In the spring of the twelfth year of Zhenning, Yang Wan attempted something she would never have done in the 21st century – cooking.

However, it turned into such a disaster that even the ailing Consort Ning was alarmed enough to personally visit the inner kitchen.

The inner kitchen of Chenggian Palace was outside the rear hall, only two rooms wide.

Yang Wan sat on the threshold of the outer room, hands resting on her knees, silently staring at scattered garlic peels on the ground.

Heyu accompanied Consort Ning as she approached, hurriedly rolling up her sleeves to lead people into the inner room.

Yang Wan looked up to see Consort Ning standing before her, laughing at the complaints and commotion of the palace servants inside.

Yang Wan pressed her lips together, “Your Grace.”

Hearing the dejection in her voice, Consort Ning lowered her head and said, “I heard from Heyu that Lady Jiang drove you out?”

Yang Wan didn’t speak, only nodded in response.

Consort Ning stopped laughing, gathered her robes to crouch down, and looked into her eyes, “What’s wrong, Wan’er?”

Yang Wan pinched her cut finger, “Nothing, Your Grace.”

Consort Ning observed her expression, “Has Lady Jiang upset you?”

Yang Wan shook her head, “How would I dare feel that way?”

Consort Ning didn’t press further, and took out her handkerchief to wipe the ash from Yang Wan’s face, “Just come back to sister’s place, no one will scold you here.”

“Your Grace’s place has been thrown into chaos because of me. While others might not say it to my face, they’ll surely curse behind my back about my presumption in relying on Your Grace’s favor.”

She helped Consort Ning stand up, “Actually, I’m fine. It’s just that these past few days, my heart… has been unsettled.”

Consort Ning noticed the wound on her hand and quickly called for someone to bring a lamp closer, “How did you cut so deep?”

Yang Wan raised her hand to look, laughing self-deprecatingly, “I should consider myself skilled for not cutting it clean off.”

Consort Ning interrupted her: “What nonsense are you speaking?”

Yang Wan gave an embarrassed smile.

“Yes, this servant acknowledges her error.”

Seeing her unusual demeanor, Consort Ning gently held her wrist and lowered her voice, “Wan’er, is your heart unsettled because you’re thinking about Deputy Supervisor Deng’s situation?”

Yang Wan didn’t deny it.

“You can’t keep dwelling on it like this.”

Yang Wan lowered her eyes and nodded, “This servant understands. Please go rest, Your Grace. This servant will go help Heyu.”

Consort Ning held her back, “With you in such a state, how could sister rest? Yi Lang has woken up and is crying about being hungry.”

She led her toward the inner kitchen, “Come, follow sister.”

The founding emperor of the Ming Dynasty came from humble origins, and his wife valued simplicity. Though she was empress, she often mended clothes and cooked herself. The Ming palace later inherited this tradition, with consorts occasionally doing needlework and cooking when they had free time.

Consort Ning led Yang Wan into the inner kitchen, removed the bracelet from her wrist to give to Heyu, and rolled up her sleeves to wash her hands.

The warm firelight from the stove illuminated her face, highlighting her porcelain-like skin.

She looked up at Yang Wan and said, “Let me teach you how to make a bowl of yangchun noodles. When people return weary from their travels, what they want most is a steaming hot bowl of noodle soup.”

Returning weary from travels.

These words reminded Yang Wan of Deng Ying’s usual grey robes, making her throat tighten.

“Wan’er.”

“This servant is here.”

“When you were at home before, you were too young, and your sister never taught you. Today we can make up for that. The most important thing about cooking is to be mindful. While cooking, don’t think about anything else – when the water should boil, let it boil; when the vegetables should soften, let them soften; don’t skimp on the lard, and use enough sauce.”

Perhaps it was the steam from the pot, but as Yang Wan listened to Consort Ning’s voice, her eyes grew moist.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace. This servant knows you mean well. You’re still ill, yet you have to worry about this servant’s messy affairs.”

The water in the pot gradually began to boil.

Consort Ning dropped in the noodles, “Sister doesn’t know what you’re thinking. Though you’re only eighteen, your understanding of people and situations far surpasses your sister’s. Sometimes, sister feels like you don’t seem to care much about anything, except of course,”

She smiled and turned to look at Yang Wan, “Deputy Supervisor Deng’s matters.”

Yang Wan remained silent for a while as the steam gradually blurred her vision, gently enveloping Consort Ning’s slight frame.

Perhaps to Yang Wan, these people had emerged from century-old historical documents, and so the better they were, the more they gave the illusion of being as fragile as paper.

“Your Grace, you are truly the perceptive one. Sometimes this servant doesn’t even know what she’s thinking, but you understand. Your single phrase about ‘people returning weary from their travels’ has unknotted many of the tangles in this servant’s heart these past few days.”

Consort Ning smiled, “Then why won’t you call me sister?”

Yang Wan froze.

Yang An’s sensitivity wasn’t sharp, but rather warm.

When she opened her mouth, her eyes suddenly reddened.

“I…”

Yang Wan couldn’t continue.

Seeing her silence, Consort Ning shook her head.

“It’s alright, Wan’er. Sister is sister, and you are you. Sister asks this because she very much wants to recover the sisterly bond we’ve lost these past few years, but sister doesn’t want to see you uncomfortable because of it.”

Yang Wan pressed her lips together and kept nodding, finally raising her head after a while to say, “Your Grace, let this servant learn from you.”

Consort Ning nodded: “Good, you try.”

Yang Wan had never imagined that her first bowl of noodles would be taught to her by an imperial consort from six hundred years ago.

From the bubbling noodle soup, she lifted two portions with chopsticks, swirling them in the hot broth dotted with oil drops, then added seasonal vegetables.

While still piping hot, she carried out the steaming bowl.

