Now, after crying on his shoulder by the waterfall pool, Lian did wonder how Shao truly felt about her. He had been so understanding, had known she didn’t need words of comfort, only his shoulder to cry on. Then there was that look on his face, the thoughtful questioning expression that made her feel as though she could tell him anything.

She’d become alert to his presence. Unbidden, her ears sifted through the hubbub of chatter for mention of his name and her mind tucked away overheard scraps of conversation.

That Liu Shaoming. He’s like a young god.

When Shao looks at you, you can tell he’s really paying attention, not like other boys.

That servant Sparrow, though. What do you think she means to him?

Lian tried to concentrate on the pages of the book in front of her. She shifted to a more comfortable position on the rickety library bench.

“Miss Hu. May I sit?” The soft voice was cultured, smooth.

Mr. Lee, the director of student services, smiled down at her, a porcelain mug in his hands. His face was already thinner than it had been a week ago. His eyes, distorted behind the lenses of his wire-rimmed glasses, were disconcertingly bright, giving him an eager, predatory look.

Lian quickly stacked the books she had spread all over the table to make room. He sat down and put his tea mug on the table.

“You’re from Peking, am I right?” he said in a whisper. He lifted the lid from his blue-and-white mug. The steam from his tea wafted up, wonderfully fragrant. “Did you hear from your family before we evacuated? Are they still there?”

“It’s just my mother,” she said. Her chest hollowed out, as it always did when she thought of her mother. “She wrote before the Japanese attacked to say she was fleeing Peking. I hope she’s safely in Shanghai now. But I won’t know until I get a letter.”

“If she reads the bulletins,” Mr. Lee said, “she’ll see Minghua on the list of evacuated schools. She’ll know the stops along the way, the ones where we will stay for weeks, not days. Her letters might reach you en route. And if not, there’s always our final destination, Chengtu.”

Lee didn’t have to explain this to her. They all knew there was no easy way to get in touch with their families while on the road.

“I came to talk to you about Liu Shaoming,” Lee said. “A fine young man from an extremely influential clan.”

Shao was the last thing she expected Mr. Lee to bring up. She drew back slightly from the director of student services.

“The Liu family is connected to the highest levels of government,” he continued. “It would be terrible for their reputation if Liu Shaoming joined the Communist Party.”