The Library of Legends

by Janie Chang

  When Lian arrived at Minghua under her false identity, Mr. Lee guessed she didn’t know her father’s name had been cleared. Thus when Mr. Shen was killed and Lee needed another student informant, Lian’s secrets made her the easiest to intimidate.

  “I had to improvise,” he said. “I’m very sorry.”

  “Is there anything else?” she said. Lian didn’t know what she wanted to do more. To sink to the ground in relief or slap him.

  “No. Nothing more.” He paused. “I’m sorry. Truly sorry.” He closed his eyes.

  “If you really mean that,” Lian said, “forget you saw me today.”

  “I gave them years of loyal service,” he said, eyes still closed, “and it meant nothing when an anonymous source sent in a false accusation. Don’t worry. You were never here.”

  Lian couldn’t stay in the same building with Lee anymore. She ran out the hospital door. Outside, she sat on the stone steps, one refugee among hundreds milling about the grounds. She tried to still the roil of emotions churning her insides.

  All those years of hiding. All those years of living in dread, of seeing her mother’s eyes cloud over with suspicion at every new face who entered their lives. She put her head between her knees. Once she found her mother, she would tell her there was no more need to worry. But how would her mother feel, to know all her precautions had been useless?

  “There you are, Lian,” said Shao at her shoulder.

  He and Sparrow sat down on the steps beside her. Sparrow had found a nurse who knew Wei Daming. They were expecting Daming at the hospital in two days with the next trainload of wounded.

  “We should stay off the streets as much as we can,” Shao said. “Avoid running into anyone we know.”

  “It’s already happened,” Lian said. She repeated her conversation with Mr. Lee.

  Shao swore. “He can identify us.”

  “I think we should keep to our plans,” Sparrow said. “Mr. Lee doesn’t know all three of us are here. And it doesn’t sound as though he’s eager to help the Juntong. We’re still better off in a crowd.”

  They used some of Shao’s money to rent an overpriced room above an herbalist shop. Shao was irritable, restless. And scratching a lot. The herbalist sold Shao some balm for his rash.

  “Just flea bites,” he said, inspecting Shao’s arm. “Nothing to worry about.”

  They weren’t the only ones lodging above the shop, so Shao stayed in the room to watch over their belongings while Lian and Sparrow went out to buy food. Changsha had been the right decision. Its streets were congested with new faces, refugees and workers, soldiers and reporters. No one paid them any attention.

  Lian and Shao even bought tickets to a film the next evening. It was one they had seen months ago in Nanking. But that didn’t matter. In the darkened theater, they shared a paper bag of salty dried plums and for an hour, Lian forgot she was a fugitive. When she gasped during a suspenseful moment in the film, Shao put his hand over hers. She didn’t pull away.

  DAMING WAS DELIGHTED, then confused, to see them. He would have more time to talk after he’d made sure his patients were settled, and they arranged to meet later that evening at a food stand around the corner from the hospital.

  “But don’t tell anyone we’re here,” Shao made him promise. “You’ll understand when we tell you, but it’s a life-or-death situation. I’m not exaggerating.”

  When Daming arrived, Shao had already ordered large bowls of noodles with spicy tofu sauce. Lian and Shao looked around guardedly from time to time. Sparrow was her usual serene self, quietly spooning up the spicy soup.

  “Shanghai,” Daming murmured, drumming his chopsticks on the table. “Shanghai, Shanghai. Let’s see. What’s the best way to get there? I’ve heard the fastest route is to the coast and then by boat to Shanghai.”

  “But how?” Shao said. “Isn’t Hangchow Bay under Japanese blockade?”

  “Yes, but you can get on a foreign-registered ship,” Daming said. “A lot of Chinese companies have reregistered their ships to fly foreign flags. And there’s always smugglers. We use them regularly.”

  “Our military does business with smugglers?” Lian couldn’t hide her shock.

  Daming snorted. “How do you think our inland cities get their imported goods? How does this hospital get the supplies and medicines we need?”

  “So let’s go to Wen-chou, Young Master,” Sparrow said. “Your family owns warehouses and ships there. Your brother Tienming is there.”

