Thirteenth Son and Yang Xingjian had heard nothing of Wei Xun for days, and had been tormented by anxiety and fear. When he suddenly returned to the little courtyard carrying the unconscious Baozhu on his back, they learned that she had survived, only to see her in such a wretched state. Grief and joy overwhelmed them both, choking off their words.
Wei Xun first sent Thirteenth Son to fetch Qiu Ren, then lifted away the blood-soaked brocade covering her, his heart pounding with dread. Mercifully, he found no grievous wounds, only abrasions from being dragged about. He supposed the blood on the cloth belonged to her enemies. The deepest wounds were the bowstring cuts on her hands; the most shocking were the burns on her face and chest.
He wrung out a cloth in hot water and carefully wiped away the blood, avoiding her wounds. Then he wrapped her in a brocade quilt and held her in his arms, unable to bear letting go.
He recalled bringing her back to Green Micro Temple after unexpectedly retrieving her from a tomb several months earlier. He had cleaned and tended her in much the same way, but his feelings now were utterly different. Back then, he had acted out of simple compassion, with no other thoughts. Now that he had recovered what he had lost, the sight of her wasted body, her life hanging by a thread, made every wound feel as though it had been cut into his own flesh. His heart twisted as if beneath a knife.
As he undid her disheveled bun, Wei Xun discovered a lock of golden hair bound with silk thread hidden inside it. He immediately remembered the golden-haired Hu'er in the coffin. Even when her clothes barely covered her body, Baozhu had done everything she