Without Sparrow’s noticing the transition, Zhuli was telling the pianist about Ba Lute and the confrontation with the public security officers this morning. The pianist’s walk slowed. “What camp was your father at again?” he said. “I don’t know. But it’s in Gansu Province, isn’t it, cousin?” “I’m not sure, Zhuli.” She tensed. Faint perspiration gleamed on her forehead and her cheeks. She looked as if she could take on any campaign, criticism or family member, and leave them battered on the floor. “You don’t have to worry about me, cousin,” she said, her voice low. “I know when to keep my mouth
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