  “I never considered going around the coast,” Shao admitted. “Only overland and as directly to Shanghai as possible. But you’re right. Tienming goes back and forth regularly from Wen-chou to Shanghai.”

  “Wen-chou is still Chinese territory,” Daming said, “so I might be able to get you on trucks heading that way. Or at least get you partway there.”

  “But wouldn’t we have to travel through some occupied areas?” Lian said.

  “It’s a matter of reconnaissance and intelligence,” Daming said. “And it really depends. The boundaries keep moving, as you know. Civilians can bribe Japanese soldiers to let them through. In other places, the enemy is spread so thin it’s possible to slip past patrols.”

  “Sounds too easy,” Sparrow said.

  “And in other places you’ll be shot on sight,” he admitted. “Let me see what I can do. Let’s meet tomorrow at the hospital, same time.”

  “We understand the risks,” Shao said, clapping Daming on the shoulder. “If you can get us a ride even partway, we’re forever in your debt.”

  AT THE HOSPITAL gates the next evening, Daming looked pleased with himself.

  “We don’t have any transports that go all the way to Wen-chou,” he said. “But I got you a ride to Kian. If you can walk from there to Foochow, I’ve a friend at the hospital there. He can try to get you a ride out of Foochow. It’s all here in this letter of introduction, just give it to him.”

  “Anything is better than walking the whole way,” Lian said. “We’re very grateful.”

  “I still have a few things to do,” Daming said, “but there’s plenty of time before the trucks get here. They won’t set out until it’s dark. Come with me on my rounds, Shao.”

  Shao followed Daming as his friend moved between rows of stretchers, wounded men lucky enough to be transferred to a hospital far from the fighting. The soldiers were quiet; some even looked up and smiled when Daming walked past.

  “I haven’t any real medical training, as you know,” he said, so softly Shao could barely hear his words. “I feel like an imposter. I worry that men have died because of me. But now I’m not sure how much of a difference I’d make even if I were a real doctor. Sometimes all you can do is sit with them and hold their hand, so they’re not alone when their souls depart.”

  Daming crouched down over an unconscious solder. He picked up the young man’s wrist and touched it, checking for a pulse. He did this so gently, with such gravity, that Shao felt as though he were intruding on a sacred ceremony.

  Outside, two covered trucks pulled up to the hospital gates. The driver of the second truck jumped out and shook hands with Daming, then took down the tailgate. They helped Sparrow and Lian climb into the back of the truck.

  “Be careful, Shao,” Daming said. “I signed you a pass but it doesn’t mean every soldier on patrol will honor it. There’s always the risk you’ll be captured and forced to enlist. And you may need to hand out a few bribes. I hope my doctor friend in Foochow can get you closer to the coast.”

  “Thanks so much, Daming,” Shao said, shaking his hand. “You take care of yourself.”

  “I’m off to Wuhan tomorrow,” Daming said, “then I’m heading for the front. I’ve told my uncle I can’t do this shuttling back and forth anymore. We’ve lost too many medics on the battlefields and that’s where I should be. Good-bye, old friend.”

  Daming stood on the hospital’s front steps as the truck pulled away. His straight back and slow wave of the hand made Shao think of hi
s grandfather, the way the old man always insisted on seeing guests off, waving courteously until they were out of sight.

  Chapter 28

  Shao wished the trucks would drive faster, but they traveled with the headlamps turned off to avoid being noticed by the enemy. He couldn’t help his impatience even though he knew they were extremely lucky to get a ride. Hopefully their luck would hold. With only the three of them, it would be far easier to hitch rides and find places to stay. Not like Minghua 123.

  The two soldiers riding up front eventually stopped peering through the back of the cab to stare at the three of them. Sparrow sat by the tailgate on top of plump sacks musty with the scent of raw cotton. Lian and Shao huddled under their blankets, leaning against the side.

  “Daming really did well for us,” Lian said. “Here we are lying comfortably on bales of cotton. This truck could’ve been filled with charcoal or cans of tung oil.”

  The truck swayed and Lian fell against Shao. He resisted the urge to pull her closer. But what did it matter? It was just three of them here. He put an arm around Lian and he felt her slowly relax until she was leaning her head on his shoulder.

