The Library of Legends

by Janie Chang

  “About the Library of Legends,” the Star said. “When Minghua goes on the road again to Chengtu, you must take the books to the caves near Zunyi. That’s where the Legends must be stored.”

  “But the university is going to Chengtu,” Kang protested. “Shouldn’t the Legends stay with us?”

  “The Library must go to the caves at Zunyi,” the Star said gently but firmly, “where they’ll be safe until this war is over.”

  Each time the professor thought of leaving the Library behind, it was with a sharp stab of loss. But he knew they had been lucky. The Library of Legends was intact. Minghua 123 had lost only two of its members. Three if you counted Yee Meirong.

  The Star finished her tea and pulled a well-worn shirt out of her bag. She threaded a needle and began patching the elbows. The needle slid in and out of the fabric, her fingers barely seeming to make an effort.

  “I’m guessing that’s one of his shirts,” he said.

  “I accepted long ago that he might never recognize me,” she said. “I’ve been happy just to be a part of his lives.”

  She finished sewing and slid her needle into a square of red felt. She folded the shirt and tucked it inside her bag.

  “Let’s go for a walk,” she said.

  Professor Kang put on a heavy coat and they went out into the winter night. It was silent, too cold for the rustle of nocturnal animals, all hibernating in their burrows and dens. Too early yet for frogs to sing from the mudbanks. The only sound was that of the Hsiang River lapping against its shores.

  When she finally spoke, the Star sounded weary. “I’ve been down here too long, Professor. Learned too many human traits. Forgotten how things work in heaven.”

  “Is there something in particular you’ve forgotten?” he asked.

  “When I asked the Queen Mother of Heaven to bring back my Prince each time to a life of comfort,” she said, “it was because I couldn’t bear to think of him coming back as a beggar or a starving peasant. So he’s always reborn as a person of privilege. To a wealthy family. Sometimes royalty. But even so, he never seems truly happy in any of his lives.”

  “Perhaps it’s because he misses you, even while not knowing it,” Kang said.

  “No,” she said. “There’s something else, something more. I just haven’t figured out what.”

  They continued along the riverbank. He gazed up and imagined how the landscape might appear if he were looking down from the constellations, the river’s watery path curling north to Changsha, continuing on until it flowed into Dongting Lake.

  “I can feel it, you know,” the Star said, “the exodus of immortal creatures. Each day I quell the urge to follow them north, to resist the polar pull of the Kunlun Mountains. He is all that keeps me here.”

  He. The Prince. Shao. The professor sighed.

  SO MANY OF his classmates had rushed to enlist after Nanking fell. Shao did consider joining up. He had wavered, changed his mind a dozen times, and only Sparrow knew of his indecision. But if he’d had any thoughts of enlisting, they’d faded with his mother’s last letter.

  The only place as safe as the foreign Settlement in Shanghai is the protection of your university as you move west. The only thing that keeps me from falling into despair is the knowledge that you are safe.

  He couldn’t enlist. His mother already worried enough about his brothers. More impatient and less tolerant of their mother’s anxieties, they no longer lived in Shanghai. His eldest brother, Luming, was with the government in Chunking, aide to a cabinet minister. When the war began, his second brother, Tienming, had gone to the port town of Wen-chou to run the family’s warehouses and shipping business. His mother’s sanity depended on knowing Shao was with Minghua. She probably pictured students strolling cheerfully from one picturesque rural town to another, staying at quaint inns, dining on interesting local dishes. She had no idea what they had seen and faced.

  He set his lamp on the floor beside his cot and sat down cross-legged to read. The arrangement Mr. Lee made for getting their mail to and from Changsha worked remarkably well. For the second weekend in a row, a package of letters had arrived for him. Some more than a month old, but at least they were getting through.

  His roommates had set up a trestle table where they studied by the light of shared oil lamps.

  “Shao, your lamp!” one of them called. “We need it here.”

  He waved off the request. “Right after I read my letters.”

  Unexpectedly, there was one from his brother Tienming. His brothers never wrote. It was his mother who wrote to each of them, passing on all the family news. His brother’s letter had been posted from Shanghai, not Wen-chou.

