The Library of Legends

by Janie Chang

  Then he brightened and slapped Shao’s shoulder. “I’m taking a trainload of soldiers to the hospital in Chunking, but not for another two days. Lots of time to catch up.”

  When Shao took Daming back to his dormitory, there were loud cheers and greetings.

  “Wei Daming! Have you come back to drag down the class average?”

  “Are you staying for New Year celebrations?”

  All through the evening, Daming sat in the dining hall, the center of attention. Some professors stopped to greet him, his misdeeds long forgotten. Everyone wanted a firsthand report on conditions at the front.

  “Morale couldn’t be better,” Shao heard him proclaim. “Everywhere the troop transports go, long lines of men are waiting to enlist. Very soon the factories that moved inland from other cities will be manufacturing armaments. The Japanese don’t stand a chance.”

  “Will Daming come to our New Year celebrations?” Meirong said. She nudged Shao and he moved over to make room on the bench for her and Lian.

  “Trust me, he’ll be the last to leave every party,” Shao said. “And for the next month he’ll be rotating between Changsha and Wuhan. I’m sure we’ll see more of him.”

  “Do you think he’d be willing to tell his story for our newspaper?” Shao realized that Meirong was rather in awe of Daming.

  His friend was no longer the thoughtless boy who’d been the despair of his family and professors. His lean face, though cheerful as he joked with friends, held the haunted look of someone older, someone who had seen too much. Shao looked over at Lian and she returned his smile. But her eyes also held the same haunted look. Perhaps they all did.

  Shao’s dormitory was unusually quiet when he returned. His roommates were absorbed in reading. Reading letters. He rushed to his bed and almost laughed out loud. A bundle of letters tied with string lay on the covers.

  The four letters from his mother he skimmed quickly. There was one from a favorite cousin, others from friends in Shanghai. Another one from the Liu family’s accountant, brief instructions attached to a money order. He lay down and returned to his mother’s letters, this time reading each one more thoroughly. Gossip, weddings and births, illnesses, the death of one elderly great-uncle. His father had penned a few lines at the end of each letter, repeating admonishments to take care of his health.

  When the dorm lights went out, Shao closed his eyes and put one of his mother’s letters to his nose. It held the faintest traces of freesia and bergamot, a blend created especially for her by a perfumery in Shanghai’s French Concession. The proprietor had brought out tray after tray of small bottles for his mother to sniff. He fell asleep and dreamed he was a boy again. They were in his mother’s car, the chauffeur taking them through streets shaded by tall sycamores, a street of villas and brick walls. His mother’s lace gloves lay crumpled on her lap, her face was hidden by a veiled hat. She pulled out a handkerchief and the scent of freesia filled his dream.

  HANDE GIRLS BOARDING School, where Minghua University’s female students were lodged, stood across the river from Hunan University’s large campus. It was a forty-five-minute walk from Lian’s dormitory to the classrooms, a short distance for students now accustomed to walking eight or ten hours each day. Morning and evening, a procession of university students dominated pedestrian traffic on the bridge, heads and faced wrapped up against the cold. Early morning temperatures hovered above freezing and the wind picked up humidity from the river, pushing chilly damp air through their clothes.

  Since coming to Changsha Lian hadn’t seen much of Meirong, who came from the same town as Wendian. The two had been friends even before university, so Lian told herself it was normal they’d want to be together after so much time apart. Lian walked to and from the campus with any students who happened to be heading out at the same time. But on this evening, she deliberately fell behind so she could walk across the bridge alone. She had to think what to do next.

  Finally, she had received a letter from her mother.

  When she first saw the letter on her bed, Lian had resisted the urge to rip it open. First, she studied the envelope. The postmark was smudged but it had been mailed from Shanghai. Her mother had reached Shanghai. Lian examined the back of the envelope. There was no return address. She looked around at the other girls, all absorbed in reading their own mail. One or two were crying.

  Lian slit open one edge of the envelope and smoothed out the sheet of onionskin paper.