  “I’m so grateful you came with me, both you and Sparrow,” she said. “You’re putting yourselves in danger doing this.”

  “Between the three of us, we’ll get there,” he said. “And look on the bright side. You won’t need to hand in a term project.”

  “I’m rather sad about that,” Lian said. “It would’ve been a good paper. The Willow Star and the Prince. I could’ve added some new firsthand research to a little-known legend, thanks to those cave paintings. I wish you could’ve seen them, too, Shao.”

  The truck bumped along and eventually Lian slid down to sleep, back curled against the sacks. Shao pulled the blanket over her shoulders. He was tired and his flea bites itched. Every bone in his body ached as though he was coming down with fever. The rough road didn’t help. But it was also restlessness. Perhaps it was because he felt ill, but it seemed as though the finest of threads was unraveling in his mind, memories slipping by just beyond his grasp. Like trying to remember a dream after waking up, trying to piece together images that melted away the same moment they appeared. He rolled into a sitting position and clambered over to Sparrow, who was leaning out the tailgate, her face turned up to the night sky.

  “Sparrow, I’m so sorry you’re caught up in all this,” he said. “And I’m angry, too. You should’ve stayed in Shanghai in the first place, like the good servant you’re supposed to be.”

  “You should be glad I came, Young Master,” she said. “I’ve a far better sense of direction than you.” He gave her a mock punch to the arm, saw the silhouette of her shoulders shake with laughter.

  “A week ago, I was a university student,” he said. “Now a fugitive. All because of some misguided impulse to help Lian.” He said this jokingly.

  “You’re doing this because it was the right thing to do,” she said. “Miss Hu was truly in danger and so is Yee Meirong. And you’re worried about your mother.”

  Sparrow put her head out the truck to look up again. Shao looked out too. Overhead, a quarter moon glowed behind a thin haze of cloud that obscured all but the brightest stars.

  TEN BONE-JOLTING HOURS later, the skies still the muted gray of early morning, the truck let them off outside Kian, a town set in a river valley. The provisions in Sparrow’s rucksack would see them through the next few days and they wanted to avoid the town, so they set out immediately toward the hills, which were dense with pines and alders.

  “This road winds between the hills,” Shao said, squinting at a map. “If we walk at night, we can avoid Japanese airplanes and just as importantly, our own soldiers.”

  When they traveled with Minghua 123, they had taken major roads that passed through towns and large temples, places with enough room to accommodate a large group. Now he searched the map for less-traveled roads to take them away from Kian, roads where they would meet fewer people. As the sun rose higher, they spied plumes of smoke rising from distant ridges.

  “Charcoal burners,” Sparrow said when Lian pointed at the smoke.

  They were encountering refugees on the road now, a bedraggled stream leaving Kian. Some stared at them, but without any curiosity. Most didn’t bother giving them more than a glance, too tired to do more than put one foot ahead of the other.

  “How are you today, Granny?” Sparrow asked an elderly woman. She rode on a handbarrow piled high with sacks and wooden chairs. The man pushing it was bent with age.

  The old woman squinted. “It’s a good day. It’s his turn to push.”

  She burst out laughing and her husband chortled with mirth. The two looked at each other fondly. Shao couldn’t help smiling. What did it feel like to love someone for decades, as this couple still did?

  Sparrow continued walking ahead of them, chatting every so often with some of the travelers. She paused at the side of the road and waited for Shao and Lian to catch up.

  “We’ll be safer walking at night,” Sparrow said, “and we must avoid villages between here and Foochow. Apparently, the army is sweeping through, conscripting soldiers. The only men on the road are either very old or still quite young, have you noticed?”

  “Then we need a place to hide and rest during the day,” Shao said. He’d never felt so tired.

  “We’ll find something along the way,” Sparrow said. She sounded very certain.

  “THAT MUST BE Foochow,” Shao said. In the distance, farmland was interrupted by scatterings of houses, and beyond lay a landscape of peaked roofs. A light haze rose from the city, smoke from charcoal fires.

  “Probably just another two hours to get there,” Sparrow said. They cut through a field, keeping to a windbreak of poplar trees.

