He called a greeting and a voice from behind the screen, cheerful and familiar, called back. “Please sit and wait. Two minutes.”

While he waited, Shao took a closer look at the scrolls. Two lines of poetry by the Tang Dynasty poet Zhang Jiuling. The calligraphy was exceptional, the brushstrokes expressive yet still within the bounds of classical style. If this was Dr. Mao’s own calligraphy, no wonder Judge Liu had been impressed. The doctor possessed the gentlemanly accomplishments of a scholar as well as a medical degree.

“You’re better off spending your money on nutritious fresh fruits and vegetables.” Dr. Mao came out from behind the screen with his patient, a pregnant woman. “Those herbal remedies are of questionable benefit.”

The doctor closed the door after the woman, then turned to shake Shao’s hand. “Mr. Liu, are you unwell again? Or are you here because of your mother?”

“I’m fine,” Shao said, “and my mother is as well as can be expected. No, I’m here on behalf of my friend Lian. Her mother needs someone to set her broken leg.”

WEST GATE HOSPITAL for Women and Children was staffed entirely by women, its charter drawn up during a time when Chinese women, especially those of good family, were forbidden to be seen by men who were not relatives, let alone foreign men. But these were extraordinary times and the hospital was desperate. Shao could only hope they were desperate enough to agree to his idea.

He accompanied Dr. Mao to meet the head of surgery, an American woman. She was polite but wary, obviously skeptical. Shao moved out of earshot, watched the woman’s gestures grow animated, her body shifting closer to Dr. Mao. Then she shook Dr. Mao’s hand, holding it in both of hers as though his presence was a miracle.

In exchange for the use of an operating theater and assistants, Dr. Mao agreed to perform two other surgeries. Furthermore, he would fill in as a visiting doctor two days a week.

“I’m sorry, Doctor,” Shao said. “I didn’t mean to add more to your workload.”

“Nonsense, I should thank you,” the doctor said. “It’s good for my practice to be affiliated with a hospital. There’s only so much I can do from an office. As for workload, I’ve hardly got any patients. I’m too new. I have no reputation yet in Shanghai.”

“But now you’re the Liu family doctor,” Sparrow said. “When word gets around, all of Shanghai society will be at your door.”

“Maybe, maybe,” he replied amiably and picked up his bag. “Now let’s go see my new patient.”

Shao followed the doctor, who strode along the corridor, absentmindedly tugging at the stethoscope around his neck. There was something incongruous about the shiny instrument dangling down the front of his long scholar’s gown.