Ling Wen was woken by the clamor, though she’d barely fallen asleep until near dawn. First came a piercing bugle call cutting through the morning mist, then an endless clanging sound—it took her a long while to realize it was the sound of iron gates being slammed open and shut. She was in the detention house. In Longhua.

The day before, a black prison van had taken her from the old Laozha police station to Nanshi; that afternoon she’d been put into another van, and only after dark was she brought here—the van was full of everyone who’d been arrested at the meeting that day. After the van passed Fenglin Bridge, someone murmured that it looked like they were headed to Longhua. Sure enough, the car drove into the Songhu Garrison Command and stopped before a small building, and someone murmured again: the Judge Advocate’s Office. The moment the escorting soldiers heard talking, they started shouting.

Inside the small building, they stood by the windows for a long time as dusk gathered outside, everyone weighed down with worry. Only after dark were they, one by one, led into the cells. Even now she still hadn’t eaten anything.

But she didn’t feel hungry—even if food were set in front of her, she couldn’t have eaten it. Her mind was racing, though nothing was clear; she had no idea what was in store for her. But one thing she was sure of: whatever happened, she must never give in.

“Now that’s a proper beauty.”

Sunlight streamed into the cell, and someone was talking. Ling Wen turned and saw a woman of about thirty sitting on the bunk across from her, holding a small mirror, turning her face this way and that in front of it.

“You’re awake?” The woman stood and came over to Ling Wen’s bunk, tilting her pretty face toward her, chattering without pause. “You look much better after sleeping. Last night when you came in, you all looked positively frightful. My surname’s Tao—just call me Miss Tao.”

The cell had a foul smell to begin with, but when this woman drew near, she brought a whiff of perfume with her. “Finally, someone’s here. I’ve been stuck in this place for months, bored to death. If there’d been three of you, that’d be even better—we could’ve made up a mahjong table—” She gave a giggling laugh. “Women don’t usually end up in the lockup—you two aren’t wrongly accused like me, are you?”

Miss Tao dabbed a bit more powder on her face. “Every day, powdering and painting, and for whose benefit, who knows—you didn’t eat anything all night, are you hungry? I’ve got Ovaltine—people outside have to get someone to buy it for them, it’s that hard to come by. Shall I make you a cup?”

Just as she spoke, the cell door clanged open, and the jailer said with a smirk, “Miss Tao, come on out!”

Miss Tao smoothed down her qipao, stood up, and sashayed out the door, pausing to say, “Lovely weather today—I’m going to get a good bit of sun.”

The cell fell quiet, and only the jailer’s voice could be heard outside, saying to the woman, “Miss Tao, those two aren’t like you. They’re Communists. Don’t go chatting them up.”

Ling Wen sat up abruptly and looked around. There was one other person in the cell, sitting on the edge of a bunk like herself—the bunk held nothing but a few wooden planks and a straw mat. Miss Tao’s bunk was set against the inner wall, piled with thick bedding, a satin-covered quilt rolled up on a sheet patterned with mandarin ducks.

Ling Wen looked at the other person in the cell. The two of them had only just met, and had been arrested together. She studied the other woman tentatively, and met a pair of gentle eyes that were making an effort to smile at her. This young woman had short hair cut just above her ears, and looked like a teacher; for a moment neither of them knew how to start.

At last, Ling Wen asked, “Are you all right?”

The other nodded. There was moss on the brick floor, and ants crawled about in the sunlight. She raised her head to look at Ling Wen, her eyes eager, seeming a little agitated, as if she had countless questions but hadn’t had the chance to voice any of them—

“Here, one must be careful what one says,” Ling Wen said.

“I know you. I’ve read your novel Winter. You’re Ling Wen.”

“And you? And that young man in the jacket—you two were pressed together the whole ride in the van.”

“My name is Dong Huiwen. He’s Chen Qianyuan.” She thought this was the first time she’d ever found herself in such a situation—they might otherwise have gotten to know each other properly at the meeting.

That morning, she and Chen Qianyuan had agreed to reach the Fourth Malu market before ten; they’d planned to meet first at the mouth of Tongchun Alley. Straight down that alley was the gate of Minghui Elementary School, where she taught. That morning she’d had no choice but to go to the school first. Winter break was about to begin, and she needed to say goodbye to her graduating class and hand out the completion certificates signed and stamped by the principal.

“Are you afraid?” Seeing Dong Huiwen fall silent, Ling Wen went over and sat beside her, reaching out to smooth her hair.

