Inside the factory gates, Lian automatically looked around for Shao. And for Jenmei. Fortunately, they were at opposite corners of the yard, Jenmei talking to some girls, Shao surrounded by classmates. Shorty, Chen Ping. They all looked conspicuously clean. Then Jenmei strolled across the yard to join Shao’s group. She said something and the two laughed. They broke off from the group and sat together on a bench beside the bunkhouses. Lian suppressed a jolt of dismay.

“You go inside the library and find Ying-Ying,” she said to Meirong. “I’ll stay out here in the sun and let my hair dry a bit more.”

She tried not to stare too obviously as Jenmei leaned closer to Shao. The look on his face was thoughtful and searching. The look that made Lian feel she had his complete attention. Would Shao become one of those students who melted away in the evenings, attending those not-so-secret political meetings?

“That Ying-Ying,” Meirong said. She came out of the library waving a textbook. “She’s the most absentminded person I’ve ever met. Now, to the newspaper office. You promised to help.” Meirong was determined to make her take part. Lian could no longer refuse without being rude.

Somehow Jenmei had managed to cajole Professor Kang into giving Minghua 123 News its own bunkhouse to use as an office. To Lian’s surprise, Sparrow was inside, standing at a long table built from sawhorses and boards. Her right sleeve was rolled up and she held a calligraphy brush.

“These are the stories that have been approved,” Meirong said, after greeting Sparrow. She handed Lian several sheets of paper. “Now we need them copied onto newsprint.”

Meirong put a stick of ink and an inkstone in front of her, then poured a little water from a beaker into the inkstone’s well. Silently, Lian began grinding the ink.

“I don’t think Jenmei has done any work at all this week,” Meirong said, looking irritably at a stack of writing. “She promised to give these articles a final review before we started copying. I need to go remind her.”

The door slammed shut behind Meirong. Sparrow glanced up from her writing and looked amused. Lian had never noticed the young woman’s eyes before. They were as dark as the waters of a forest pool, yet luminous as though a lamp shone in their depths. A pointed chin lent determination to her features. Slim, steady fingers guided the brush in neat columns of beautifully formed characters. Her hands were delicate, not rough and red as Lian would’ve expected from years of scrubbing floors.

“Your calligraphy is exceptional, Sparrow,” Lian said, looking over her shoulder. “How did you learn?”

“From a classical scholar,” Sparrow said. “The Young Master’s fourth great-uncle. When I was a child, I cleaned his study and afterward he would give me lessons. He taught me to read and write. And eventually, calligraphy.”