Dawn drew near, the sky poised between darkness and light. At the hour when people were most exhausted and off guard, a band of outlaws dressed as commoners silently attacked Fenglong Temple.
They looked ordinary, but their weapons were every bit as fine as the Chengde Army's equipment. Fighting at close quarters with seamless coordination, they took no more than the time needed to drink a cup of tea to wipe out their opponents. Many went to the Yellow Springs while still asleep.
Their leader was a fierce, burly commander nearing thirty. His blade rose and fell, and he searched the corpse of the jailer Wenre for the keys before unlocking the cell.
When he saw the person he had come to rescue, he froze. Her back was turned to the cell door, her splendid, dazzling hair brutally shorn. She sat motionless on the floor like a statue, cradling a blood-soaked youth. Dried, congealed blood had glued them together.
"Princess," the commander called softly.
Baozhu looked back with a wooden glance, and Yuan Shaobo's heart shuddered. The girl's once fresh, radiant face was haggard and ravaged, her shorn hair ragged. Her glossy black temple locks had turned gray-white. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot, filled with a sinister darkness he had never seen before.
Baozhu's vision was blurred from weeping too much. She studied the newcomer for a moment before calling him by his courtesy name. "Zhongfu."
Yuan Shaobo answered respectfully, "Yes. Shaobo came too late."
As Prince Shao's study companion, Yuan Shaobo had watched the princess grow up. After nearly two years away from Chang'an, he still remembered her as the bright, sweet, carefree girl of the palace. Seeing her now, looking as though an evil spirit had possessed her, he could scarcely imagine what torment she had endured