The question was very direct, and Dong Huiwen found she didn’t know how to answer. Was she afraid? She wasn’t in the least afraid of those men, but now that she was truly inside this grim place, she couldn’t help feeling a chill. She realized that only when her heart was filled with anger did she feel fired up, utterly fearless. She hesitated, then suddenly looked up at Ling Wen with wide eyes: “That person who jumped, at the Fourth Malu market—who was he?”

Ling Wen shook her head. From yesterday until now, she too had kept thinking about that man who had jumped—had he leapt from the window so resolutely just to warn them the enemy had come? She tried to understand him, feeling that if she could truly grasp what such people felt in their hearts in that moment of life-and-death choice, she would come to understand Long Dong that much better—how naive she had been, writing Winter.

Dong Huiwen thought for a moment, then looked up again at Ling Wen. “I’m not afraid. I made up my mind about that long ago.”

Outside, on the barbed wire atop the high wall, a gray pigeon perched, and the cell fell silent. Ling Wen looked at the young woman before her and felt a stir of worry on her behalf. Ling Wen had been in prison before; she knew the hardest hour hadn’t yet arrived. Those who had caught them still meant to dig out their secrets. The mission—though she herself wasn’t sure what it was—they’d been gathered together for some urgent purpose. Did Lao Yi know what they’d been meant to do?

The cell door opened again, the jailer standing in the doorway.

“Time for interrogation.”

Ling Wen looked at Dong Huiwen and stood up—

“You, out.” The jailer pointed at Dong Huiwen and called out, snapping handcuffs on her right there at the cell door.

Dong Huiwen was taken to the interrogation room—not the usual place for questioning prisoners, which was beside the Section Chief’s office. Instead, she was taken to the Western-style building she’d passed the afternoon before, and the man waiting for her inside was one she vaguely recalled seeing at the scene of the arrest. It was You Tianxiao.

Someone loosened her handcuffs a little, and blood rushed suddenly back into her fingers, leaving a prickling sensation at the tips.

“Take them off,” the man said.

The handcuffs came off. Dong Huiwen forced down her unease and slowly steadied herself, waiting.

“Miss Dong, do you know why you’ve been brought here?”

The wave of tension surged again. She stared at him and didn’t answer. She thought of something Chen Qianyuan had once told her—if you’re afraid, you can be angry instead; anger drives out fear.

“Miss Dong, would you like some water?” The man tilted his chin toward the clerk to one side. “I’m from the Judge Advocate’s Office, Detective Squad—You Tianxiao.”

Dong Huiwen looked at the water cup on the table and said nothing.

“Didn’t expect you’d be so young—” He pretended to look over the case file. “A young lady like you should be dressed up nicely, going to the pictures, strolling along the street—”

“But that’s exactly what I was doing—strolling.”

“Is that so? Strolling right into a market? Were the others with you doing the same, strolling through the market?”

Dong Huiwen looked up and saw the most terrifying smile she had ever seen in her life—like a human-skin mask pulled into a grin, cold-eyed, the corners of his eyes glinting red.

“Under the Emergency Act for Crimes Endangering the Republic,” he said, pausing as if with regret, “such a charge—means execution!”

As he said the word “execution,” You Tianxiao’s tone suddenly rose, shrill and harsh. The interrogation room fell silent. He lit a cigarette and blew a series of smoke rings in Dong Huiwen’s direction.

“Who told you to go up to the library above the market?”

Dong Huiwen felt a flutter of panic; she had no idea how to handle an interrogation like this. In her imagination of revolution, a scene like this had never once appeared. The enemy she’d imagined hadn’t looked like the man before her either—this man who called himself Surnamed You, whose speech sounded mild enough, yet who left her feeling that at any moment he might show a savage face. But she told herself she must grit her teeth and endure.

“How about this, Miss Dong—let’s play a little game—”

You Tianxiao snuffed out his cigarette and, as if performing a magic trick, pulled a thick stack of photographs from the case file, squared them up, and set them face-down on the table. He drew one out, waved it in the air, tilted his head back, and with a theatrical flourish, thrust the photograph in front of Dong Huiwen.

“Is this him?”

Dong Huiwen froze. She saw herself in the photograph.

You Tianxiao pulled his hand back, glanced at the photo of Dong Huiwen, tossed it aside, and switched to another.

“I don’t know this person.”

Dong Huiwen was puzzled, unable to guess what sinister scheme lay behind this farce. You Tianxiao showed endless patience, holding up photographs one after another—

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t know.”

