“Weren’t you afraid?” a junior reporter asked. The young man had been scribbling madly in his notebook while Shao talked.

He paused. “It’s strange, but I always knew I’d be safe as long as I followed the university and did as our professors instructed.” Then he realized the truth of his words. “This may sound ridiculous, but even after Mr. Shen was killed, we all believed we would get to Chengtu unscathed, as long as we carried the Library of Legends. How could fate be so cruel as to destroy the Library and those entrusted with its safe passage?”

And afterward, on the journey east, why had he been so confident? Even through his bouts of fever, he had been sure they’d reach Wen-chou. He had been a burden to Lian and to Sparrow, but he’d never doubted. As though he were exempt from catastrophe.

The restaurant they went to for lunch was one his father often patronized near Xinwen Bao’s office, just around the corner. It served Western food and was also inexpensive and quick. After ordering, they talked about the war, his father asking his opinions, listening to him as though he were another adult.

“What’s been going on in Nanking is far worse than anyone knew,” his father said. “The Japanese won’t let journalists into the city and they censor heavily. But there were foreign reporters in Nanking when the Japanese marched in. They got out of China and the stories they filed are now being published.”

“But no one outside China seems to know or care,” Shao said.

His father nodded. They were both thinking of the USS Panay. The Japanese air force had mistakenly sunk the American ship and foreign newspapers devoted more coverage to the Panay than the fall of Nanking.

When their food arrived, his father leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms, a sure sign that a serious topic was imminent.

“I received a letter from Minghua University yesterday,” Liu Sanmu said. He handed Shao an envelope. “The town of Shangtan was bombed. The university is very sorry to inform me that you are missing, presumed dead. You didn’t think to tell the school before you left? What if your Miss Hu hadn’t come to see me until after this letter arrived?”

The envelope was postmarked Chengtu. So Minghua had finally reached its wartime campus. The stationery was Minghua letterhead, signed by the new director of student services. Mr. Lee’s replacement.

Many students were in town and able to hide in air-raid shelters. At first, we hoped your son was one of these. But he is still missing, so we must reluctantly accept that he was killed.

The letter didn’t mention whether any other students had been killed. Nothing about Sparrow.

“And your friend Miss Hu,” his father said. “Does the university know she left with you before the air raid?”