Fresh hot soft noodles, fragrant with oil, garnished with verdant vegetables.

Not a single mistake.

Even though the barriers of history stood as firm as city walls, the eternal commonalities of “hunger and taste,” “sensations of hot and cold,” could always find cracks to suddenly peek through.

Yang Wan sat beside Consort Ning, slurping up the bowl of noodle soup together with Yi Lang.

Immediately her mouth watered and her stomach felt warm.

Her romantic spirit as a humanities researcher led her to extend the meaning of the phrase “weary from travels.”

Compared to Deng Ying, Yang Lun, and Consort Ning, she gradually realized that she was the one who had crossed the barriers of history, returning weary from her travels, wanting more than anyone to squat at the city gate and eat a bowl of noodles.

The next day brought a rare strong wind in late spring.

Before dawn had fully broken, only one noodle stand flew its banner outside Guangji Chamber, as the wind howled down Xiancheng Gate Street.

Yang Lun tied up his horse and sat down to eat noodles.

The burning stove at the stand made his back break out in waves of sweat.

The lights were bright in the direction of Xi’an Gate. Today there would be an imperial lecture at Wenhua Hall, and Bai Huan, Zhang Cong, and several senior scholars from the Hanlin Academy had gone in. Yang Lun had wanted to see his teacher one more time before going to the Ministry of Justice, but yesterday Bai Huan had claimed illness and avoided him at his residence. So today he had deliberately risen very early, yet still missed him at Xi’an Gate.

Yang Lun felt dejected.

After finishing a bowl of noodles sitting in the cold wind, he had just stood up to pay when the noodle vendor pointed behind him, “That official already paid.”

Yang Lun turned to see Zhang Luo just sitting down with his chopsticks.

He wore a black robe with a white cord at his waist, still in a mourning dress.

“Have another bowl?”

Yang Lun didn’t want to talk with him and turned to get his horse, “I have official duties.”

“No rush for just a moment.”

Zhang Luo ordered noodles with minced meat topping, “Today’s trial at the Ministry of Justice will be presided over by Minister Bai, with the Censorate recording and the Northern Command Post attending by imperial order.”

“What?”

Yang Lun turned around: “When was this imperial order given?”

Zhang Luo had his back to Yang Lun as he picked up a mouthful of noodles, “Lord Yang will find out when he reaches the Ministry of Justice.”

After speaking, he slurped up the noodles, the sound like a silent dagger slicing quietly through the wind, threateningly cutting off a few strands of hair.

This sudden imperial order made Yang Lun fully understand Deng Ying’s persistence.

The emperor ordering the Northern Command Post to attend the trial was a warning.

And his teacher deliberately avoiding him yesterday and today was meant to ignore this warning.

In this game between emperor and minister, both sides had now shown their clear positions, leaving Deng Ying as the only variable.

Realizing this, Yang Lun immediately mounted his horse, but heard Zhang Luo call out: “How far can Lord Yang go for the sake of former classmates?”

There was a sharp edge to these words. Yang Lun yanked the reins, “Since Lord Zhang is here on official duty, save your questions for the Ministry of Justice court. I’ll go ahead.”

Yang Lun rode straight to the Ministry of Justice through Xuanwu Gate Street.

When his horse reached the ministry gates, the light had just broken through a gap in the clouds.

The wind made the crowns of the phoenix trees along the road rustle loudly. Yang Lun dismounted to see Bai Yuyang’s sedan chair also just arriving at the entrance.

After the two men stopped and bowed to each other, Yang Lun immediately said: “Have you received the imperial order for the Northern Command Post to attend the trial, Minister?”

Bai Yuyang adjusted his official cap and walked toward the entrance, “I have.”

Yang Lun followed, “We shouldn’t torture Deng Ying today!”

Bai Yuyang stopped, and turned with his hands behind his back, “Do you have any other way to question him?”

Yang Lun stepped forward, “After today’s imperial lecture ends, I can try to see the Minister again…”

Bai Yuyang raised his voice to cut off Yang Lun’s words, “If Father wanted to see you, he would have yesterday, and wouldn’t need to avoid you today!”

He finished by sweeping his sleeves and striding across the threshold of the second gate.

The sun was about to break through.

The sky suddenly brightened, but the wind remained strong, making their robes flutter noisily.

Several censors from the Censorate and two or three court officials including Qi Huaiyang were already waiting in the main hall. The officials bowed to each other in greeting. Yang Lun was particularly perfunctory, only greeting Qi Huaiyang before standing by the door.

Four desk platforms were arranged in the hall, with a pair of carved huanghuali wood circular chairs placed on the right. Bai Yuyang walked straight to the main seat and sat down, and the other officials naturally took their respective positions.

Shortly after, two men with suspended swords entered the hall.

Bai Yuyang stood and bowed, “Deputy Commander Zhang.”

Zhang Luo bowed in return at the door but didn’t answer him, silently walking past everyone to sit on the right side of the hall.

He was originally an official from the Northern Capital, famous for his cold demeanor. The officials in the capital usually avoided him, and even the censors from the Censorate had never seen him this close, so they couldn’t help but lean in to look.

Bai Yuyang coughed once, and the hall immediately fell silent.

The main hall of the Ministry of Justice had small doors on all four sides, now all open, allowing the wind to flow through.

Bai Yuyang raised his hand, using a paperweight to hold down the case documents on his desk, and ordered the bailiff: “Bring in the person.”

He then called out, “Lord Yang.”

Yang Lun still stood by the door without responding, watching a figure approach from the west, silently clenching his fists.

Deng Ying was brought over from the prison office, entering through the western corner door beside the ceremonial gate.

His outer robe had been removed, leaving only his inner garment.

Walking against the wind, his skeletal form was immediately apparent.