Two scouts carrying lanterns led the way. It was their second night of walking and they would reach Shangma Temple before daybreak. None of them grumbled about traveling on a dark night, with only stars and a sliver of crescent moon to brighten the sky. It was far preferable to nights when the skies were clear, the landscape sharp and distinct beneath a full moon. Starlight brightened the outlines of clouds, picking out a ridge of hills no more than a mile away. Their destination, hidden in the notch of a valley, was not yet visible. They walked silently in a long uneven procession of twos and threes.
Fall was cold this year, unusually so. Even students from the northern provinces felt the chill. For many in Minghua 123, raised in coastal cities and temperate climates, it was pure misery. They wrapped up in every piece of clothing they’d brought, but even with faces and heads muffled, it still wasn’t enough. Fatigue was to blame, demanding more from their bodies than they could spare.
On the road ahead, Shao saw a female student beside a donkey cart. Even if the lantern hanging from the cart hadn’t lit her face, he would’ve recognized Lian. She was alone, Meirong nowhere to be seen. He walked faster to catch up. She offered a shy smile of greeting and the lantern enclosed them both in its wavering circle of light. They walked for a time in silence, then Shao cleared his throat.
“So, Lian, which volume of the Library of Legends do you carry?” he said. This had become a frequent question between students, some of whom had never even heard of the Legends before the evacuation. Some, especially the agriculture majors, made it clear they were reading their Legends book purely out of duty.
“Tales of Celestial Deities,” she said. “And you?”
“Fox spirits, alas,” he said. “Tales of Fox Spirits, Volumes 100 to 140.”
“I don’t think there are that many . . .” she began to say, then they both laughed.
“There’s a big collection of Fox lore,” Shao said, “enough for multiple volumes. But not 140 of them. Just three, filled with variations of the same story.”
“A poor but handsome young man falls in love with a beautiful mysterious maiden,” she said, “and his fortunes improve dramatically. They live together happily until the day he discovers she’s actually a shape-shifting Fox spirit. Whereupon he rejects her and all his fortunes vanish.”
“In some stories the man accepts her for what she is,” he said, “and they live together happily until he dies. Then the Fox disappears, presumably to find love with some other young man.”
“I think the saga of the Library of Legends itself is wonderfully intriguing,” she said. “It’s amazing that even a single volume managed to survive.”
“Yes, that’s how I feel too,” he said. “Did you read Professor Kang’s pamphlet about the Legends? It almost makes one believe in heavenly intervention. That the scholar responsible for editing the volumes kept a copy for himself, and it stayed in his family for centuries.”
“The reason I wanted to attend Minghua was because of the Library of Legends.” Her words were eager, her voice passionate. “It’s all that’s left of the Jingtai Encyclopedia, from a time when China represented the peak of human civilization. Did you know about the Legends before coming to Minghua?”
“My father bought the Minghua University Press edition for his library at home,” he said. “I used to spend hours reading the Legends. It’s a relief to know that even if something happens to the books we carry, at least the stories inside them won’t be lost.”
“But to hold the originals in your hand,” Lian said. “To read those stories in the actual handwriting of scholars who copied them out five hundred years ago. To see notes scribbled in the margins by the imperial scholar Yao himself. What enchantments those books must hold to have survived so long.”
“That’s exactly how I feel,” he said. It pleased him to hear her voice so animated. To know she appreciated the Legends as much as he did.
“My father also owned a Minghua edition of the Library of Legends,” she said, and her voice grew subdued. “He would’ve loved to see the real Library but . . . well, he died when I was a child.”
They walked together in silence. It was a companionable silence. Shao liked that Lian didn’t demand anything of him, that he didn’t have to make polite, trivial conversation.
A lamp and footsteps. “Young Master, the other scouts are asking for you,” Sparrow said, holding out a lamp. “They’re going to confirm the arrangements for our stay in the next town.”
Ahead of them, some students had detached from the main group, lanterns casting small pools of brightness along the road.
“Lian, let’s walk together again sometime,” Shao said, taking the lamp. “Sparrow, see you in town.”
Sparrow didn’t reply. She wasn’t looking at him, but at Lian. A pitying look. A trick of the light, he thought. Then he sprinted to join the knot of scouts at the front of the line.