The year 1948 had not been a good one for the Nationalists. I could feel it in the energy of the pencils, the desperation of the messages, even though they were encoded. They suffered defeat after defeat in the northeast, their best armies losing to the peasants, who subsequently took their tanks and turned their own weapons against them. The words they wrote were of strategy and loyalty, a rebuilt China, but I could feel their fear when their hearts met mine—how their soldier salaries amounted to nothing, not with this inflation, how much easier it would be to defect. My father was sure that if the Nationalists did not fall to the Communists, they would fall to inflation. The paper that our money was printed on had become worth more than the money itself.

Your mother frowned.

“Taiwan is . . . far from Shanghai.” She was looking at Mr. Gao.

“That’s why it is safe,” he answered simply.

“I don’t mean physically. It’s the farthest thing from Shanghai. It’s not developed. There aren’t toilets. They think they’re Japanese.” She said this last with a particular vehemence.

“The Japanese have left Taiwan,” my father cut in. “Many of our friends are already there. The Nationalists have a hold. In any case, it is up to you and Meng if you want to join us.”

“Come with me to Taiwan,” Mr. Gao said gently. He took your mother’s hand. “It won’t be for long. Only a few months. Until the Nationalists win the war.”

“I could wait here for you to come back,” your mother said.

“It won’t be safe here! The Communists will not spare you.”

“My husband fought for them,” your mother said evenly, staring down Mr. Gao.

He left the table, his chair almost teetering to the floor. On his way to the courtyard, he slammed the door so hard behind him it jumped back open. I could hear him light a cigarette.

“He wouldn’t have this problem if he would hurry up and marry you,” my father huffed.

“That is not a decision for only him to make,” your mother said.

“Regardless.” My father shook his head. “We need to be ready to leave for Taiwan, whether or not you decide to come with us.”

Your mother began eating again, picking at the watery grains. You glanced at me before quickly looking away.

“We still have time to think,” Mother assured us.

For so long, we had thought of the Japanese as our sole enemy. In every one of our stories, as long as we defeated them, our homes would be safe. Yet what was forcing us to leave now was not any foreign power, Japanese or Western, but our own people.