Lian sat down beside some crates just inside the canopy’s shelter and pulled a blanket around herself. The others rested leaning against each other or curled up on thin sleeping mats. She allowed the motion of the boat to lull her into lethargy, turned her head for a view of the night sky, then fell asleep to the whisper of willow branches brushing the canvas above.

She dreamed of another boat ride, something pulled from a childhood memory. Instead of the cold, summertime. A canal with willows hanging overhead. Her mother’s arms around her, a soft rhythmic splash behind them, the boatwoman singing to keep time as she pushed on the oar.

Then she was back on the barge, holding on to the rail to keep her balance. Large waves splashed over the stern of the deck, frothing as if a huge creature churned the waters beside the hull. Something surged up from the depths, a long sinuous shape with silver fins and a broad tail. It flashed through the current, following the barge for a moment before it launched away, slicing through the waves. Shining and scaly, terrible and beautiful. The River God gleamed, reflecting starlight from its scales. The silvery body surged up, a brilliant arc of light. Then vanished into the depths.

SUNSHINE WOKE LIAN. She peered up at daylight drifting through branches of soft green needles. Moored in a bend of the river, the boats had sheltered beneath a dense stand of swamp cypress, their trunks jutting up from the shallows along the shore. They would stay here until nightfall. The fragrant smell of steamed rice tickled her nose.

And from the front of the barge, an unexpected sound. A child’s giggle.

She was called Duckling. She was three years old and the most enchanting little girl anyone had ever seen. The child had slept quietly in her father’s arms all night and now she tottered on deck enjoying the attention. The female students had nothing to do except read and chat while the boats waited out the day. They happily fussed over the little girl. They gave Duckling candies and dried fruit, sugar to sweeten her soy milk, even a doll hastily sewn from towels and handkerchiefs. Ying-Ying found some red yarn, which she crocheted into ribbons. She braided Duckling’s fine hair in two pigtails, red ribbons tied to flutter at the ends.

Duckling’s bright face never dimmed, only grew more delighted. She walked unsteadily, laughing whenever a wave made the barge pitch, even if it made her fall. Duckling was so irresistible she even made Professor Kang laugh. The little girl quickly learned the songs they sang to her, mimicking their words without understanding them.

Little Duck, Little Duck,

Sing the moon, dance the stars!

The skies shine out from the pond tonight,

Come with us, Little Duck!