The reason this courtyard was so unusual was that the Cold Palace was normally deserted, so empty, lonely, and bleak that those three words could scarcely describe it. Yet this small separate courtyard was guarded inside and out. Though the guards did not wear the palace guards' uniforms, but rather ordinary clothes—ordinary in name only, since the quality of the fabric was streets ahead of what most martial artists wore.
With a tap of his toes, Song Qingshu silently concealed himself in a tree more than ten zhang from the courtyard. Looking down through the dense leaves, he surveyed the grounds for weak points in the defenses. He only wanted to quietly rescue her and leave; he had no wish to stir up the entire palace into hunting another assassin.
After committing the positions of the hidden sentries to memory, Song Qingshu was about to descend when his eyes suddenly lit up. A graceful young matron emerged from the room into the courtyard, her slightly swollen belly especially eye-catching. Who could it be but Huang Rong?
"I finally found you!" Song Qingshu was overwhelmed with excitement. He knew that if he came up empty-handed again this time, he might not be able to bear such a blow.
From afar, Huang Rong's brows bore a trace of sorrow, but her complexion was rosy and her clothes clean. Clearly, she had not suffered any mistreatment. The worry Song Qingshu had carried all this time finally eased.
"Why did Zhao Gou capture Huang Rong?" Once his concern faded, Song Qingshu began considering the question. As far as he knew, Zhao Gou and Huang Rong had no conflict of interest whatsoever. Moreover, Guo Jing was loyally defending Xiangyang, a pillar of the nation. Why would Zhao Gou move against his family?
Could it be