And your letter was waiting when we arrived. Chengtu itself is beautiful. Or maybe it’s just because of springtime. But so much for the government’s interim campus! We live in flimsy shacks with hard earthen floors. We’ve plastered over cracks in the walls with mud. Once your mother gets well, catch an airplane to Chengtu and join us. Our numbers are growing. Now that the universities have settled in for the duration of the war, students from all over China are making their way here to enroll. Some of our old classmates showed up the other day.

When Shao turned over the page to read the last few lines of Shorty’s letter, his heart sank. Another bit of news he’d have to tell Lian. Perhaps Sparrow could go with him to visit Lian.

Shao asked everyone, the servants, the gatekeeper, but no one had seen Sparrow since the day before. The gatekeeper thought he saw her walking out to the street, but he couldn’t be sure. He had been busy opening and closing the double gates.

Shao waited until the evening, then went to see Lian on his own. He wanted to see her very badly. And he was worried about Sparrow.

SHAO WAS THE last person Lian expected to see. It was only the day after his mother’s funeral, his family still in mourning. He hung back, his expression both stern and miserable, but then Lian’s mother limped up to the door on crutches and took Shao’s hands in both of hers.

“We are so very sorry about your mother,” she said. “Sometimes we prepare ourselves for the inevitable and when it happens, we realize we were really not prepared at all.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hu.” His shoulders sagged imperceptibly. “Lian, I have a letter from Shorty that you should read.”

Lian read Shorty’s words, then looked up from the letter to her mother. “Wendian didn’t accuse me of being a Japanese spy. Or else she did and no one believed her. Mother, do you know what this means?”

That there were no more shadows in their lives. Her father was blameless and now she was too. There was nothing left to fear.

“It means you can go back to Minghua!” her mother exclaimed. “I’ve been so worried about your education. I didn’t know how we could afford it. But you have a full scholarship at Minghua. You can still go back.”

A small wave of excitement rippled through Lian. Hope. That there might be a chance to finish her studies. Perhaps after the war. Not right now.

“Go back?” She shook her head. “I’m not leaving you again, Mother. Shao, this is wonderful news. This is such a relief. Thank you. You must be so very busy right now, but you came to show me this.”

But he still looked morose. “Read the other side,” he said. “There’s more news.”