  Younger Brother, I hope you’re safe and in good health. I heard from Cousin Wenfei at the Ministry of Education that Minghua University is on its way to Changsha, so that’s where this letter will probably reach you, providing the situation doesn’t change.

  You should know our mother is very ill. I have been going back and forth to Shanghai because of this. She won’t allow us to tell you and she would never ask it of you because she says your education is too important and the journey back too dangerous. But I wanted you to know so that you’re not taken by surprise should the worst come.

  Shao had to find Sparrow, talk over what to do. It would have to be first thing in the morning, as soon as Sparrow had finished her chores.

  “Shao, can I borrow your fountain pen?” Chen Ping stood over him. “I’ve misplaced mine.”

  “Yes, yes,” he replied, patting his pockets. “Here. But it’s low on ink, let me find my ink bottle.”

  “No need,” Ping said. “I only need to write a very short letter to my father.”

  “He is well, I hope,” Shao said, out of politeness.

  “Yes. I just found out he remarried. I’m writing to congratulate him.” Ping couldn’t hide his bitterness. “My mother died only last year, you know.”

  Shao straightened up. “Yes, I remember.”

  “I didn’t even realize she was so seriously ill until it was too late,” Ping said. “I’ll never forgive myself for not seeing my mother before she died.”

  Chapter 26

  Lian paused to button up against the damp chill of a winter breeze. Beside her, Shao pulled on his gloves, expertly mended along the seams. She pointed at a student hurrying across the parade ground, a scarf of mismatched wools wrapped around his head and shoulders.

  “Shorty used to be such a dandy,” she said. “He asked Ying-Ying to knit him that scarf from odds and ends. Who’d guess now that we’re the academic elite of China? We look just like poor folk.”

  “And we’re just as itchy.” Shao scratched his arm, where clusters of tiny red spots formed a rash.

  “Lice or fleas?” she asked sympathetically.

  “Probably both. I’ll have Sparrow buy some alcohol or bai bu roots at an herbalist’s.”

  “One of your tutorial students told me about the talk you gave the other day,” Lian said, as they walked across the quadrangle. “You told them to use their knowledge to lift up the poor folk and fight for democracy.”

  “Yes. We need to pay more attention to the rural population once this war is over,” Shao said. “They grow our food but can barely feed themselves. Their labors aren’t rewarded properly.”

  “And in the meantime,” Lian said, taking one of his gloved hands, “Sparrow mends your clothes for nothing.”

  Shao looked genuinely astonished. “Does she?”

  “Do you even notice all the ways she looks after you?” she said. “A wife couldn’t do better than Sparrow.” She winced at her thoughtless choice of words but Shao didn’t seem to notice.

  “I must thank her,” Shao said. A pause. “You know, Lian, it was better when you were shy and talked less.” But he was smiling and for a moment she forgot about Meirong.

  “Hey, Hu Lian.” A voice called from behind. It was Wendian. “A moment of your time.”

  “Go on,” Lian said to Shao. “I�
�ll find you in the library.”

  Wendian caught up to Lian and gripped her arm. Hard. “Were you the one who betrayed Meirong?”

  “How can you say that?” Lian said, confused and astonished. “Meirong was my friend.”

  “You and your secret meetings with Mr. Lee,” Wendian said. “I saw you leave his office last night.”

  “It wasn’t . . . that wasn’t a secret meeting.” Lian groped for words, tried not to let guilt wash over her face. “I was asking Mr. Lee if there was anything he could do to help Meirong.”

  “Don’t play the innocent, Lian,” Wendian hissed. “I heard what you said. Watch yourself. I’ve taken care of Lee and you’ll be next.”

  She stalked away, anger in the set of her shoulders, the gait of her walk.

  Lian desperately tried to remember. What had she said to Mr. Lee? She had begged him to do more for Meirong. What had Wendian overheard? Lian’s hand came up to cover her mouth, stifling a gasp of horror.

  She had told Mr. Lee she wouldn’t spy for him anymore. Was that what Wendian overheard? And what did Wendian mean about taking care of Mr. Lee?

