“I’ve been appalled so often, Sparrow,” he said. “Every day, I still can’t believe what I see.” Only to Sparrow could he admit this. Because she understood, already knew, he’d been unprepared for the poverty. “I mean, the lice and skin sores, vermin-infested sleeping quarters—for us it’s temporary. But these people, it’s how they live. Will they ever see better days?”

“It’s been like this for centuries,” Sparrow said. “Human life has always been one of China’s cheapest commodities.”

“What did you say? ‘Commodities’? Sparrow, where do you learn such words?” he teased, knowing that Sparrow read everything that came her way. Since working at Minghua she had even made use of the library, with special permission from Professor Kang.

“The poor exist in our cities as well,” she said, looking prim.

“I know that,” he said. “I’m not blind.”

It was just that he’d never paid them much attention. Beggars determinedly staking out their small patches of pavement. Children squatting outside shop doors, selling cheap candies and cigarettes arranged on wooden trays. There were so many, and they were so persistent, so much a part of the streetscape. Sometimes he flipped a coin to a beggar or bought a package of mints off a tray.

Sparrow poked him in the ribs. “I think you’re getting exactly the sort of education you need right now.”

“You sound like Wang Jenmei,” he said. “Are you going to lecture me on socialism now?”

She was silent for a moment. “You need to stay away from that one, Young Master.”

“Don’t worry, Sparrow,” he said. “Even if I attend one of her meetings, I’d never get involved in her brand of politics.”

“That’s not what I mean.” Sparrow shook her head. “Her skin is not as tough as it seems. Her feelings bruise easily. She doesn’t like being disappointed.”

“No one likes disappointment. I need to catch up with Shorty,” he said. “On second thought, I will take those apricots. He may want some.”

It was easy locating Shorty, who was whistling, something he often did while walking. Rather irritatingly, however, it was always the same tune, one from an American film. “Pennies from Heaven.”

SHAO HAD COME to Minghua University because of Pao, his neighbor and best friend, whose father owned a fertilizer company and ordered Pao to study agriculture or chemistry, or both. He didn’t care which university Pao chose. Pao decided on Minghua.

“Do you think I should attend Minghua, too?” Shao sat cross-legged on his bed. “It’s far away, Sparrow. Four hours by train. My mother might not like that.”

Sparrow squinted at the shoe she was polishing, gave it an extra wipe with the rag. “It’s one of the best universities in China and your mother wants the best for you. She’d be proud to tell her friends you’re at Minghua.”