In hazy mist, Jade dragged her bent figure into the garden and saw a piece of paper among the tiger lilies. With her boney, age-stained fingers, she picked it up. School Starts, it read. On Monday in the Square, continued on the back. Her village had no school when she was a young girl.

"Oh, it's today!" She leaped up and began running. A smile flashed across her face as her knees no longer hurt, spots dotting her skin like plum-blossoms.

"Mother, take your medicine," her son said, but no reply came. When he glanced outside, a snow leopard vanished.