Outside, the sound of a car engine, tires scraping on the brick pavement. It sounded like Miss Tao, laughing and chattering somewhere, a laugh as brazen as the wanton women in a Shanghai opera. The laughter carried from inside the building all the way out to the yard; a car door slammed, the engine started again.

Inside the interrogation room, the farce continued, and Dong Huiwen saw Ling Wen appear.

“I know this one.”

His hand pulled back; he looked closely at the photograph.

“Just recently met her.”

You Tianxiao’s momentum flagged, and he switched to another photo—Chen Qianyuan, lips pressed tight, eyes blazing, clearly furious. A pang of tenderness passed through Dong Huiwen’s heart; she turned her gaze to the cup on the table, feeling she mustn’t stare at that photograph too long.

You Tianxiao slowly withdrew the photo, glanced at it once, and set it down next to the water cup.

“You may drink some water,” he said, lifting yet another photo.

The farce finally ended. Dong Huiwen felt a flicker of unease—had her expression given something away? She wanted a drink of water, but caught sight of that photograph again. She quickly pulled her hand back, thinking she mustn’t do as the enemy wished—if they wanted her to drink, she’d refuse all the more.

“Chen Qianyuan.” You Tianxiao, staring at the photo beside the cup, spoke the name of the man in the picture, then said nothing further.

He opened the file, found a page, looked at it, leaned back in his chair, and traced circles on the page with his finger. “Chen Qianyuan. Journalist.” He glanced at Dong Huiwen. “Teacher. Twenty-three—”

You Tianxiao looked at the page again. “Twenty-six.”

He found Dong Huiwen’s photograph among the stack and set it next to the water cup as well. Now the two photographed faces stood side by side.

“Quite a match, really. Going to the pictures, strolling in the park, department stores, and the library too.” He fixed his eyes on Dong Huiwen, his expression darkening steadily. “Miss Dong, Longhua isn’t Nanjing Road. Once you’re in the Judge Advocate’s Office, if you want to walk out alive, you’d best put your mind to work. Dying is easy enough—no telling how many wandering ghosts there are on the wasteland behind headquarters. I can have the two of you shot together, or I can have one watch the other be executed.”

“On what grounds?” Dong Huiwen straightened in her chair, raised her head, anger rising in her heart. She glanced at the clerk sitting to one side and cried out loudly, “What proof do you have?”

You Tianxiao waved a hand at the clerk, who got up and left the interrogation room.

“You think everything gets written down on paper? Black or white, I decide. In the Songhu Garrison Command, there’s no shortage of men wrongly put to death. I advise you to think it over carefully. Miss Dong, next time we bring you in, it’ll be somewhere else.”

“So what if it is?”

“Have you ever seen a pair of dice on Chen Qianyuan?”

“Didn’t you produce those dice yourself?” Dong Huiwen shot back.

You Tianxiao lost his patience, jumped to his feet, snatched up the water cup, and hurled it to the floor. Water and shattered glass splashed at Dong Huiwen’s feet.

“Talk! Where’s Hao Han hiding?” he roared at her.

Dong Huiwen’s eyes went wide, and she leapt up from her chair, shouting, “What Hao Han? I’ve never heard of him!”

You Tianxiao lunged forward and struck Dong Huiwen across the face.

Dong Huiwen opened her eyes to blinding white light outside the window, and thought: if Chen Qianyuan was the comrade sent by their superiors, then the person she needed to protect was still one and the same.

At noon, sunlight brought a touch of warmth into the gloomy cell, and the sound of the jailer cursing carried in from the courtyard. Ling Wen stood inside the cell door and saw Dong Huiwen being brought back. On the uneven brick path, her steps faltered a little. Ling Wen stepped back and stood by the bunk.

Dong Huiwen stood sideways in the doorway, tilting her head to look up at the sky. The jailer opened the door, undid her handcuffs, and shoved her inside. “Isn’t this better? Say what needs saying and you won’t have to suffer.”

Who was that meant for? Ling Wen watched Dong Huiwen, saw her standing dazed against the cell door, a bruise beneath her left eye, but no marks of torture on her body. She didn’t quite believe the jailer’s words, but in the enemy’s prison, she couldn’t afford to be wrong.

Ling Wen helped Dong Huiwen to the bunk and sat her down, took out her own handkerchief, dampened it, and pressed it against Dong Huiwen’s injured cheek.

