“The authorities in Changsha sent instructions to the camp,” he said. “Instructions to free Yee Meirong. But it was too late.”

Meirong and two others had escaped from the camp, but they were in a remote area, far away from any farms or villages. There was nowhere to hide, and few landmarks to help them find their way. The guards had caught them easily. As punishment for trying to escape, Meirong and her fellow fugitives were executed.

Lian stood up slowly and walked to the window. She heard floorboards squeak, felt Shao’s hand on her shoulder. Her eyes focused on the park across the road. Grass, trees, and paths. Blocks of white stone and sculpture arranged in rows. It wasn’t a park, it was a cemetery for foreigners. No wonder the square of green was empty. Even the most desperate would not sleep with foreign ghosts.

LIAN COULDN’T RECALL exactly how she got back to the apartment. It was in an automobile, Shao beside her, his voice sympathetic, his arm around her clumsy and uncomfortable as he tried to comfort her. She didn’t remember his words, had barely been aware of them as a hundred pointless scenarios flitted through her mind.

Should she have begged Cook Tam to intervene? Should they have run away from Shangtan sooner? Why hadn’t she sent Meirong a letter before they left, to give her hope, to say they were going to get Shao’s father to help?

Shao led her into the elevator, then to the door of the flat. She felt his steadying hand on her arm. Inside, she dropped her cloth bag on the floor and went to the kitchen.

“Do you want tea?” she asked. “I can boil water.” She said this automatically, out of habit.

She didn’t know whether she made the tea or whether it was Shao who did it. She was mired in regrets. She hadn’t saved Meirong. No, that wasn’t true. She had saved Meirong, could have saved her. But her stubborn, willful friend had been too impatient. Surely Meirong must’ve known what would happen if she tried to escape. Had she escaped out of defiance? Or because she had been beaten and tortured during her “reeducation”?

Whenever Shao left, Lian didn’t notice. Nor did she remember eating anything for dinner.

In the morning, she pulled open the soft velvet drapes and looked down at the street. It was still early but Shanghai had been awake for hours. There were cars and rickshaws jostling along the road, handbarrows loaded with goods pushing their way between the lanes. A gleaming black sedan stopped and two young men got out, neckties loosened about their collars, laughing as they staggered into the apartment building opposite. A woman paused to smooth down her hair before hurrying into the florist shop, late for work.