Kai stood by the door and said farewell to her parents-in-law. Neither explained anything to her, and Han only squeezed her shoulder and told her to relax, before he ran to catch up with them. The carpenter's apprentice stopped his work and watched Kai. When the older man coughed and told him to mind his own business, he smiled shyly at Kai and went back to sanding the wood.
Han did not wait for the carpenters to finish their work before setting out for the provincial capital that afternoon. A special liaison for the mayor, Han explained when he returned from his parents’ flat; the mayor and Han's parents wanted him to be at the capital to gather firsthand information about how Beijing was reacting to the democratic wall before they could make a decision themselves about the leaflets. He did not know how long he would have to be there, Han said, his spirit unusually low. Kai imagined that he had been warned not to reveal anything to her, but when she pressed him for details, he admitted that the situation was difficult for everyone in the administration, as the central government in Beijing did not have a clear attitude toward the democratic wall. Would it mean that some change would be introduced in national policies? Kai asked. That would be the end of his career, Han answered. He looked despondent. A boy put into a man's position by his parents. Kai looked at him almost with sympathy. She touched his cheek with her palm, but even before she could find some empty words to comfort him, Han grabbed her hand, and asked her if she would still love him if he lost the game.
What was there for him to lose? she wondered, but when she put the question to him, Han only sighed and said that she was right, that it was too early to give up, and he would remain hopeful.
Kai asked for another sick leave slip from the doctor and took the afternoon off. She did not know Teacher Gu's address, but when she searched the area, the first housewife she asked about the Gus led Kai to the alley. Number n, the woman told her, and as a passing comment she said how miserable Mrs. Gu's life was now, with no children to share the burden of an invalid husband.
Kai knocked, and it took Mrs. Gu a while to come to the gate, a hen clucking under her arm. She must have the wrong address, Mrs. Gu said before Kai could open her mouth.
“I heard Teacher Gu was not feeling well,” Kai said. “I've come to see you both.”
“We don't know you,” Mrs. Gu said. She studied Kai for a moment and her stern face softened. “Were you the one to leave the money here?”
Money? Kai said, her confusion disappointing Mrs. Gu. Who could it be then? she mumbled to herself.
Kai looked around at the alley, empty but for an old man dozing in the sun. Could she come into the yard and talk to Mrs. Gu for a few minutes? Kai asked, and Mrs. Gu, looking skeptical, nonetheless let her through the gate. The hen cooed and Mrs. Gu released it, telling it in a conversational tone to stay in the sun so as not to get a cold. The hen sauntered away, pecking at its own shadow.
Kai brought out the copies of the two leaflets she had saved. “I came to talk to you and Teacher Gu about these,” she said.
Mrs. Gu looked at the unfolded sheets without reading them. “My husband is in the hospital,” she said. “He can't talk to you.”
They were leaflets posted on Gu Shan's behalf, Kai said, and explained that not all the people in Muddy River supported the court's decision. Mrs. Gu looked at Kai for a moment and asked sharply if she was the news announcer.
“Yes,” Kai said.
“Did you know my daughter?”
Kai told her that she had moved to Muddy River after graduating from a theater school in the provincial capital. She had always been an admirer of Shan, Kai said, but what difference would her words make?
“My daughter, she wouldn't have done your job any less well than you. She was a good singer. She was always the best,” said Mrs. Gu. She glanced at the leaflets. “Did you write those?” she asked.
She wished she had, Kai said, but no, she had done little to help.
“But you know who did it? Are they your friends?”
Kai hesitated and said yes, some of them were her friends.
“Tell your friends they are very kind,” Mrs. Gu said. “But no, we don't need them to do anything like this.” Mrs. Gu added that she was only happy her husband was in the hospital. It would have upset him had he seen the leaflets.
“But we—they—are only trying to help,” Kai said. “The mistake has to be corrected. Shan was a pioneer among us. And she would be comforted to know that friends and comrades are fighting for what she fought for.”
Mrs. Gu gazed at Kai for a long moment and sighed. She was grateful, Mrs. Gu said, to hear that Kai and her friends had not forgotten Shan. Nor had she herself, Mrs. Gu said. But she had a sick husband to tend to and there was little she could do for them, nor they for her. They were not asking for anything, Kai assured her; she said that the only reason she had come to visit the couple was to let them know that they were not alone in this world, where her daughter's memory lived on as an inspiration.
“You're very good at giving speeches,” Mrs. Gu said. Kai blushed at the comment, but Mrs. Gu seemed to mean little ill. “Shan was like that too. She was the most eloquent child,” Mrs. Gu said gently. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“And you're married? Do you have children?”
Kai replied that she and her husband had a young boy.
“And your parents, are they well?”
Her father had passed away, Kai replied. Mrs. Gu nodded without adding words of sympathy. “It's kind of you to come and see us, and to let us know how you care about Shan. I don't know your friends and what their stories are, but you are a mother and a daughter. Have you thought how your mother would feel about your doing this? Have you ever thought of her?”
Kai did not know how to answer the question. She hadn't visited her mother for a few weeks now, even though they lived within a five-minute walk of each other.
“You haven't thought of her at all, have you?” Mrs. Gu said. “Daughters are all alike. Their parents weigh little
