That night, the wind and snow grew fierce again.

The burial ground north of the capital, known as “Zhongguaner” due to the many palace eunuchs buried there, stood silent in the storm.

Deng Ying stood quietly on the burial mound, holding an umbrella to shield Li Yu’s snow-covered coffin.

Li Yu’s coffin remained unsealed. Qin Wende stood beside it, staring at the head barely reattached to the neck. His mouth opened two or three times before he could finally speak.

“How old was this child?”

Deng Ying looked down at the coffin and said, “Fifteen years old.”

Qin Wende choked up as he looked at the burial clothes. In Ming Dynasty funeral customs, whether commoner or king, all wore thirteen layers, but Li Yu had only a single ill-fitting white silk robe, his bare feet hidden beneath oversized trouser legs. Qin Wende couldn’t help but sigh as he steadied the coffin, “Only fifteen years old, how tragic.”

Just as he finished speaking, a loud announcement came from behind, accompanied by the fluttering of white flags: “Office of Ceremonies burying Head Scribe—”

Deng Ying held the umbrella steady without turning around. Soon, two white lanterns approached, followed by four coffin bearers. Hu Xiang walked at the rear, “Superintendent Deng, please make way, we need to pass to that burial mound.”

Deng Ying stood up, “How did Scribe Li die?”

“Oh.”

Hu Xiang tucked his hands into his sleeves, “Got a sudden illness, and passed away early this morning.”

He glanced at Li Yu lying in the coffin, “This child is pitiful too, following him in death like this.”

“If he merely followed in death, why was his head cut off?”

Hu Xiang replied, “You’ll have to ask the Old Ancestor about that. He must have said something offensive before dying, angering the Old Ancestor, who initially didn’t want him buried in ‘Zhonguaner’ at all. However, since Superintendent Deng wishes to show him this mercy, the Office of Ceremonies has nothing to say, though we fear he doesn’t deserve it and won’t find peace even in death.”

“Silence.”

Though not particularly forceful, this command made Qin Wende and the others start.

Yet he spoke only this one word, saying nothing more afterward.

Seeing Deng Ying fall silent, Hu Xiang spoke again: “Superintendent Deng, the Old Ancestor asked me to tell you that you’ve been a Depot official for too long, and having some spirit isn’t necessarily bad. But after the grand funeral, the Office of Ceremonies will need to account for your years of transgressions. At that time, a hundred or so lashes and being sent to serve as a slave in the northern camp would be getting off lightly. However, the Old Ancestor is willing to show you kindness one more time, so you should carefully consider your current situation.”

He then raised his hand to signal the coffin bearers, “Let’s go, move over there.”

“Damn it…”

After hearing this speech, Qin Wende was about to curse angrily.

“Qin Wende.”

Qin Wende turned back, only then realizing he had stepped on Li Yu’s burial cloth that extended outside the coffin. He quickly stepped back, “This…”

“Seal the coffin.”

After the hour of Xu passed, Deng Ying entered Donghua Gate alone with his umbrella. Yang Lun was waiting for him behind the gate.

“What happened? Why are they burying people at ‘Zhonguaner’?”

Deng Ying stopped, remained silent for a moment, then said: “Scribe Li and Li Yu are dead, Zihui.”

He raised his head, “The imperial edict is fake.”

Yang Lun caught his breath, “It’s too late, isn’t it?”

“Yes, too late.”

Yang Lun threw a punch into the snow, “If we could have saved Scribe Li and proven the Office of Ceremonies’ edict was fake, the Cabinet’s new edict could have been presented directly to the Empress!”

“You’re mistaken, Zihui. Forging an imperial edict is a capital offense. No one in the Office of Ceremonies would escape. Even if you had saved Scribe Li, he wouldn’t have spoken.”

Yang Lun turned away with clenched fists, “Forget it, they’re just dogs and jackals, not worth trusting. The old edict hasn’t been proclaimed yet, and the Cabinet has drafted a new one. We’ll do our best to convince the Empress to discard the old and embrace the new. If the Empress doesn’t approve, then once the old edict is proclaimed, the Cabinet will formally challenge it.”

Deng Ying walked in front of Yang Lun, “Challenging the imperial edict is equivalent to defying the emperor. Even if you succeed, you’ll be condemned, and your entire family will suffer. Are you willing to disregard everyone around you?”

“What choice do I have?”

Taking advantage of the sound of snow, he shouted: “If only the Late Emperor had listened to our earnest advice and established an heir earlier, would I, Yang Lun, be filled with such vengeance? Would I have become the sinner of the Yang family!”

“You won’t become a sinner.”

Deng Ying raised his head, “Zihui, when His Majesty was gravely ill, Yang Wan once helped the Eastern Depot create an opening at Yangxin Hall. During His Majesty’s final moments, it wasn’t just the Office of Ceremonies staff attending to him…”

His voice caught in his throat, “I, the Superintendent of the Eastern Depot, also know whether the edict is genuine or not.”

Upon hearing these words, Yang Lun’s back suddenly straightened.

“What do you mean? What are you doing!”

“I…”

“You must not do this!”

Deng Ying stepped forward and said: “Yang Zihui, I am a servant. After this is over, if His Highness shows mercy and reduces my sentence, and you plead for me, the Cabinet ministers might spare my life. But if you gamble, you, the teacher, and Yang Wan – not one of you will survive. Yang Zihui, weigh the pros and cons, trust me!”