  “Take a big step here,” Lian said, “it’s a ditch.”

  Despite this warning, Shao tripped and fell. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I wasn’t watching.” He got up and knotted his scarf more tightly around his neck. He’d stumbled a lot over the past six days. “Getting colder, isn’t it?”

  On the final mile to Foochow Shao could no longer deny something was very wrong with him, something more than hunger and fatigue. His legs were unsteady, and he went off the path into the shrubs twice, heaving up his last meal.

  “Stomach cramps,” he said, wincing. Sparrow found him a stick to lean on and he was able to keep walking. The first houses were coming into focus now, smoke rising from chimneys.

  “Is it malaria?” Lian asked Sparrow. “Should we get some quinine or qinghao?”

  “I don’t think it’s malaria,” Sparrow said, “but definitely some sort of infection, something serious. That herbalist in Changsha didn’t know what he was talking about. We need to get you indoors, Young Master. We have enough money for a room somewhere.”

  “It’s just a cold,” Shao said, trying to suppress his shivers.

  Sparrow put a hand on his forehead. “You’re running a fever. It’s more than a cold.”

  “I’m fine,” he snapped.

  When they reached the first house on the outskirts of Foochow, however, Shao was beyond arguing. He could barely put one foot ahead of the other. He was dimly aware of being helped indoors, of falling into a pile of straw, shaking from chills. And then he slept.

  SHAO HEARD SNATCHES of conversation, low, worried voices.

  “I’ll go into town and look for Daming’s friend.” That was Lian. “Where’s the letter of introduction he gave us?”

  Then he was retching again. Spewing what remained in his stomach. He was soaked in cold sweat, every bone and muscle ached, and his head was in a vise. His bowels gave way and a foul stink filled the room. He whimpered from the humiliation.

  He woke up. Someone was spooning a bitter liquid into his mouth.

  “It’s from the army doctor in Foochow, Daming’s friend.” Sparrow’s voice. “Drink it all.”

  Shao tried keeping his eyes open but his head lolled on the mattress. Or perhaps it
was just straw bedding. But it was all right. Sparrow was taking care of him. He felt a warm, damp cloth wipe between his legs, smelled his own shit, and vomited again.

  He was shivering. Someone pulled up the blanket he had kicked off and warmth enfolded him again. He fell asleep from sheer exhaustion, but his dreams were fitful.

  Daylight entered through the shutters of a narrow window. The room was small, with clay jars stacked against its walls. He lay on a pile of straw heaped on a low brick platform. The air smelled sour, musty. He pushed himself up and looked around. A charcoal brazier smoldered in a niche, its smoke rising through a hole in the roof, its glow lighting the corner. Slowly, he grew aware of the noise of crockery, the smell of cooking grains, voices outside. Lian and another woman, chatting amiably. He sat up slowly just as Sparrow entered, sunlight filling the doorway behind her.

  “Where are we?” Shao said. His throat felt parched but otherwise, he felt nearly back to normal.

  “On the outskirts of Foochow,” Sparrow said. “A woman and her daughter let us stay. We’re in their storeroom. Miss Hu slept in the kitchen. Here, drink this. Real medicine.”

  More of the bitter liquid. Shao sighed and swallowed obediently. “Is it safe to go into Foochow?” he asked, remembering.

  “Foochow seems safe enough now.” Lian came into the storeroom. “The army recruiters have moved on. I found the doctor, Daming’s friend. He gave us those drugs and travel documents. There’s a truck we can get on tonight. Are you well enough to walk?”

  Sparrow put down a bowl of hot boiled millet. Suddenly, even this peasant food smelled tempting and he began spooning it down.

  “I’m glad you’re better,” Lian said, putting her hand on his for a moment.

  But all he felt was shame. Shame that she had seen him in a disgusting state.

  THE TRUCK WAS parked at a wharf on the Fuhe River, near the eastern side of Foochow’s town walls. The soldier driving the truck waved them to get on, not even bothering to look at their documents. They huddled together under the canvas awning, perched uncomfortably on wooden crates. The road was rutted as a washboard and the truck seemed to drive over every bump. Still queasy from fever, Shao hung his head over the tailgate several times to retch.