The Ming Records contained this complete imperial edict.

Yang Wan could once recite it from memory. As far as documents declaring crimes went, this edict wasn’t particularly harsh. The writer seemed to hide behind formal, calm words, dressed in light gauze and plain clothes, sitting quietly in a corner, silently enduring the scrutiny of officials and common people.

The first crime listed – conspiracy against imperial kin.

This was the most serious crime among all charges, yet also the thinnest in evidence. Without elaborating on details, it directly sent that person to face the three thousand cuts execution.

The Ming History records that the Emperor’s second son Zhu Yijue died at the end of the Zhenning era, but in truth, he died of illness in the early Jinghe era. The former erased the “False Edict Case” before Yi Lang’s ascension from history, while the latter used an ambiguous crime to conclude this purge in early Jinghe.

Neither the written history nor present reality violated historical principles – only human hearts were the source of errors. Yet even so, there was no need to excessively debate individual gains and losses.

From a macro perspective, history was progressing, various social systems were constantly improving. After this purge, the Jinghe reign became a rare period of political clarity in Ming history – corruption cases among eunuchs decreased dramatically, and Yang Lun’s new tax policies were smoothly implemented in the South. Later Palace Memorial Hall officials were all cautious and fearful, working with the Hall to help government orders flow smoothly for a time.

In studying Deng Ying, Yang Wan had to face the historical significance of this purge. If she hadn’t been in the Ming Dynasty six hundred years ago, if she hadn’t accompanied Deng Ying through these not-so-long four years, she might not have grieved for him. Just like when she first saw him outside the torture chamber. Though knowing his fate of death by a thousand cuts, she felt no fear, no heartache, but rather held some kind of “anticipation” for his tragic life.

However now, looking at the imperial edict on Shenming Pavilion, she finally couldn’t hold back her tears.

“Yang Wan, let’s go!”

Song Yunqing gently took Yang Wan’s cold hand.

The crowd before Shenming Pavilion had already surged toward her.

Song Yunqing tried to pull Yang Wan away but unexpectedly was shaken off.

“Yang Wan…”

Song Yunqing’s hand fell empty as she turned to see Yang Wan walking alone toward the front of Shenming Pavilion.

The surrounding noise was chaotic, not lacking in vulgar words, but unclear.

Yang Wan stood firm and raised her voice: “Whatever you want to say, speak louder. I’m listening.”

“Submitting yourself to a eunuch, knowing no shame!”

An elderly man shouted, his voice piercing through the chaos, prompting the crowd to echo, “Right, no shame! No shame!”

The harsh words struck her face like knives. Yang Wan stood quietly facing the crowd, listening until the wave of voices gradually subsided, then spoke steadily through tears: “What else?”

What else…

The people before Shenming Pavilion were stunned.

Yang Wan looked up at the imperial edict, “I heard these words years ago.”

She repeated, “Submitting to a eunuch, knowing no shame – I’ve heard it many times, I even believed it myself. Today let me ask in return, what meaning do the words ‘shame’ and ‘honor’ truly hold? Can they save lives?”

“Save lives…”

“Can they kill?”

She suddenly raised her voice, stepping closer to the crowd. “Do you want to kill me with ‘shame and honor’?”

Wiping away tears, she smiled bitterly: “You can’t kill me, because as you say, I, Yang Wan, served a eunuch, I, Yang Wan, know no shame!”

She pointed toward Shenming Pavilion, “But I ask you to look carefully. This place has posted many execution notices for criminals. Deng Ying’s teacher Zhang Zhanchun, the students of Tongjia Academy, and Censor Huang Ran – all were condemned here. Now the court has cleared their names, built temples to worship them, and favored their descendants. You all know these people had shame and honor. Yet they are all dead.”

She paused, her voice taking on a trace of mockery, “But I who know no shame am still alive. Do you want to live?”

She tilted her head, a tragic smile pulling at her tear-stained lips. “Or do you want to die?”

The crowd fell silent, not because Yang Wan had overwhelmed them, but because they didn’t know how to answer.

This question, in the Ming Dynasty where free consciousness had not yet sprouted and the Three Bonds and Five Relationships were supreme, no one could have asked it.

Yang Wan had carefully believed that later civilization should not intervene too early. After all, overturning the concepts of an era was like building castles in the air for people of the past – without foundation in the present, those who suddenly climbed up would inevitably fall to their deaths.

But now, Yang Wan couldn’t help herself, or rather, she couldn’t accept it anymore.

She took the consideration of “humanity” from future civilization and condensed it into a simple question of “either live or die,” throwing it out directly. Everyone could understand what she was saying, everyone could feel the cold sensation of flesh-cutting knives scraping against skin. People instinctively felt some fear.

The elderly man who had led the accusations earlier retreated into the crowd, and the previously angry people gradually fell silent.

Yang Wan closed her eyes, letting tears stream down.

