I wake before dawn.
The room is cold. A thin line of grey light cuts through the window, just enough to see by.
I reach under my pillow, my fingers finding the paper still there, just as I left it
I pull it out. Unfold it.
The names look back at me. General Zhao. Scholar Chen. Merchant Wang.
Old Xu.
I fold it again. Slide it into my sleeve.
I sat up too fast. My head started pounding immediately. My eyes felt like someone had rubbed sand into them. I blinked once. Twice.
It didn't help. But at least I was awake
---
Chun Tao walked in before I could call her. She was already dressed, her hair pinned up neatly. Her face looked calm, but her eyes were not. They were full of worry.
She set down a basin of water. It was fresh and cold. Then she laid a robe on the bed. It was plain blue, the kind that doesn't stand out in a crowd.
I washed my face. The cold water woke me up completely. My hands stayed steady.
She helped me dress. Her fingers moved quickly and surely. She didn't speak, and neither did I.
When the robe was on, she went to the wardrobe and pulled out a cloak. It was grey and rough. And a hat. Wide-brimmed. Made of straw. The kind farmers wear in the fields.
She handed me the cloak. It was heavy and too big, hanging past my knees. I pulled it around my shoulders, and the hood fell low over my face.
She handed me the hat. I put it on.
I probably looked ridiculous.
She stepped back, looked at me, and nodded.
"No one will recognize you," she said. "You look like a farmer's wife. Or a merchant's widow.
"That's two different things," I said.
She shrugged. "No one will look twice."
---
She walks me to the side gate. The sky is grey. The streets are empty. The air smells like rain.
The carriage is waiting. They kept their eyes strictly on the ground looking at neither of us.
Chun Tao stops at the gate. She looks me up and down.
She sighs.
"Turn around," she says.
"Why?"
"Just turn."
I turn. She pulls the cloak tighter around my shoulders. Then she grabs the hat and yanks it down. Too low. I can't see my own feet.
"I can't see," I say.
"Good." She adjusts the brim. "That's the point."
She steps back. Looks at me. Squints.
"You look like a potato," she says.
"A potato?"
"A potato wearing a hat."
I push the hat up. "You said farmer's wife before."
"That was a lie. You look like a potato."
I glare at her. She glares back. Her mouth twitches.
She reaches up and pushes the hat back down.
"Don't die," she says.
"I won't."
"You will. You're going to walk into a wall and die because you can't see."
I laugh. It comes out weird. Half laugh, half cough.
She doesn't smile. But her eyes soften.
"If you're not back by evening, I'm telling the Prime Minister."
"I know."
"And I'm telling him you went to the southern district to buy medicine. For a sickness you're too embarrassed to name."
"I don't have a sickness."
"Exactly. He'll be too mortified to ask what kind.
"You're terrifying," I say.
She shrugs. "I've been told."
I climb into the carriage. The seat is hard. The curtain is rough.
I don't close the curtain right away.
Through the gap, I see her standing at the gate. Arms folded. Watching.
She doesn't wave. Doesn't call out. Just stands there like she's waiting for me to change my mind.
Then she lifts her hand. A tiny wave. More like a flick.
I almost laugh. She looks like she's shooing a bug.
The carriage moves. Her hand drops.
She's still standing there. Still watching.
I think she says something. I don't hear it. But I can guess.
Don't die, you idiot.
Or maybe just Come back safe.
I pull the curtain closed.
I'm smiling.
The paper is tucked safely in my sleeve.
And she's back there.
Probably already rehearsing exactly how she's going to yell at me when I return. It's a strange kind of comfort, knowing that