The soup and sleep had done wonders. As the dawn light filtered golden and shimmering into the little courtyard, Connor awoke feeling rested and re-energized. Through the slats of a small window in the courtyard wall, he could see a man paddling his boat amid the morning mist on the canal. Smoke from a dozen kitchen ovens rose lazily into the pale blue sky and the aroma of boiling rice and dumplings wafted through the air. Zhouzhuang was just beginning to wake up.

Turning away from the window, Connor wasn’t surprised to see Amir still fast asleep, lightly snoring. But he was surprised to find Zhen’s grandmother up and in the middle of the courtyard. She stood, poised like a noble white crane, arms spread like wings, balanced upon one foot, the other pointed with the elegance of a ballerina. Exhaling gently, Lăolao placed her lead foot on the ground and shifted her weight forward, pivoting in a slow arc while her hands circled as if caressing an invisible ball. Pushing at the air, she advanced, then retreated, mimicking the ebb and flow of a wave. Her breathing married to her motion, she moved with a serene grace that defied her old age. Connor was captivated and astonished at the grandmother’s suppleness and skill.

Amir sat up and sleepily rubbed his eyes. ‘What’s she doing?’ he asked, yawning.

‘Tai chi,’ said Zhen, emerging from the house, dressed in a red blouse, slim-cut jeans and sequined flat-heeled pumps, her long hair looped into a high ponytail. ‘It’s a daily ritual for Lăolao; in fact for most Chinese. We should join her.’

‘But I haven’t a clue what to do,’ said Amir.

‘Just follow Lăolao’s movements,’ Zhen told him, mirroring her grandmother’s posture and falling into her rhythm.

Wishing to respect their host, Connor nudged Amir and rose to his feet. They joined Zhen and her grandmother in the centre of the courtyard. Lăolao made no comment, not even acknowledging their presence.

Connor took up the old woman’s current pose and followed her gliding actions. But what Lăolao made look easy and graceful proved far more difficult in practice. Her every action was measured and precise, requiring absolute control over mind and body. By comparison the two of them looked like bumbling clowns; Zhen suppressed a grin as Amir got his footing wrong and stepped on a plant pot. But even that mistake didn’t disturb Lăolao’s focus.

After a while, her beady eyes flicked briefly towards Connor and she muttered a few words. Thinking he’d done something wrong, Connor looked to Zhen for a translation.

‘Let your limbs flow like water,’ said Zhen. ‘No resistance.’

Following the old woman’s instruction, Connor relaxed his muscles. The series of movements immediately became more fluid and manageable. Then gradually he began to recognize stances and techniques from his martial arts training: cat pose … a circular forearm block … a palm strike … a wrist lock … a front flick-kick … All in slow motion, but all with definite purpose.

‘Hūxī,’ said Lăolao as Connor began to grasp the routine and find his flow.

‘Breathe,’ translated Zhen.

Consciously inhaling and exhaling, Connor timed his breath to match each movement. And, like a key in a lock, he gradually and effortlessly slid into the spirit of t’ai chi. His body relaxed … his mind calmed … his spirit lightened …

Losing himself in the meditative motion, he felt like a feather floating on the wind.

Then Lăolao brought her practice to an end and turned to Connor and Amir. Greeting her with a smile, Connor awaited some comment or praise on their progress. But she just grabbed a couple of brooms and shoved them into their hands.

‘Is this still part of tai chi?’ asked Amir, dubiously examining his brush.

Connor shrugged. ‘I guess we clean up.’

As they swept the courtyard, Lăolao attended to breakfast and Zhen busied herself setting up the table and stools.

Connor swept his way over to Zhen. ‘Did you speak with your grandmother?’ he asked quietly.

Zhen nodded.

‘And?’

‘Nothing fazes her; she’s been through the Cultural Revolution,’ said Zhen. ‘I explained what really happened at the station. She says you can stay as long as you need –’

‘That’s wonderful –’

‘– but no more than a week.’

‘Oh.’ He stopped sweeping, his relief cut short. They’d be under pressure in that time to plan and execute a new escape route. Then again he hoped to be out of the country by then. ‘That’s more than generous, under the circumstances. Please express our gratitude.’