  My precious daughter. With luck, this letter has reached you in Changsha. I was overjoyed to find your letter waiting for me when I arrived at Unity Mission. You’re not in Shanghai, but it’s actually better that you’re with Minghua. Now that I know you’re with your professors and classmates, I want you to stay with them. You’re safer with your school. They’ll make sure you have food and lodgings. The last thing I want is for you to travel across the country all the way to Shanghai.

  Unity Mission could not take me in, but I may have found a spot at another refugee camp where I’ve offered to do typing in exchange for a bed. It’s best if you don’t write to me at Unity anymore. The refugee camp is so busy and chaotic, your letter would get lost or thrown out. The bulletins list Chengtu as Minghua’s final destination, so I will send my next letter there when I’m settled, care of the university. Hopefully you’ll be safe in Chengtu by then.

  She didn’t doubt Mr. Lee had already read the letter. That he read the letters of any student he didn’t trust. Her mother didn’t know about Mr. Lee. Didn’t know that all their years of living under false names had been for nothing. How could she warn her mother that the past had caught up with them?

  The whole time they’d lived in Peking Lian had accepted, without quite understanding why, that they were in danger should their true identities be revealed. She understood now that there were people who would trample over another’s life to save themselves. To save their reputations. These were the forces her mother had been helpless to counter. As helpless as Lian herself had been when Lee confronted her.

  When they were in Nanking, Professor Kang had promised he’d find a way to get her to Shanghai. But only if her mother sent for her. But now, even if her mother did send for her, Lian couldn’t ask for help from her school anymore. Mr. Lee would know. She couldn’t risk it. He might forbid her to leave. She had to behave normally. She had to plan. She had been saving all her allowance money from the government. She had to buy maps and food for the journey.

  Lian paused at the center of the bridge and leaned against its stone parapet. The river currents rippled with starlight. Minghua University would leave Changsha in a few weeks. There would be more stops in more towns, more nights of sleeping on temple floors until they finally reached Chengtu. Every mile they traveled brought them closer to the safety of Chengtu.

  Every mile took her farther from Shanghai.

  UNSTEADY FROM TOO much drink, Daming took a deep breath and leaned over the bridge’s stone parapet, wondering if he was going to be sick. It was the first night of January and he’d just left his first New Year party. Four more weeks to go until the Lunar New Year, each week more festive than the one before as the calendar closed in on the Year of the Tiger. Despite the threat of air raids, there had been parties all over Changsha. New Year festivities carried on whether or not there was a war.

  Since Nanking’s defeat, scores of wounded soldiers had struggled into the city by truck and train. The railway station had become a target for enemy bombers. There had been more air raids in the last week than the past two months combined. There was talk of moving the universities out of Changsha.

  Daming had taken a few days’ leave from shuttling the wounded, spent the time pretending he was a student again, as carefree as when they had been in Nanking. He pulled the bottle of moutai out of his coat pocket. He’d won the coveted bottle off Shorty with the toss of a coin. Above him, thin clouds sailed quickly across the sky, pushed by a high wind. The Hsiang River flowed beneath the bridge, its currents black and smooth
as a goddess’s hair. There were supposed to be two River Goddesses who watched over the Hsiang, the wife and daughter of an ancient king.

  A procession by the riverfront caught his eye, red lanterns held high by revelers costumed in ancient garb, dancing their way toward the riverbanks to the music of cymbals and reed flutes. He listened to the music echoing up from the shore and smiled. He recognized the old tune. “Full of Joy.” He tapped his hand on the stone balustrade in time to the cymbals. Three cymbal clashes at the end of each refrain. Pang pang pang.

  When the parade reached the riverbank, it didn’t stop. The red lanterns continued moving into the water. Mesmerized, he watched the revelers balance on the river’s surface, still dancing. From the waters the figures of two women in shining robes rose up to join them. Behind the women, huge riparian creatures emerged from the river, silver fins like rows of daggers along the spines of serpentine bodies, eyes the size and shine of pewter plates. Led by the two River Goddesses, the procession of revelers and river guardians descended into the depths. The red lantern lights moved downriver, growing fainter and fainter until they disappeared into darkness.

