But Fung had never seen war. He’d never been away from his family’s impoverished farm. All he knew was that he’d been given a new uniform of smooth khaki, the finest garments he’d ever worn, and that for the first time in her young life, his daughter was getting enough to eat. He was pleased the students had all fallen in love with Duckling and laughingly ignored their entreaties to let them take her.

“Waah, waah, she’s all I have,” he said. “She’s my family. We stay together. Did you hear her just now? She’s learned all the words to your song.”

Four nights later, they reached the wharf in Wuhan. A courier paced beside his horse, waiting to greet the boats. He ran aboard as soon as they tied up, waving a cylindrical message holder. The army captain opened the leather holder, read the order, and flung down both in disgust. He shouted at the soldiers, who began moving equipment off the decks. Then he strode on board the barge and spoke to Professor Kang before storming off again.

“The captain asks us to stay out of the way and let the soldiers disembark first,” the professor told the students. “They must march quickly for Henan.”

“But Henan is north,” Meirong said. “Even farther north than where we got on the boat. Why didn’t they just leave for Henan in the first place?”

The professor looked sad. “My guess is that Henan has suddenly become very important and in need of soldiers.”

They hugged and cosseted Duckling the entire time Fung and the other soldiers unloaded equipment from the barge. The girls stuffed as much food into Private Fung’s knapsack as it could hold. When it was Lian’s turn to hand over Duckling to the next student, she did so reluctantly. Her arms felt empty without the little girl. Duckling’s laughter, so delightful a day ago, now broke her heart.

Within an hour, the barges were unloaded, and the detachment of soldiers formed up. At the very back of the column, Private Fung stood at attention, one hand stiffly at his side, the other holding Duckling’s hand. When the column began to move, he swung her onto his shoulders.

The students called out her name and Duckling turned to beam at them, waving and laughing. Private Fung also turned to wave, a jaunty flourish that matched the wide grin on his face. The last they saw of Duckling was a small figure riding on her father’s shoulders, red ribbons bobbing.

Many of the girls wept as the soldiers vanished around the bend. Even in that final moment, Lian hoped Fung would come to his senses and leave Duckling with them. They are both just children, she thought, wiping away hot tears. Father and daughter, marching to their deaths.

Chapter 20