  ON SATURDAY MORNINGS, the jeep bringing mail from Changsha always came before noon. Lian could tell by the number of students milling around the barracks entrance that it had arrived. She walked a little faster, shoulders hunched against the light drizzle. She pulled her knitted hat lower over her forehead. Perhaps there was a letter from her mother. With a new address. A fixed address. She longed for some good news. She was still shaken by her encounter with Wendian the day before, unsure what to do about her warning, which had been ambiguous but definitely hostile.

  She had to find an opportunity to get Wendian on her own. Speak to her again, convince her that she had never spied for Mr. Lee. She would lie, say that he’d asked her to spy for him and she’d refused. Perhaps Wendian would calm down.

  Closer to the gates, she noticed the students were strangely silent. She hung back, not sure what was happening. Professor Kang and Mr. Lee got into a jeep, Mr. Lee moving awkwardly. His hands were tied behind his back. The vehicle drove away, canopy up against the rain.

  Lian hurried over to Shao.

  “What’s going on?” she said. “Why are Mr. Lee and Professor Kang going off with the military police?”

  “Mr. Lee’s been arrested,” Shao said. “On suspicion of spying for the Japanese. The professor has gone to Changsha to vouch for his innocence.”

  Lunchtime conversation was loud, some students arguing for Mr. Lee’s innocence and others claiming they’d always had their doubts. Rumors abounded as the students pieced together what they’d overheard and observed.

  “When the military police arrived,” Shorty said, “they searched Mr. Lee’s office and found maps hidden behind a bookcase, maps marked with targets for bombing.”

  “But that doesn’t mean anything,” Ying-Ying protested. “The maps could’ve been there before we came.”

  “It’s all hearsay until the professor returns,” Shao said. “Let’s not jump to conclusions.”

  The entire campus had been on edge after Meirong’s arrest. And now Mr. Lee. Whether or not Lee was guilty, they could be certain of one thing: the Juntong’s interrogation techniques were not gentle. Lian couldn’t stand hearing any more speculation. It made her worry all the more about what Meirong might be facing.

  After lunch, she walked past Wendian, who was seated at a table by the mess hall door. She seemed to have been waiting for Lian because she got up and followed her outside, where the morning’s drizzle had cleared the skies. Lian turned around to face Wendian.

  “I went to see Mr. Lee because I wanted to ask whether he could do more to help Meirong,” she said, not waiting for the other girl to speak. “Be reasonable, Wendian. Why are you blaming me for Meirong’s arrest? She’s my friend.”

  Her closest friend. The dearest friend she’d ever had.

  “Because I heard you quite clearly, Hu Lian,” Wendian said. “I heard you say you wouldn’t spy for him anymore. Well, ‘anymore’ is too late.”

  “I refused him.” Lian kept her voice as steady as possible. “I never did anything he asked. Meirong met so many people in Changsha, it could’ve been anyone.”

  “What about Wang Jenmei?” Wendian smiled, but it was more of a sneer. “Who in that little fishing village could’ve been responsible for betraying her? Lee is gone. You’re next.”

  PROFESSOR KANG RETURNED from Changsha late in the afternoon. Shao pushed his way into the mess hall. The windows were foggy from humidity and the warmth of so many bodies crowded inside, everyone anxious to hear the professor’s news.

  “Mr. Lee will not be coming back to us,” the professor said. “He’s been cleared of all wrongdoing, but he’s resigned from Minghua. He will be returning to his family in Nanchang. And there is a serious matter I wish to put before you.”

  The Juntong had arrested Mr. Lee after they received an anonymous note addressed to the senior officer in Changsha. The note had come in the bag of mail that the army jeep carried every Friday afternoon from Shangtan to Changsha.

  “I’m aware the note might’ve come from anyone,” Professor Kang said, “especially since many who live in Shangtan are making use of our mail arrangements. I know we’re at war and tensions are running high, but I trust that you, as educated young men and women, will make sure of the evidence before accusing anyone. I don’t need to tell you how much harm this has caused Mr. Lee. It’s beyond mischief, it’s malice. And it wasted valuable police time.”

