A half-empty boarding school in Wuhan had been assigned to Minghua 123 for their stay there. The cramped dormitory rooms, their narrow beds meant for middle schoolers, seemed palatial. The boarding school’s two dozen remaining pupils were teenage boys who had been cut off from their hometowns when war broke out. Their teachers were in the midst of planning their evacuation to Hunan Province in the south. Some of the boys had shyly asked the Minghua students about their experiences on the road.

Lian soon realized almost everyone in Wuhan was a newcomer. Thousands of troops poured into the city, adding to tens of thousands of refugees. Journalists from all the major papers waited in tea shops and outside government offices, exchanging rumors while scribbling out stories. It was, she had to admit, exciting to be in a big city again.

In Wuhan, food was still plentiful and street vendors offered cheap fare far tastier than Cook Tam’s unimaginative meals. When Lian and her classmates strolled through Wuhan, they always bumped into other students. Sometimes her classmates even ran into friends and relatives, traveling with their universities. They eagerly exchanged news and stories, shared meals.

“No radios, telegrams, or telephones,” one of them said over spicy noodles, the first really good noodles Lian had tasted since leaving Nanking. “One village where we stayed told us we were the first refugees they’d ever met. They didn’t even know we were at war.”

There were so many students in Wuhan, from both universities and middle schools, the government organized special events for them. The rally they were attending was sponsored by the Ministry of Education and attendance was mandatory.

“Would anyone even notice if we didn’t attend this rally?” Meirong complained as they pushed their way to Wuhan University. “I’ve heard about them and they sound like a boring waste of time.”

Wuhan University’s own students had evacuated weeks ago. Their splendid campus now housed government offices. Students were already gathered on the huge playing field, some of them shivering after standing outside in the cold for so long. Lian felt the wind pierce through her coat. She wrapped her scarf more tightly around her collar and pushed her hands deeper into her pockets.

“There must be more than two thousand students here,” Ying-Ying said, looking around.

They saw some of their classmates huddled at the edge of the field and elbowed through the crowd to join them. Shorty shouted and waved his arms at Ying-Ying when he saw her.

“Must you bellow like a street vendor?” Ying-Ying said. She tossed her hair at Shorty. “You’re an embarrassment to our school.”

“But it’s my specialty,” Shorty said, sounding hurt. Ying-Ying aimed a mock slap at his head, then allowed him to take her hand. They jostled for a better view of the stage, forming a tight cluster. Lian felt someone tug her hair and looked up to see Shao. He winked at her.