I shifted. Any pain he was going through likely had something to do with my father, who worked for the government, with Mother, who passed along messages for them. And with me, for helping make their operations more efficient, more secretive. Martial law was in full force. The Nationalists did not allow anyone to speak out against them, particularly the locals.

“Can I at least come by the pencil company sometime?” he asked.

“Sure,” I said. “I’m Yun.”

“Torou.”

It was a Japanese name. But I could tell from his accent that he was a local. His family had likely given all of their children Japanese names, a practice during occupation to gain favor with the Japanese officials. Even after occupation ended, many kids were so used to having Japanese names that they never reverted to their Chinese or Taiwanese names.

“See you soon, then,” he said, and left, soup bowl in hand.

My friend was the one who brought him up again, the next time we played mahjong.

“How did you enjoy talking to the Tsai son?” she asked. I knew that even if she was interested in our conversation, she was also trying to distract me from my tiles, to make me slip up in the game.

“He talks a lot.”

“You two looked good together.”

I glanced around the table, trying to figure out if the tile I wanted to throw out would be safe.

“He’s too young.”

“Lots of girls are interested in him though. He’s the most likely to get to America. Very smart. Maybe he’s tired of girls his age and wants an older woman.”

The whole table laughed at that.

“Why don’t you ask him out, then?” I suggested. My hand was a bad one. I knew I would not win this round.

“He’s never talked to any of us. It was a surprise to see him talking to you.”

“Maybe he pities you,” one of the other women suggested, which really was a rather mean thing to say. But I had been thinking the same. I had been standing alone. And even though there were so many others like me, transplants from Shanghai, somehow I was still different from all of them.

“Well, I’m not interested in him.”

I lost badly that day.

Chapter 19

From the diary of Monica Tsai, backed up on three servers spanning two continents

October 29, 2018 (2018-10-29T23:52:26.651987)

loc: Cambridge, Massachusetts. United States of America (42.3721865,71.1117091)

I don’t know what will happen next—none of us do—but I am grateful, so grateful, to have been able to experience a day like today. My grandparents enjoying themselves, and Louise, just a little clearer to me. Maybe even a little closer.

By the time I woke up, they were all having breakfast downstairs. Grandfather had made congee. A few small plates of various pickled goods lay out on the table.