SPARROW HAD ARRIVED at the flat on her own, bringing vegetables from Old Zhao’s kitchen garden to add to the dumpling feast. Dr. Mao was also there. The older man’s cheerful greeting immediately lifted Shao’s mood.

“I heard there were dumplings for dinner so I came,” the doctor said, shaking Shao’s hand with real warmth. “It’s been so long since I tasted homemade dumplings.”

“Dr. Mao has been very kind,” Lian said. “He’s been coming here to check on my mother’s recovery, so we haven’t had to make the trip to the hospital.”

The two men chatted while dinner cooked. It was the first time Shao had spoken with the doctor about anything other than his mother’s health. Dr. Mao was a scholar of the classics and only too happy to discuss literature. He knew about the Library of Legends and shook his head in admiration at Minghua 123’s role safeguarding the books.

Lian’s mother called them to dinner. She had put on weight since coming back from the hospital. Her cheeks glowed from the warmth of the kitchen and her eyes were bright. Shao could see in her an older Lian. The conversation shifted as Lian told them about her day at the Mission with the refugees.

“A lot of them were peasant farmers hoping to return to their land,” she said, “but Miss Mason says there’s also teachers and domestic servants, merchants, handicraft workers. Useful trades, but even though some of the factories are starting up again, there are more willing workers than jobs.”

“It’s not easy to reestablish yourself when you’re a refugee,” Dr. Mao said. “I see this with some of my patients. Carpenters, bookkeepers, artists. People with skills, educated people. Now it’s as though they’ve been stripped of those qualifications. Reduced to the category of ‘refugee’ and treated as members of a needy multitude.”

“I hope your practice is growing, Dr. Mao,” Sparrow said.

“Indeed, it is,” the doctor said. “Last month I barely made the rent for my single room. But this month’s rent won’t be a problem. And soon, two rooms!”

He slapped his knee and burst into laughter so infectious they all joined in. Shao had never met anyone so willing to be happy, whose mere presence could make others so happy. He looked at Lian’s mother, giggling behind her napkin, her eyes on the doctor. And Dr. Mao gazing back.

“There’s something going on down in the street,” Shao said, getting up. “Hear that music? Let’s open the balcony door, Lian.”