Xinxin’s jaw dropped. The sheet his uncle
held was a large, ornate painting, an eighteenth-
century portrait of thirteen Ming and Qing
ancestors in robes of state. The Baos’ most
cherished heirloom, it hung in a place of
honor in their Tangyue ancestral hall.
Or it had.
“The closest squad is two towns away,”
Uncle continued. “It won’t be long before
they target our ancestral hall. We cannot stop
them from defacing it, but we can save our
most precious paintings and books—with
your help.” Uncle faced his village kin. “This
place is remote, and everyone is a Bao. If
the family treasures will be safe anywhere,
it’s here.”
Silence fell. What Uncle said was true.
But taking that responsibility meant bearing
the consequences if things went awry, and
Red Guards wouldn’t hesitate to break their
bones or destroy their property. One by one,
the villagers averted their eyes.
However, Xinxin’s gaze remained fixed on
the painting. The ancestors’ dignified expres-
sions seemed to rebuke their faintheartedness,
and he sprang up. “We’ll take them.”AWRY MEANS
IN THE WRONG
DIRECTION.