By now she had confessed to her mother her feelings for Shao. “It’s hopeless and it will pass,” she said. “He belongs to the wealthiest, most influential family in Shanghai.”

“Your stepfather is a well-respected physician,” her mother retorted. “Don’t think so little of yourself. And of us.”

How could she tell her mother that a thousand-year-old celestial agreement stood between her and Shao? Between Shao and anyone on this earth?

At first hesitant to intrude after the three of them moved into their new home, Shao became a regular visitor, bringing books for the doctor, poetry and literary journals. Some of their debates lasted long into the night, loud and enthusiastic. But those were the pleasant visits.

There were times when he dropped by, unshaven and reeking of cigarette smoke, his handsome features haggard from lack of sleep. So restive he stayed only a few minutes. He complained of boredom.

Finally, Lian could take no more. “You’re attending university, Shao. How dare you grumble while our Minghua classmates are living in shacks and eating millet porridge?”

“I didn’t mean bored of university,” he muttered, looking embarrassed.

“Of course not,” she said. “You can’t be bored with classes you never attend.”

“If you’re bored, come with us tomorrow night to the Lutheran Mission,” Dr. Mao said. “They’re holding a charity auction for the orphanage. If nothing else, the missionaries serve excellent coffee.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Shao agreed. Then after some more cajoling from the doctor, he even promised to round up some family and friends.

Dr. Mao beamed. “You’ll have a good time. All sorts of interesting people attend this annual auction. It’s quite the thing, I’ve been told.”

LIAN AND HER mother had promised to arrive early and help with refreshments, so Dr. Mao said he would go early as well and look in on some of the children he’d been treating. The skies had clouded over, and on the Lutheran Mission’s lawn, workers were putting up a large marquee where the auction would take place. As soon as the three of them entered the wrought-iron gates a woman hurried over to greet them. She looked haggard, as though she hadn’t slept in days.

“Dr. Mao, you couldn’t be more welcome,” she said. “Missionaries from Henan arrived an hour ago with a truckload of orphans. The poor children need to be examined for infections, lice, malnutrition, the usual.”

The Lutheran missionaries had stayed in Henan as long as they could to help the city’s victims, but in the end, they’d had to leave. The front lines were getting too close. Henan was a name to make them all wince. In the long list of battles since the war began, Henan was proving one of the bloodiest.

“The poor little creatures,” Lian’s mother said. “May we help? Perhaps with their bathing and feeding.”