“How much?” he asked. I made up a number—it had been so long since I had sold a single pencil. He offered a packet of just-pilfered white rice instead. It was a great deal.

“I never agreed to this,” you cut in as the boy took the pencil with a smile.

“Come by the pencil company tomorrow,” I said. “She’ll be ready.” And then I ran, you trailing close behind, yelling my name until I stopped, halfway home, both of us breathless and doubled over. I could tell you were about to start in on me, so I grabbed your shoulders and shook.

“Look,” I demanded. It was just you and me in an alleyway in Shanghai, our home, on a beautiful day without war. The air was delicious, and I took huge gulps of it. “Live,” I said, then laughed. “It’s finally time to live.”

Somehow that got through your war-hardened exterior, and you smiled, shaking your head.

“What will I even wear?” you asked. I grabbed your hand, and we ran the rest of the way together.

At home, our mothers watched us search through their closet for something suitable. They were in a good mood. Your mother reclined on her bed, passing a cigarette to my mother, who sat on the same bed, legs crossed, leaning back. For once, they were relaxing instead of Reforging.

“Now that Meng is dating, should we tell her?” your mother asked mine, a spark in her eyes.

Mother tapped her foot, pondering the question.

“You two can’t possibly have more secrets,” I said, holding one of your mother’s dresses up to you. The dresses had not left the closet since the Settlement was occupied. Now they could live a new life.

“Of course we can,” your mother scoffed.

“But how to say it?” Mother asked.

“Not the way our mother told us, that’s for sure,” your mother said. “I was traumatized after that talk.”

“What are you two going on about?” you demanded. Even you were growing impatient.

“Well, when you’re with a boy—” your mother began.

“Maybe I don’t want to hear this,” you said quickly.

“—you might find yourself Reforging,” your mother finished.

We both perked up, the search for an outfit forgotten.

“So make sure your arm is clear before you meet with this boy,” Mother said. She tapped at her own bare arm, at her phoenix. It had darkened during the war.

“He won’t notice it. Your dresses all have long sleeves.”

“It’s not about what he sees. It’s that we can’t go losing any Reforgings.”

“But why would I be Reforging?” you asked.

“And how do you lose a Reforging?” I added.

“It’s . . .” Mother began. “It’s another way of Reforging that you might stumble upon. A way that is much less painful than bleeding. Pleasurable, even.”

“Well then, why didn’t you teach us that way?” I demanded.

They both shifted.