Pan-pan shifted her swollen feet, wriggling her toes to get rid of the numbness, only to see the last strand of her shoelace let go with a snap. Over three days now, ever since she boarded the train in Guiyang, she had watched her frayed shoelaces break off one loop after another, as if they were programmed on a timer. She had insisted on buying a ticket for the “slow train” to Beijing because it was cheapest. Her father, who had come to Guiyang to see her off, had wanted her to take the express. But no one had told her that “slow” meant the train stopped at practically every house that stood along the railway track. A donkey cart could have covered the same distance just as quickly, she grumbled to herself. She had a seat all right, one-third of a wooden bench with a hard back beside the window, yet it was far from relaxing and restful.Her father had cautioned her time and again that she should apply double vigilance when the train stopped at a station. “Don’t let your bag and bedroll out of your sight,”
