“Yes…” he said, his shoulders trembling almost imperceptibly.

Yang Wan watched Deng Ying’s silhouette, crisp and clear against the backdrop of the ancient cabinets.

Inside the cabinets were his garments, with several thin, starched undergarments neatly folded together. Almost all were made of silk, reflecting a cold luster not unlike his skin.

Earlier, Deng Ying had mentioned wanting to buy an outside residence. Yang Wan thought it was a good idea.

But compared to an outside residence, this room by the city moat was what truly put Yang Wan’s heart at ease.

It was just like Deng Ying himself—immaculate, facing away from the daylight. When empty, it was full of shadows, yet never felt gloomy.

With him living here, Yang Wan’s soul could find refuge in this world from six hundred years ago.

Even if everything and everyone beyond these walls departed from her previous thirty years of values, as long as Deng Ying could still take out unstained clothes from his cabinet, light a lamp on autumn nights, and sit with her to share a bowl of plain noodles, she wouldn’t be just a random speck of dust in existentialism.

“Then… may I wear your undergarments?”

She suddenly made this request.

Deng Ying froze for a moment.

“May I?”

She asked again.

“Yes…”

After saying this word, he hurriedly crouched down, took out another set of silk undergarments from the cabinet, and placed them beside Yang Wan.

Outside, Li Yu urged them again. Deng Ying dared not look at Yang Wan anymore, quickly gathered his clothes, and pushed open the door to leave.

Yang Wan lowered her head and unfolded the undergarments Deng Ying had left her—an upper garment with ties at the side and loose trousers, generously sized.

She bent down to remove her shoes, hugged her knees, and curled up in the corner of the bed.

The room was very quiet, with a faint chill seeping through the wall cracks.

Yang Wan could almost feel the cold from the city moat permeating in from all directions.

She couldn’t help but cough once or twice, reaching behind to gently undo the ties of her undergarment.

This was her first time removing the protection of her clothes in Deng Ying’s place. As her arms completely withdrew from the sleeves, the autumn wind through the window gaps raised goosebumps on her skin. She continued removing her undergarment, then bent her legs to undo her silk skirt, pulling her legs out of the embroidered trousers.

Her bottom touched Deng Ying’s bedding, which was covered in cotton cloth and felt somewhat cool against her skin.

But Yang Wan found it comfortable, like that moment on weekends after a bath when she’d just slipped naked into her bedding.

The wind stirred the curtains as the sound of rain began pattering by the window.

Yang Wan sat embracing her arms in the breeze.

She didn’t immediately put on Deng Ying’s undergarments, nor did she immediately cover herself with his bedding.

She sat quietly, watching her own body in the candlelight.

This was a body that had originally died in the winter of the twelfth year of Zhenning.

Once young, fair, smooth, and flawless like jade, but now bearing several light brown torture marks on the waist, abdomen, and thighs. These scars were the only things on this body that truly belonged to Yang Wan.

Yang Wan reached out to touch the scars on her legs.

Even though much time had passed, they still hurt when touched.

Death would end everything, but living meant being covered in scars, and enduring humiliation.

How did women of the Great Ming Dynasty perceive their bodies?

In an era before female body consciousness had awakened, would feudal aesthetics accept these “marks of guilt” left in the prison?

Were they the same as that scar on Deng Ying’s body?

She suddenly recalled that passage Foucault wrote in “Discipline and Punish”: “In the eyes of the people, the cruel methods of punishment were no less barbaric, perhaps even more so, than the crime itself. It made spectators accustomed to the very brutality they were meant to despise. By frequently showing them crimes, it made the executioner seem like the criminal, the judge like a murderer, ultimately reversing roles and turning the punished criminal into an object of pity or praise.”

Such humanity existed in the Great Ming Dynasty too.

At the execution grounds where the teachers and students of Tongjia Academy died tragically, countless people pitied and praised these scholars.

However, this pity did not extend to eunuchs or women.

That’s why Yang Wan wanted to fight back against this era.

But it wasn’t fighting back—it was just a modern person humbly trying to carve out a small space around herself, allowing that tragic personal history to be preserved in her notes more gently. The ending didn’t need to be perfect; as long as Deng Ying could still, like just now, take out clean clothes in his modest room, bathe and change according to the monthly calendar and daily schedule, then return, drink some warm water, keep his ankles warm, and sleep without worrying about tomorrow.

That would be enough.

But Yang Wan didn’t know what she would have to sacrifice for such an ending.

If she was a prophet of this dynasty, then before changing the ending, the first thing she needed to do was kill the prophet within herself.

She was afraid.

So she too wanted a room, to give her that silk-wrapped feeling of shelter.

As daylight faded, it faintly traced her shadow on the ground.

Yang Wan reached for Deng Ying’s clothes, put on the upper garment, and then drew the under trousers over her legs.

The smooth silk brushed past her hips, finally covering the scars on her waist and abdomen.

Yang Wan tied all the fasteners, then hugged her shoulders and slowly curled up under the covers.

Deng Ying’s clothes against her skin took a very long time to warm up.

Outside, the rain pattered steadily as dusk settled in, countless leaf shadows dancing on the window.

Ah, the autumn sounds intrude on brief dreams.

Yang Wan closed her eyes, and somehow suddenly recalled the following line: “Rain on the banana leaves under the eaves.”

When Deng Ying returned from the Mixed Hall Office, the light in the duty room was still on.

Li Yu opened his door, saw Deng Ying standing with his umbrella at the entrance for a long while without entering, and came over to ask, “She hasn’t left?”

Deng Ying nodded.

Li Yu sniffed, “She’s different from sister.”

