He gestures around us. It already has, Fei.

Not enough, I say after several long, weighted moments. I know what he is hinting at and need to discourage it. And even if it did, what was between us is in the past.

So you say. But you’ve done an awful lot to keep me alive. He gestures at the green shirt. And well dressed.

Only so you won’t embarrass me, I say loftily.

Whatever you say, apprentice, he replies. He prepares for bed with a glint in his eye, and I know he doesn’t believe me.

CHAPTER 9

MORE STRANGE DREAMS PLAGUE my sleep that night. I again feel as though something or someone is calling out to me, this time through a mist. I run through it, trying to find my way, but only grow more and more disoriented. Soon I lose sense of whether someone is trying to reach out to me—or capture me. I begin running, full of panic and unable to see my destination.

I wake up with a start, flailing and terrified. To my astonishment, Li Wei is kneeling by my makeshift bed, and before I know what I’m doing, I throw myself into his arms. The phantoms in my dream fade, and his presence grounds me, calming me down. He strokes my hair gently, and it takes me a moment to slip from his embrace.

Sorry about that, I say.

I was worried, he tells me. You were so restless, tossing and turning. Kicking. And this isn’t the first time I’ve seen it while you’re sleeping.

It isn’t? I ask, feeling mortified.

What are you dreaming of that upsets you so much? he asks.

Although he knows about my hearing, I haven’t told him the full details of how it started or my recurring dreams of being called to. I nearly tell him now, but something fearful and personal holds me back. It’s nothing, I say, getting to my feet. Sorry for worrying you.

He touches my arm briefly, turning me so I must face him. Fei, I’m here for you. No matter what else has happened between us, I hope you know that. Don’t be afraid to tell me anything.

I nod but don’t elaborate. How can I explain what I myself don’t understand?

He doesn’t press me for answers as we get ready for the day. We eat all but two persimmons and finish cleaning ourselves up. Li Wei’s “new” shirt, now fully dry, has ended up as a kind of sickly green, but it’s still better than before. I stand before him, helping smooth some of the fabric as I survey him with a critical eye.

I guess you’ll do, I say, certainly not about to admit that even in rags, he is magnificent.

I feel confident in my own clean set of artist’s clothes, though I wish I’d thought to pack a girl’s set. It isn’t completely unheard of for women to wear pants in our village, but the more I think about meeting a venerable figure like the line keeper, the more I wish I could put on a strong, formal appearance.

I remember when I first interviewed to help out with the artists, I tell Li Wei as we are breaking camp. Before I officially became an apprentice. I had to undergo extensive tests and interviews. My mother scrubbed me until I hurt and traded three days’ worth of her own rations for some new cloth to make me a robe. “When you’re meeting someone in power, someone with the ability to change your life for better or worse, it’s important you show them you’re worth it,” she told me. I pause, feeling a bittersweet tug at the memory. My mother had died before learning the results. I wonder what she would think of me now: going to see the line keeper, dressed like a boy.

Li Wei grins, revealing a phantom dimple I’ve always liked. You might be dressed like a boy, but no one’s going to think you’re one.

Despite his teasing, there is a heated undercurrent in his words, and I can’t help but think of our conversation last night: You should marry someone who loves you. Someone who loves you passionately and would change the world for you.

Has it changed? I wonder. And will I be able to change with it?

Those thoughts weigh on me, but as the sun rises higher, concern for Zhang Jing is more pressing. When I’ve finished pinning up my hair, I ask, Is there anything else we need to do? Should we work out what we’re going to say to the line keeper?

We’ll tell him our problems and ask for help, Li Wei says simply.

The answer doesn’t surprise me. Li Wei is more straightforward about some things than I am. Coming from the Peacock Court, where we work with more structure and formalities, I’m hesitant just to rush forward without a concrete plan. You’re still assuming that what happened to the other village was part of some misunderstanding, I say. What if it wasn’t? What if he knows and did nothing?

Then we will have nothing to do with him, Li Wei says. We’ll take matters into our own hands.

I don’t know how I feel about that—or how we’d even go about it—but I decide not to argue the matter until we know for sure the line keeper was complicit. For now, we must go to him and find out what we can.

The usual morning mist covers the mountains, but the day is warming quickly, promising us that summer hasn’t quite left yet. Li Wei has a better sense of how and where we descended the mountain, and he leads us back in the direction of the zip line. We walk through more forest, seeing little sign of human civilization but keeping our eyes open for more persimmons or other edibles. We also pass a few small woodland animals, causing us both to pause in contemplation. Game is as rare as agriculture up in our village, and sadly, animals usually don’t last long due to the lack of sustenance in our rocky soil. We make no attempts at hunting today—not when we’re so near our goal.

Soon enough we see the line coming down the mountain, suspended high over the trees and treacherous cliffs. Seeing it this way is just as surreal to me as this new bottom view of the mountains. For all my life, I’ve seen shipments of precious food come up that line from a mysterious location. Never did I dream we’d arrive there—or that it would be so underwhelming.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t a small, nondescript shed at the base of the zip line. Sitting beside it, getting what shade he can from the overhanging of the thatched roof, is a middle-aged man with thinning hair. Two things about him strike me immediately. The first is his clothing. It’s made of cotton, just like my artist’s attire, but there’s a freshness to it that’s rarely seen in our village, where cloth is at such a premium that new clothing is a luxury. The other thing about him that takes me aback is that he’s . . . plump. Outside of babies and drawings from old stories, I’ve never really seen anyone with extra fat, and I find myself gaping.

Li Wei and I stand there, neither of us sure what to do. The man is slumped against the shack’s walls, looking as though he might be dozing. Li Wei shifts slightly, making his pack rattle, and the man’s eyes open in in surprise. He can hear, I realize. He jumps to his feet, putting a rumpled cotton hat on his head, and looks between our faces expectantly. Then something truly remarkable happens: Sound comes from his lips.

It’s not a scream, not laughter. It’s like nothing I’ve yet encountered in my brief experience with hearing, a series of rapid sounds of different lengths and shapes. I realize, with a start, that I must be hearing human speech for the first time. Only, I have no idea what it means. And I certainly have no idea how to make it in return.