Zhen smiled and nodded at the table. ‘You can do that by eating all her zhōu.’

Connor turned to discover that Lăolao had served up four bowls of congee, a thick rice porridge, which was flavoured with pickled vegetables and fermented tofu. Not your typical Western breakfast of cornflakes and milk! But he and Amir had no trouble finishing off the food, despite the unfamiliar combination. The exertions of the past seventy hours had left them with a ravenous appetite.

After breakfast, Zhen and her grandmother headed towards the courtyard’s front door.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Connor, out of concern as well as curiosity.

‘Market,’ replied Zhen. ‘We need more food, since there are more mouths to feed.’

Reaching for his Go-bag, Connor took out several yuan notes from his wallet. He offered them to Lăolao. She waved his money away.

‘You’ve already given enough,’ Zhen explained. ‘Remember the thousand-yuan tip!’

‘That was for you,’ said Connor. ‘We don’t wish to take advantage of your grandmother’s hospitality.’

The corner of Zhen’s mouth curled into a smile. ‘Don’t worry. She wouldn’t let you. She said you can do the dishes.’

Connor and Amir were left alone in the courtyard. Through the wooden side shutter, they watched Zhen and her grandmother cross the bridge and disappear down a lane.

‘Can we trust that old dragon?’ asked Amir.

‘We don’t have much choice,’ replied Connor. ‘But Zhen’s convinced her to let us stay for a week. So that’s something.’

Picking up a wire scourer, Amir began scrubbing away at the rice pot. ‘What’s our plan then?’

Connor slowly and thoughtfully dried a bowl before answering, ‘We need to lie low for a few days, wait until the heat dies down. In the meantime, work out another way to get to Hong Kong.’

‘Why don’t we just turn ourselves over to the British Embassy? Explain our side of the story.’

Connor shook his head. ‘Remember what the colonel said? Equilibrium has infiltrated the Foreign Office.’ Setting aside the tea towel, he took the flash drive from his pocket and studied it. ‘Whatever’s on this drive is worth killing for. We need to know what’s on it before we know who to trust.’

Amir put the rice pot down. ‘I can open the files if you want. Bugsy gave me the passcode.’

Connor offered his friend the tiny flash drive. ‘Go ahead. Knock yourself out.’

‘With pleasure,’ grinned Amir, happily exchanging the soggy scourer for the drive.

As Amir booted up his new hybrid tablet and unfolded the keyboard, Connor returned to the washing-up. At the same time he kept an eye on the courtyard window. When Zhen returned from the market, he intended to discuss alternative routes to Hong Kong. But, with both the police and Equilibrium on a nationwide hunt for them, he didn’t hold out much hope. Connor almost despaired at the challenge ahead of them. He hadn’t let on to Amir just how low his spirits were. That was why he’d given his friend the task of examining the drive: not only to find out what was on it but to keep his friend’s mind occupied and off their dire predicament. Yet Connor still believed there was a slim chance of escape. All they needed was Zhen’s local knowledge, some careful planning and a whole heap of luck –

‘Damn it!’ cried Amir, cursing out loud and pulling at his hair in frustration.

And apparently luck was a resource in very short supply.

‘What is it?’ asked Connor.

‘I’ve accessed the drive, but the files have re-encrypted themselves,’ explained Amir, glaring at the screen. ‘And Bugsy’s passcode no longer works!’

Connor dropped the rice pot in the sink. ‘So we can’t read the files?’

Amir shook his head. ‘Equilibrium have used a mutating encryption key to secure their data. That means the passcode is time-sensitive and changes regularly.’

A sinking sense of hopelessness gripped Connor’s stomach. ‘Can’t you break the encryption, like Bugsy originally did?’

Amir grimaced. ‘Maybe. I’ll give it a try, but Bugsy was a far better hacker than me.’

‘How long could that take?’ asked Connor.

Amir shrugged despondently. ‘Who knows? Depends on how complex the encryption is. A 128-bit key is the equivalent of trying to find one specific grain of sand in the whole of the Sahara Desert!’

Connor offered his friend an encouraging smile. ‘Well, you’d best get started then.’