She took a deep breath, poured out the dirty water, and put the wooden basin back where it belonged.
Xiao Yi was still where he had been, wrapped in the same thin quilt.
Achou felt his forehead. A light sheen of sweat covered his skin, and his breathing was steady and even.
It looked as though his fever had broken.
While he slept, Achou quickly took the set of gray, coarse-cloth clothes from her bundle and changed out of her wedding dress. Then she folded the dress neatly and put it back in the bundle.
Afterward, she gently lifted the quilt to check his leg. It was still wrapped securely.
She sat down beside him, hugged her knees, and stared blankly at his face.
She wondered how she should tell him.
“Your Highness, someone wants to kill you.”
No. That was too blunt. He was ill; what if the shock made him worse?
“Your Highness, I heard Head Zhao say…”
No, that wouldn’t do either. What if he asked what she had heard? How could she tell him? Just thinking about those words made her feel a chill run down her back.
She turned over several different ways of telling him in her mind, rejecting them one by one.
In the end, she decided to wait until he woke up.
But as she waited, she was the first to give in to exhaustion. Her head began to droop, and soon she drifted off to sleep.
She dreamed.
In her dream, she was still the ugly girl from the back courtyard of Marquis Yongchang’s Residence, squatting by a wall and scrubbing a chamber pot.
Eldest Miss Cui Ying’er passed by on the covered walkway. Pinching her nose, she glanced at Achou and said to the maids beside her, “Stay away from her. She stinks.”
The maids giggled as they walked away.
A bout of coughing woke her.
When she opened her eyes, dawn had not yet come. A thin line of gray light showed in the east.
Xiao Yi was lying on his side, coughing so hard his whole body trembled. The thin quilt had slipped down to his waist.
Achou hurried over, supported his shoulder, and helped him sit halfway up, gently patting his back.
“Your Highness, have some water.”
She felt around in the dark for the waterskin and held it to his lips.
He took two sips. Gradually, his coughing subsided. His dark eyes fixed on her, as though he were trying to make sure who she was.
“Oh, that wedding dress was too inconvenient, so I changed into my usual clothes.” Achou smiled.
He said nothing. His gaze moved from her face to the thin quilt covering him.
Following his eyes, Achou noticed that his fingers were gripping the edge of the quilt, as if he were enduring something.
“Your Highness, are you uncomfortable anywhere?” Achou leaned closer. “Does your leg hurt? Or is it something else?”
“…No.”
Of course, that was a lie.
Achou checked his forehead again. His fever was gone. The splint on his leg was still secure, and the medicine dressing on his wound was undisturbed.
Then what was he enduring?
As she puzzled over it, Xiao Yi suddenly turned his head toward the wall, showing her the back of his head.
Achou froze for a moment, then suddenly understood.
—He needed to relieve himself.
Achou felt her face grow warm, too.
But she hesitated for only a second.
“Your Highness, wait here. I’ll find something.”
She went out and searched around the inn’s back courtyard until she found a battered earthenware jar. A piece was missing from its rim, but it would do.
When she returned to the room, Xiao Yi was still in the same position, facing the wall without moving.
Achou set the jar on the floor beside the bed, then turned her back to him and faced the door.
“Your Highness, the jar is on the floor beside the bed, on your right. I won’t turn around.”
There was silence behind her for a while. Then came a rustling sound and a stifled groan, as if he had bumped his injured leg.
She heard him finish and let out a long breath.
After a little while, his voice came from behind her. “…Done.”
Achou turned around, glanced at the jar, and silently picked it up. She went out, emptied it in the latrine, then brought it back and set it at the foot of the bed.
“Your Highness, it’s not dawn yet. You can sleep a little longer.”
Xiao Yi shook his head.
“What’s your name?” he suddenly asked.
Achou stared at him for a moment.
“Achou.”
He frowned. “I’m asking for your real name, not what other people call you.”
Achou lowered her head.
Her name… She hadn’t thought about it for a long time. She had been only eight when she was sold to Marquis Yongchang’s Residence six years ago. The Head Nanny had said, “From now on, we’ll call you Achou. It’s easy to remember.”
Eventually, even Achou herself had forgotten.
She thought for a long time, then, from deep in her memory, she brought back a voice—her mother’s voice calling her.
“Heng…” she said softly. “I think it was Aheng.”
“Which Heng?”
“…I don’t know.”
“Maybe it was the Heng in hengcao—the fragrant herb.”
“What?”
“‘I wear the precious jade Lu by the bright moon; the world is mired in filth, and none understands me…’” He recited two lines, then suddenly stopped and glanced at her. “Never mind. That’s too long.”
Achou stared at him blankly.
Xiao Yi tried another passage. “‘I plant liu yi and jie che, mixed with du heng and fragrant zhi.’ Du heng is a kind of fragrant herb.”
He looked up at her. “Those lines are from Li Sao. Qu Yuan wrote about planting many fragrant herbs. Du heng was one of them.”
Achou listened, only partly understanding. “So… my name is a kind of grass?”
“Yes,” Xiao Yi said. “But not just any grass. In ancient times, fragrant herbs were an image gentlemen used to represent themselves. Qu Yuan wrote of fragrant herbs to show that his character was noble and pure, and that he would not consort with petty men.”
“Your parents gave you that name because they hoped you would be like the heng herb.”
Achou’s eyes suddenly reddened.
She had almost forgotten her parents.
When she was sold to Marquis Yongchang’s Residence at eight, she had cried and screamed for her mother. The Head Nanny slapped her, and after that she never dared mention her mother again.
Later, she had wondered if her parents had abandoned her.
But now, listening to Xiao Yi recite lines she couldn’t understand, she suddenly felt—
No.
Her parents hadn’t abandoned her.
They had given her such a good name because they wanted her to live well.
“Your Highness, could you teach me how to write that character?”
Xiao Yi glanced at her but did not refuse.
He motioned for her to bring over the water flask. Then he dipped a finger in the water and wrote the character stroke by stroke on the headboard.
“Heng.”
“The grass radical is on top, showing that it’s a plant. Below it is Heng, which gives the pronunciation. Remember?”
Achou nodded hard. Her eyes never left the character, as though she meant to carve every stroke into her mind.
“Your Highness…” She hesitated, then finally spoke. “There’s something… I want to tell you.”
He glanced at her but said nothing.
Achou took a deep breath and lowered her voice. “When I was washing clothes in the courtyard, I heard Head Zhao talking with the soldiers inside the room.”
She paused, her voice dropping until only the two of them could hear.
“They said… someone paid them not to let you reach the border alive.”
Xiao Yi’s expression did not change at all.
It was as if she had said the weather was fine, not that someone wanted to kill him.
Achou was a little surprised by his reaction.
“Your Highness,” she ventured, “did you… hear what I said?”
“I heard you.”
“Then…”
“I’ve known for a long time.” He closed his eyes. “From the day I was deposed, I knew someone didn’t want me to live.”
Achou leaned closer. “Your Highness, then… what should we do?”
“We?”