THE YOUNGEST AND oldest members of Minghua 123 traveled on wagons and carts, perched wherever there was room to squeeze on between luggage, crates, and baskets. Female students and servants could also ride for a brief respite from walking. It was Lian’s and Meirong’s turn to ride. They sat with their legs hanging over the side, their backs resting against sacks of rice, knocking each other every time the cart bumped over a rut.

Lian had spent the earlier part of the evening keeping an anxious eye on Meirong. On their last day at Shangma Temple, Jenmei had announced she was heading up a student newspaper: the Minghua 123 News. She scheduled a “walking meeting” to discuss plans while on the road to Zhongmiao. Meirong had volunteered immediately and even offered to work as coeditor alongside Jenmei.

Lian had trailed the walking meeting at a safe distance. She watched Meirong’s spirited gestures and obvious enthusiasm with dismay. The others in the group were mostly second-year students like Meirong. Jenmei had a way of attracting young admirers.

Now Meirong was dozing, almost asleep, while Lian sat miserable, wide awake. How could she keep Meirong away from Wang Jenmei? What if Mr. Lee demanded she spy on Meirong as well? Lian had been avoiding Shao, certain that her every word and gesture, her false smiles, even her downcast eyes, would betray her. She had even been avoiding Meirong.

Her sense of belonging, always tentative at best, had evaporated, leaving nothing more than a dim remembrance of warmth. When she looked at them now, her classmates seemed to shine with duty and patriotism, so united in their camaraderie they were like a family. They looked out for each other. They trusted each other. She wanted to stop caring about Meirong and Shao, stop caring about all the classmates who had so inexplicably become friends.

On days when Lian couldn’t bear any more of Mr. Lee’s scrutiny, the only reason she didn’t run away from Minghua 123 was because she had no idea where to go. If she had learned anything since leaving Nanking, it was about the hazards of wartime travel. Her mother could be anywhere. On a train heading straight for the coast or on a meandering route that might take weeks or months before reaching Shanghai. She had to wait until she knew her mother had arrived in Shanghai—or some other destination.

Only then could she make a decision.

Fatigue prevailed over misery. Lian wrapped her arms around her knees and put her head down with a sigh, letting the motion of the cart rock her into drowsiness as the road passed through open fields. The cart followed the wide curve in the road to pass a large pond, the ruined shell of a farmhouse behind it. There were people camped inside and around the farmhouse’s walls, refugees too tired or too poor to find a better shelter.