Yang Lun shook his head continuously, his teeth grinding, “Deng Fuling, I don’t understand, I don’t understand how you can go this far…”

Deng Ying smiled slightly, turning sideways, “Because I don’t want to be just a castrated slave. I want to die for the state, not for a single master. I’ve always maintained my dignity as a person, even though I must bow before you all. For twenty years I haven’t changed. As Superintendent of the Eastern Depot, Zihui, I was never meant to live long anyway.”

At these words, Yang Lun lost his voice.

“Zihui…”

“Don’t say anymore!”

Yang Lun avoided Deng Ying’s gaze, walking a few steps away with clenched fists, “I cannot decide this alone, I must consult with the teacher.”

“No need.”

Deng Ying followed him, leveling his voice, “Let me see the teacher, I’ll tell him myself.”

Yang Lun turned back, “Where are you going now?”

“Back to the duty room by the moat, to get some sleep.”

“Can you sleep?”

“No.”

But what difference did that make?

The two parted silently at Donghua Gate.

By the moat, the wind carried snow under his umbrella, hitting Deng Ying’s chest and abdomen in waves.

He felt very cold but refused to curl up and walk awkwardly as the other servants did.

In the three years since his punishment, his obsession with etiquette and proper dress had never diminished, but his soul, confined within his mutilated body, had lost its edge. He had never spoken harshly to anyone, internalizing all his emotions and pain, which accumulated day by day, leading to self-destruction. He had thought about his “end” more than once, had witnessed Zheng Yuejia’s tragic death, and today had handled Li Yu’s mutilated body himself. This overwhelming “terror” that loomed over those who had survived punishment was like a chain that had been locked around his wrist since the day he entered the palace.

He had never thought about breaking free, only wearing it while trying his best to move forward, until Yang Wan said to him, “Deng Ying, give me your hand.”

“You’re back?”

A voice came from in front of the duty room. Deng Ying looked up to see Yang Wan crouching in the snow with her knees hugged to her chest, snow piled on her head, half-melted on her face, leaving her skin glistening.

“Yes, I’m back.”

Yang Wan stood up, lowering her head to brush the snow from her head.

“I made noodles, but they’ve gone sticky.”

“It’s alright, Wan Wan.”

He looked at her face, “I want to eat them.”

“You want to eat them.”

Yang Wan repeated his words, lowering her head with a smile, “Little Xin Ying, you’ve always spoken to me with such a good temper.”

“Wan Wan, I am under your care, truly fearful, not knowing how to treat you so that you won’t let go.”

“I never thought about letting go.”

After saying this, she walked a few steps through the snow toward Deng Ying.

“Deng Ying. Give me your hand.”

Sometimes, Deng Ying felt that Yang Wan had always known what he would do. Whenever he tried to give up on himself, she would always ask him to extend his hand. But when she held onto Deng Ying, it wasn’t to restrain him. She seemed to just want to quietly accompany him for a while. Like someone who had read through his book of life and death, understanding the causes and effects, knowing more clearly than he did that his path ahead led into stormy seas with no return, and therefore being more steadfast and composed than he was.

“Deng Ying, I’m only now gradually understanding how to make our lives a little more comfortable.”

As she spoke, she took both his raised wrists, gently clasping them together in her hands, leading him into the room.

“Eat the noodles.”

“Alright.”

Following her words, he lowered his head to eat. The noodles were very sticky, somewhat choking him, and he couldn’t help but cough.

“It’s okay. Let me.”

She stood up, taking the cloth Deng Ying had placed on the water basin, carefully wiping away the spilled soup from the table, while saying: “Deng Ying, I think I can guess how you plan to break the deadlock between the Office of Ceremonies and the Cabinet.”

The noodles Deng Ying had bitten through fell into the soup, splashing broth on his face. Yang Wan smiled as she raised her sleeve to wipe it away.

“You plan to confess to forging the imperial edict.”

Deng Ying held his chopsticks, and after a long while, nodded.

“Did you tell my brother?”

“Yes, I’m sorry, Wan Wan, I…”

“It’s alright.”

Yang Wan withdrew her hand, lowering her eyes, “I just didn’t expect that the opening I created for you… if I hadn’t sent Lady Chen to find the Empress Dowager then, you wouldn’t have been able to enter Yangxin Hall.”

She pressed her lips together, “Deng Ying, if this were me three years ago, I would have hated myself to death, but now…”

She touched his nose, “It’s okay.”

After saying this, her gaze softened, “I know that what you’ve guarded all your life is your ‘scholarly heart,’ and the only person you can’t let go of is me. So what can I do?”

She looked up at Deng Ying, “I can only hold your hand and walk with you, help you live the life you want to live, become the person you want to become.”

At this point, Yang Wan inexplicably choked up.

The historical inevitability in Deng Ying wasn’t just the pattern of feudal times, but also this person’s inner cultivation before her, and his contradictions about “identity” in his understanding. She could bravely prove his worth in the 21st-century academic world, but in the Great Ming Dynasty six hundred years ago, she had to respect his only choice.

“Am I not impressive…”

She choked, “I live up to being Yang Wan, don’t I?”

“Yes, you live up to being Yang Wan.”

“But I want to do even better.”

She gripped Deng Ying’s wrist, “Let people hundreds of years later handle your posthumous reputation, they will do it well. Deng Ying, I…”

She paused, “I might be able to make your reputation while you’re alive.”