

She lay down on top of the bedcovers, just for a moment. When she woke up, it was morning.

LIAN BEGAN THE day at the Unity Mission refugee camp. The American woman there did recall Lian’s mother coming to pick up the letter from Minghua University.