It was from Mr. Lee. Her hands felt numb with cold again. What more did Lee want from her? And he wanted to see her at a time when everyone else would be in the dining hall.

Lee’s office was on the second floor of the school’s small administrative building. Lian pushed open the front door at the appointed time. Electricity to the campus was shut off at night to enforce the blackout. The entrance lobby was dark, but light from an open door sliced down the staircase. The wooden staircase creaked with her every step. She knocked at the door.

“Come in, come in,” the director of student services called out.

Mr. Lee’s desk faced the door, the window behind him taped over with newspaper. Other than a desk and chair, the office was bare. A door to the right of the desk, slightly ajar, connected his office with the one adjoining. A kerosene lamp cast the only light in the room. It was cheap, a clear glass chimney on a red-painted metal base, the sort that foreign oil companies gave away for free.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to meet his eyes.

“This is really the first chance we’ve had to chat since Zhongmiao Village,” he said. “What do you know about Wang Jenmei’s death?”

She gasped. It was the last question she had expected. “Nothing. I don’t know anything. I thought you . . . would know what happened.”

“And why would I know anything, Miss Hu? Do you think I’m a murderer?” He smiled as though joking, and his eyes flicked for a moment to the adjoining door. “Did you see anyone unfamiliar following our little convoy?”

“There were unfamiliar people every day,” she said, keeping her voice steady. “People who walked with us on the road. The ones who camped at the factory campus.”

“Very true.” Mr. Lee regarded her over his glasses. “But there might’ve been someone you spoke to while you were on the road. Someone you might run into again. If you remember or notice anything, you’ll let me know. Shut the door when you leave.”

Lian wanted to bolt out the door, but restrained herself. She wouldn’t betray her fear to Mr. Lee. By the time she reached the ground floor she was shaking so much she sank to the ground, back pressed against the corridor wall. She had to calm down, behave normally.

But how could Mr. Lee even think she knew something about Wang Jenmei’s death? More confusingly, didn’t he know?