  Daming lifted the bottle of moutai to his lips then paused. He held the bottle out and dropped it over the parapet, an offering to the river guardians.

  AFTER YET ANOTHER New Year’s party, Shao had rolled out of bed late. But with luck, Daming’s train would be running late, too, as the railways tended to these days. He looked around the station and headed for the far end of the platform. Soldiers guarded a cordoned-off area where troops were waiting to board. More soldiers stood guarding the line of railcars that extended along the tracks, preventing people from climbing on. If there was any room left, they might let a few people on to hitch a ride.

  But it didn’t stop people from trying. A man broke away from the crowd and ran onto the tracks. The soldiers hauled him back onto the platform where he sprawled in a tangle of limbs. His leather shoes were cracked, his tunic greasy with stains. He clutched a bundle in his arms. He picked himself up and began berating the soldiers.

  “Don’t treat me as if I’m worthless,” he shouted. “I’m a refugee now but I’m an educated man. I’m still that man! You should show respect!” He hobbled away, holding his bundle tight.

  Spotting Daming, Shao called out to him, and Daming waved the soldiers to let him through.

  “They don’t care anymore,” Daming said, who had also been watching the man. “That train he tried to board is taking soldiers to Henan, straight to the enemy. But refugees like him have nothing left to lose and they’re tired. They just want to stop walking. Some will get off at the next town, or the one after that, hoping to catch another ride.”

  “We’re leaving Changsha soon,” Shao said. “This place is getting too many visits from Japanese bombers these days. They’re moving us to a small town called Shangtan.”

  “So is Professor Kang more concerned about the Library of Legends or his students?”

  They both laughed.

  “Listen, old friend,” Daming said, “I’ve told you a few things. That the war is going pretty badly for us. We have more soldiers but the Japanese are far better equipped and better trained. It’s meat against machines. As an officer, I should’ve been more discreet. Given you more confidence in our military.”

  “I understand,” Shao said. “Don’t worry. I won’t say anything.”

  “I’ve never thought about patriotism or politics at school,” Daming said, “never joined any anti-Japanese rallies or cheered for the Nationalists.”

  “You were always an idler, Daming,” Shao said. “You only came to college because you thought the parties would be good.” He gave his friend a playful punch on the shoulder.

  “I’ll be shuttling between Changsha and Wuhan for the next little while,” Daming said. “Maybe we’ll be lucky enough to meet up again, old friend.”

  Shao made his way to the station exit, pushing past uniformed men. They held their rifles awkwardly—the ones who had rifles. Daming had told him that due to equipment shortages, some Chinese regiments were still waiting for guns. In the meantime, they drilled with closed umbrellas. The soldiers joked, trading friendly insults and scuffing their cloth shoes on the platform’s tiled floor.

  More than anything else, the cloth-soled shoes broke Shao’s heart. These soldiers only had khaki uniforms and thinly padded coats, poor protection against the winter. They were defending a poor country, fighting for generals who knew China had more men to spare than weapons.

  Chapter 23

  After another week of heavy bombing, the universities were leaving Changsha. They couldn’t wait until the end of the month, no matter how badly they wanted to celebrate the New Year in a big city. Changsha was no longer safe. Minghua University’s interim destination was the town of Shangtan.

  “It feels as if we’ll never get to Chengtu,” Ying-Ying said. “Wouldn’t it be heaven to live and go to class in one place until the war is over?”

  “After Shangtan, Chengtu,” Lian said. “We’re halfway there.” And perhaps in Chengtu there would be another letter from her mother.

  On the second day of their journey, they set out at nightfall from the village where they had rested. The students were eager to make good time and carried their supper with them, two steamed buns each. At the edge of the village, Lian spotted Meirong leaning against the wall of a house, strapping a new pair of straw sandals over her cloth shoes. Meirong looked up and smiled.