  Then the wail of air-raid sirens drowned out the rest of his words. The Japanese were finally paying their respects to Shangtan.

  Shao scanned the parade ground for Lian. She had been upset over Meirong, that was to be expected, but lately there was something else. The way she seemed to only half listen, her attention diverted elsewhere. The wary look in her eyes, even when she smiled at him. He caught sight of her, moving with the crowd toward the air-raid shelter at the north corner of the barracks. He found her inside crouched against a wall, arms wrapped around her knees, head down. He sat on the ground beside her and looked around the shelter.

  Sparrow was already there, in a corner with some of the servants. Everyone around her buzzed with excitement and nerves, but Sparrow made Shao think of a calm pool of light. Chen Ping and Shorty came in, then Professor Kang, followed by laborers carrying crates of books. As the door clanged shut on the shelter, the roar of aircraft engines told him the bombers were almost directly overhead.

  The Japanese had extended their raids beyond Changsha. It took just a short diversion for Japanese planes to reach Shangtan. Tucked against the hills, their campus was one of the more difficult targets, but today the fog had cleared. And seen from above, it was clearly a military barracks.

  “Don’t be scared,” Shao said. Lian’s slim body was shaking. “If bombs fall here, they’ll land on the barracks, not on the air-raid shelters. We’re dug right into the side of the hill.”

  “It’s not the bombs that frighten me.” Her voice was so forlorn. In that moment, all he wanted was to protect her.

  “Then what is it?” he said. “What’s frightened you?”

  Lian looked around. “Stay behind with me after the all clear,” she whispered.

  The air raid was brief, no more than forty minutes. The shelter emptied quickly. One of the servants propped open the shelter door and a welcome gust of cold fresh air blew in. Soon it was just the two of them sitting on hard concrete.

  Lian fidgeted, then finally spoke. “It’s Wendian,” she said. “She blames Mr. Lee for Meirong’s arrest and she blames me, too.”

  She whispered as though afraid of being overheard, even though they were the only ones still in the shelter. Shao put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

  “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why would Wendian think you or Mr. Lee are to blame for Meirong’s arrest?”

  “According to her, every director of student services is
a Nationalist spy,” Lian said. “She thinks he reported Meirong after she took over as leader of Minghua’s Communist Students Club.”

  “Oh, we all knew it was a good bet Lee was put here to keep an eye on us.” He frowned. “But why does Wendian think you had anything to do with Meirong’s arrest?”

  “Because she knows I was spying on my classmates.” She turned her head away. “Mr. Lee recruited me to spy, Shao. He threatened to expose me if I didn’t.”

  Shao scoffed. “What’s there to expose? You’re a scholarship student.”

  “You don’t know how my father died.” Her eyes met his, pleading. “He was shot by a police officer who mistook him for a Japanese spy. The police admitted their mistake, but not publicly. Officially, my father died a traitor and everyone believes the official story.”

  Her face taut with misery, she told him how her mother had gotten new identity papers, changed their names, moved to Peking. That Lian had agreed to Mr. Lee’s demands out of fear that she’d be shunned for being a traitor’s daughter. That Cook Tam was also at Minghua to spy on the students.

  “I don’t know who betrayed Meirong,” Lian said. “Mr. Lee said it could’ve been anyone, perhaps someone Meirong befriended in Changsha. But I’m sure Wendian was the one who sent the anonymous note accusing Lee of being a Japanese spy. She said she’d taken care of him.”

  “If she did, that was clever,” Shao said. “Accusing Lee of being a Communist would’ve been ludicrous. But there’s so much hatred when it comes to the Japanese no one would stop to think.” He didn’t voice the worst part of it. Before Mr. Lee managed to clear his name, he would’ve suffered horribly at the hands of the Juntong.

  “And then Wendian told me I was next,” Lian said. “I’m sure she’ll have me arrested.”

  Unlike Mr. Lee, however, if Lian was arrested, she would not be released quickly. Shao knew this. Her father’s past would be dragged up and reevaluated, this time to denunciate Lian. Like father like daughter, they would say.