Deng Ying originally didn’t want to respond to this, but as his hand touched the door bolt, he unconsciously asked: “How is she different?”

Li Yu said: “Although sister had meals with Minister Chen, she never went to the Minister’s room, nor did she let the Minister enter her and Yang Wan’s room. Sister told me that we must find ways to live on, but places where we can’t go on, we shouldn’t cross with closed eyes.”

For Song Yunqing to say such words to her brother who was also an imperial servant showed that within her strength there was indeed a touch of ruthlessness.

“But she’s too good,” Li Yu said.

Li Yu pursed his lips and jerked his chin toward the lamplight in the window, saying sincerely: “Sometimes, she seems even better than sister. She seems… to not treat us as servants at all, but, as sister said, she shouldn’t be like this. What kind of people are we, right?”

Having said this, he pushed open his door and went in.

The sound of the door bolt falling seemed to strike directly on Deng Ying’s back.

What kind of people are we, right?

At this moment, these words were neither an insult nor self-mockery, but rather a form of redemption.

What kind of person was he, and what could he do for Yang Wan?

Yang Wan had once asked him if he felt better by considering himself guilty before her.

He answered “Yes.”

Indeed, it was true.

Loving someone was like imprisoning oneself, but from then on both body and soul had something to rely on, after… she was too good.

Thinking this, Deng Ying gently pushed open the door.

Yang Wan lay quietly on his bed, her hair already loosened, the black silk-like tresses scattered over her shoulders.

She lay facing outward, one hand exposed pressing down on the covers, clearly having changed into his undergarments.

Deng Ying walked over quietly, lifted his robe to sit on the edge of the bed, removed his shoes, and then bent down to gather Yang Wan’s embroidered shoes, placing them beside the bed. After that, he continued to hesitate.

Just lying beside her, not touching her, shouldn’t count as an offense, right? He thought, finally lying down along the edge of the bed, his back toward Yang Wan. But people shouldn’t be too close; even separated by bedding, her body temperature still warmed his back like a hot coal.

“Deng Ying.”

The person behind him called softly.

“I’m here.”

“Come in.”

These three words made Deng Ying’s whole body tremble.

“Wan Wan, just let me lie like this.”

Yang Wan exhaled, her faint breath hitting Deng Ying’s face.

“Didn’t you say you’re a guilty person before me?”

The temperature of these words matched her breath.

In this world, no one has the innate ability to accurately find the root of a specific person’s “sorrow.”

But Yang Wan could find Deng Ying’s. Moreover, she never presumed to hurt Deng Ying’s “sorrow,” she just gently held it up, held it before him and herself, letting Deng Ying try to express it, and then, all the pain in those emotions, she would bear, dissolved it, comfort it.

“I always have been.”

“Yes.”

Yang Wan took up his words, reaching to lift the covers, “So Deng Ying, come in. Don’t be afraid, it’s not someone else, it’s me.”

A hot, sour sensation rushed into Deng Ying’s nose.

“How do you know I’m afraid?”

“Your hand… you’re almost breaking my hair.”

Only then did Deng Ying realize he had unknowingly grabbed Yang Wan’s hair, and hurriedly let go.

Yang Wan propped up her upper body, tossing all her long hair behind her back, her faint shadow painted on the wall, presenting a blurry yet desolately beautiful scene before Deng Ying’s eyes.

“Deng Ying, be good.”

When she said these words, there seemed to be a smile on her face.

“Always listen to me, and you won’t feel so bad when you’re with me.”

Indeed, a guilty person should be obedient.

She always knew how to persuade him.

Deng Ying pressed his lips together, gripped a corner of the bedding, and covered his shoulders.

But Yang Wan propped herself up on her elbow, leaning sideways to push her bedding toward Deng Ying, then pulled at the corner, gently tucking him in.

With this movement, her arm had already crossed over Deng Ying’s shoulder, bringing them close, her underarm just above his forehead. Though Deng Ying couldn’t see, he felt the warmth from another body, warmer than his, and more honest than his.

“You’re not cold like this?”

“I’m not cold…”

“That’s good.”

Yang Wan released her elbow, lay down again facing Deng Ying, and said softly: “We’ve played the part of husband and wife for this day.”

She spoke aloud the wild thought in Deng Ying’s heart, yet he had to deny it before her.

“Wan Wan, don’t say that. We’re not husband and wife.”

“Be good.”

As she spoke, she reached out to stroke Deng Ying’s forehead, moving from his brow to his temple, over and over.

Deng Ying’s whole body trembled uncontrollably, but Yang Wan’s hand didn’t stop. She leveled her voice and said by his ear: “Don’t be afraid, just think that it’s me touching you.”

She said this with a light laugh, “Actually, I’m afraid too.”

Deng Ying choked out: “What could Wan Wan be afraid of?”

“Afraid of losing.”

After saying this, she added: “Afraid that after losing, I won’t be able to touch you anymore.”

Her insecurity sounded to Deng Ying like a jade pearl on the verge of shattering. If he had the strength to keep it, he would certainly buy a box to treasure it, but now he had no strength to preserve it. He could only open his heart, trying to comfort Yang Wan as she had comforted him.

“Wan Wan.”

“I’m here.”

“I consider myself guilty before you, but you’ve never punished me, so Wan Wan, as long as I’m alive, you can do anything to me, but please don’t feel indignant on my behalf, don’t think for my sake.”

As he spoke, he lay down lower, placing his head beneath Yang Wan’s jaw.

“I have no family, I dare not have a family. Wan Wan, you can take me away anytime, and you can let me return anytime.”