  “I think I’ve had my penny’s worth out of these straw shoes,” Meirong said. “Fortunately, at this price, I have spares.”

  “Do you want to walk together?” Lian asked, as nonchalantly as she could.

  Meirong shook her head, then looked up from tying her sandals. “Lian, I don’t want you to think I’ve become less of a friend,” she said. She lowered her voice. “It’s just that, well, after we got to Changsha I joined the Communist student movement for real. I’m leading Minghua’s Communist Students Club now.”

  “No! You mustn’t!” Lian couldn’t hold back her gasp of dismay. “Think of what happened to Jenmei.”

  “I knew you wouldn’t like it,” Meirong said, “and I didn’t want you to worry or have to lie if anyone asked. I’d walk with you today but I can’t. I’m meeting a comrade from one of the other student groups. He’s walking partway to Shangtan with me. A walking meeting. We’ll be hanging back at the very end of the line.”

  “Why are you doing this, Meirong?” Lian said.

  “I’m carrying on Wang Jenmei’s work,” Meirong said. “I’m going to make sure the Communist movement at our school grows stronger.”

  “Meirong, please don’t do this,” Lian begged.

  “I’ve been very careful, Lian,” she said. She finished tying her sandals. “More careful than Wang Jenmei. She was too outspoken. And, of course, I trust you not to say anything.” She flashed Lian a bright smile and squeezed her hand. “I’m glad you know. I didn’t want any misunderstandings between us about our friendship.”

  Lian caught up with the convoy and joined the middle of the line. She walked beside one of the library wagons, just behind Ying-Ying and some other girls. She turned for a last look back at Meirong, who was swinging her rucksack back onto her shoulders. As she set off, an old man behind her picked up the discarded straw sandals.

  Lian hoped Mr. Lee wasn’t aware of Meirong’s activities. But even if he didn’t suspect her, it didn’t matter. With Meirong’s joining the Communist cause, her friend wouldn’t confide in her as before. Meirong had her own secrets now. Between the two of them, their secrets could fill a cavern. Their friendship could never be as before.

  She wished her mother had given her a forwarding address for mail. Even if she sent a letter to her mother at Unity Mission, even if a kind person was willing to hold it, her mother wouldn’t be going back to the Mission. And if she did, she wouldn’t think of asking about a letter. Lian could only hope for news once they got to Chengtu. Until then,
she couldn’t leave. Not yet.

  Some students had stopped by the side of the road for a quick drink, a bite of food from their lunch boxes. The moment he saw her, Shao said something to the classmate beside him and left the group. He was leaving his friends to walk with her. She recalled the warmth of his hand over hers and her heart quickened.

  No, she couldn’t leave. Not yet.

  Chapter 24

  Shangtan was small but blessed with good feng shui, protected by hills behind and the Hsiang River in front like a natural moat. Tucked at the foot of steep hills, Minghua’s new campus was a difficult target for air raids. They had been assigned to army barracks left behind when the unit at Shangtan deployed.

  “We’ll be very safe here,” Shao told Lian as they approached the town. “Apparently Shangtan is prone to fog from the river, which also discourages air raids.”

  Arranged in rows around a parade ground, the barracks were drafty and only just large enough to house them all, but it was far better than sleeping on the floor of a temple. The outhouses were a long walk down a muddy slope, but it was better than tramping into fields with a spade in one hand and a crumple of paper in the other. Signs at opposite corners of the parade ground pointed toward two bomb shelters dug into the hillside.

  As soon as each group of students settled into their barracks, they went to the mess hall, where the kitchen staff ladled out their supper, stewed pork with vegetables over rice. There was actually a long table and benches for sitting. Lian took a bite of dinner, ravenous after the long walk. She put her bowl on the table and looked around. Shao was with some of the senior students. Ying-Ying and Wendian waved at her to join them.

  “Lian, where were you?” Ying-Ying asked. “Professor Lan walked with us for several miles and we had such a good discussion about war and its portrayal in classical literature.”

  “Have you seen Meirong?” Lian said. “Do you know which barracks she’s in?”