One night, eight years earlier, Bing was making love to the woman against the wall of their dormitory room upstairs, when Mei went to fetch a hairpin that she’d forgotten. Mei didn’t confront them right way but carefully pulled the door back. She was at fi rst too shocked to be angry and too numb to analyze anything, then too hesitant to do so. For she was concerned about his face. And it was not unpredictable what would become of her and what her life would be, if she made him lose face.
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