There were only twenty girls in Minghua 123, a ratio so lopsided hardly any of them lacked admirers. But the romances were innocent, the girls treated with utmost deference. They were fellow scholars, young women from good families. Shorty Ho, who had developed a huge crush on Ying-Ying, would never think to lay a finger on her, never do anything to harm her reputation. Instead, he sent her poetry. All of it his own, all of it terrible.

“Alas, I can’t help my bourgeois notions,” Shao said, trying to keep his tone light. “You’re a classmate and deserve my respect. I apologize. I won’t let it happen again.”

“Well, don’t let this keep you from attending meetings,” Jenmei said. Her smile grew brighter even as her eyes narrowed. “It gives the younger ones confidence to see a senior student there.”

“I’m sorry, Jenmei,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s not what I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for then?” Her smile was too wide. “Have you found it with your little maid? A servant who doesn’t deserve respect? Or that timid little Hu Lian, always hiding away from others?”

“Sparrow is a friend, a member of my household,” he said, both angry and astonished that she would bring a servant into the discussion. “And Lian is a friend. I don’t understand you.”

“No, apparently not,” and she sauntered away, tossing her hair so that it fanned out in the wind before settling again on her shoulders.

AFTER THE FALL of Shanghai, the school newspaper received a flood of submissions ranging from fiery, patriotic opinion pieces to wistful memoirs of favorite spots in the city. Even Shorty Ho dropped off two pages of heartfelt prose. Meirong spent long hours sifting through the pile and handing out stories for volunteers to copy.

“You’re spending too much time on this newspaper,” Lian said. “You do too much.”

“Oh, Lian, you can say it,” Meirong said. She squinted over a submission. “You think I follow Jenmei blindly. But there’s lots of debate at our meetings, we all ask questions.”

“Communism is officially forbidden by the government,” Lian said. “What if Minghua decides to actually enforce the rules?”

“Our professors are very tolerant,” Meirong said. “Anyway, the worst thing they could do is expel us. Or send us to a camp for reeducation.”

Lian sat beside Meirong and Ying-Ying for a few minutes. When more students entered the newspaper office, she got up quietly to make her way next door to the courtyard house. She couldn’t be part of it anymore, the cheerful teasing, the sharing of confidences. Not when she worried that Mr. Lee might expand her spying activities. Not when just a glimpse of Shao or Jenmei brought a hot flush to her cheeks.