“Did you say anything you shouldn’t have?” she asked her.

Dong Huiwen shook her head, staring blankly at the corner of the wall. For a good while, the cell was silent. Had she been frightened? Had she given something away without meaning to? For a moment, Ling Wen almost doubted her own judgment.

“He said he was from the Detective Squad, surnamed You.” Dong Huiwen looked at Ling Wen, and once she started speaking she couldn’t stop—the words tumbling out more and more disjointedly. “When I went into the interrogation room, I’d already made up my mind—if they tortured me, I’d smash my head against the wall.” She said it loudly, as if declaring it to the soldiers sitting in the guardroom outside. Ling Wen stood up, walked to the cell door, and looked outside carefully, then turned back and signaled for Dong Huiwen to lower her voice.

What kind of psychological ordeal had this girl just been through? Even for a seasoned comrade, interrogation was an enormous test. Ling Wen thought of some of the stories Long Dong had once told her, and felt a surge of pity well up in her—she remembered how frightened she herself had been, the first time she’d been arrested.

But Ling Wen still forced herself to listen carefully, to watch carefully. At first she hadn’t understood why the stack of photographs had come out, but soon enough she grasped what this man surnamed You had been after. This simple, guileless girl had no idea that everything in her heart had already shown on her face. Her life had only just begun, and already she had to face a situation this complicated, this dangerous.

Ling Wen couldn’t quite picture what expression Dong Huiwen must have worn, to let the enemy see through her so easily.

But she was quite certain that the agent had guessed correctly—he set our photographs down side by side, next to the water cup, Dong Huiwen told her.

She asked Dong Huiwen, “Besides Chen Qianyuan, were there any other people you recognized in those photographs?”

“Only you.” Dong Huiwen looked at Ling Wen, and a mischievous smile flickered across her face and vanished as quickly.

“When did you and Chen Qianyuan meet?”

“You’ve already guessed, haven’t you—”

Dong Huiwen was quiet a moment, then sighed and turned her gaze toward the bright sky beyond the cell door. “I don’t even know where they’re holding him.”

Ling Wen felt a stir of emotion, and put her arm around Dong Huiwen’s shoulders. “My husband and I met during the May Thirtieth Movement. By the time we married, the Northern Expedition army had just set out from Guangzhou. But not long after, the Nationalists began massacring our comrades.”

“Where is he now?”

“The enemy surrounded our liaison point. He had no choice but to retreat to Guangzhou, and he was killed there a few years ago.”

She suddenly turned and asked Dong Huiwen gravely, “Did you give away any Party secrets to the enemy?”

“No. Do you believe me?”

“I believe you.”

“They asked about Comrade Hao Han.”

“Comrade Hao Han?”

Within the Party, everyone knew of the leading comrade who used this pen name, who often published articles under it in the Guide Weekly.

“He also asked if I’d seen a pair of dice.” Dong Huiwen said, puzzled.

“Dice?”

Ling Wen had indeed heard Lao Yi mention the dice before; he’d found it rather interesting. Lao Fang had said that the comrade sent by their superiors would produce a pair of dice—but no one had produced any dice, and instead it was the agent who had brought a pair out. So somehow they’d learned about the dice. Had Lao Yi mentioned the dice to anyone else?

Could Lao Yi himself be the comrade sent by their superiors? She could neither confirm that he was, nor that he wasn’t. Someone doing secret work might maintain several different lines, using a different alias on each. Besides, she was Lao Yi’s subordinate on this line.

“The person who told you about the meeting—was it Lao Fang?”

Ling Wen knew she shouldn’t be asking this. By discipline, comrades working on two parallel lines were not to inquire about each other, even if they lived under the same roof, even if they were family. But then again, if the enemy hadn’t burst into the meeting, by the time the meeting ended, she and Dong Huiwen would very likely have turned out to be comrades in the same cell.

In any case, she hadn’t guessed wrong. Of the eleven comrades who had entered the meeting place, most hadn’t known each other beforehand—they hadn’t originally worked on the same line at all.

“We should find a way to notify the organization—the enemy is searching for Hao Han.”

Just as Ling Wen was speaking quietly with Dong Huiwen, Miss Tao came back. The moment she returned, the cell grew lively, filled with her chatter, inviting the two of them to eat the melon seeds and peanuts she’d brought back, telling them she’d be getting out very soon. She also said to Ling Wen, “So you’re that famous writer—I do love reading novels, you know. You know Xu Zhenya, don’t you? He used to dance with me.”