“Yes, my husband is a death row prisoner, I accept that, but I don’t accept that he, like me, knows no shame.”

After speaking, she looked again at the imperial edict. In that instant, she suddenly saw clearly who that plain-clothed person hiding behind the words was – not the still-young Yi Lang, but Deng Ying, who had never been willing to speak before the world.

Scholars could leave their final words, combining their lifetime of thoughts and fate for later generations to mourn.

But he wrote the “Record of Hundred Crimes,” personally severing his life as a servant, needing no commemoration, receiving no incense offerings. Deng Ying, who had been gentle his whole life, was colder and more ruthless than anyone else.

“A gentleman dies for principle, also forging the knife and kneeling to present it, letting the world kill him.”

Yang Wan finally spoke these words, then bowed deeply to the crowd through her tears, “I thank you all on behalf of my husband.”

With that, she straightened up and walked away, turning her back to the crowd.

After this, Song Yunqing never saw Yang Wan cry again.

The autumn of early Jinghe year was colder than usual, with more rain. Everything in Qingbo Pavilion was damp, but it nourished the banana trees, making them increasingly lush and green even into autumn.

Yang Wan locked herself in Qingbo Pavilion, silently transcribing that notebook. Meanwhile, she began purchasing ink and paper from the capital and nearby counties in the names of Qingbo Pavilion and Kuanqin Hall. The manager told Yang Xing and Song Yunqing, “Our Qingbo Pavilion has always done business with examination markets, storing quite a bit of printing ink. Originally thinking Kuanqin Hall’s stories would sell well, we prepared to print more, but the owner stopped everything. Now taking out that money to buy paper, and not during our usual purchasing time – prices are high, and with all this rain, the goods might not even be good quality, ah…”

He sighed, “We all know the factory official was sentenced to death by a thousand cuts, the owner is heartbroken. So we dare not say anything, can only tell you, young ladies, forget the rest, at least persuade the owner to take care of herself.”

Song Yunqing said to Yang Xing: “This last point is true, I’ve seen her so busy these days, she’s even stopped taking her medicine.”

Yang Xing patted Song Yunqing’s hand, “For business matters, you all follow her wishes. As for her health, I’ll take care of it.”

Song Yunqing and the manager nodded, saying nothing more.

Yang Xing tied up her sleeves, went to the kitchen to check on Yang Wan’s medicine, and while watching the fire, made a bowl of yangchun noodles, bringing it together with the medicine on a tray to Yang Wan’s quarters.

A lamp was lit inside, and Yang Wan sat beneath it wearing a robe, pausing her writing to rub her brow.

Yang Xing set down the tray, glanced at the nuts and dried fruits beside Yang Wan, and said softly: “Is eating just these enough?”

Hearing Yang Xing’s voice, Yang Wan finally lowered her hand, stood up, and called out: “Sister.”

Yang Xing moved the noodle bowl in front of her, and helped her sit down, “Eat something before taking the medicine, to line your stomach.”

Looking at the steaming noodle soup, Yang Wan’s eyes suddenly grew warm.

She quickly picked up the chopsticks, took a big bite of noodles, and said while pressing her lips: “Since sister taught me to make noodles, I often made them for Deng Ying and His Majesty in the palace for convenience. His Majesty was fine with it, but Deng Ying must have gotten tired of them. Yet now, I don’t want to make him anything else, I just want to pin him to the table and make him eat another bowl of my noodles.”

Yang Xing smiled gently, “Neither he nor Yi Lang would ever tire of them.”

She patted Yang Wan’s shoulder, “Eat. Eat and then take your medicine, so you can continue writing. Sister will grind the ink for you.”

She walked to Yang Wan’s side, removed her bracelet, used a silver spoon to scoop water, and ground ink for Yang Wan.

Yang Wan lowered her head to eat noodles when suddenly she heard Yang Xing ask: “Will you make it in time?”

Yang Wan froze.

“What?”

Yang Xing looked at her notebook and asked: “The things you’re writing, will you finish in time?”

“Sister, do you know what I’m writing?”

Yang Xing shook her head, “I don’t know, but since I first saw you in the palace, you’ve been writing in this notebook. Never stopping for four years.”

Yang Wan nodded while holding her chopsticks, “Yes.”

Yang Xing put down the ink stone, “Is it for the factory official?”

“Yes.”

Yang Wan lowered her eyelids, “This was once the meaning of my life, and still is now. I record everything related to him from the twelfth year of Zhenning to early Jinghe, bits and pieces, about two hundred thousand characters. Now I’m condensing it into one volume. I want… to have it printed.”

Yang Xing was silent for a while, then asked: “To clear his name?”

“No.”

Yang Wan shook her head, “Only the court can clear his name. I’m just a ‘defiant’ commoner. Not content with just posthumous fame, I foolishly desire fame while still living.”

The autumn wind through the window flickered the candle flame, extinguishing the lamp beside them. Autumn knocked on the facade in waves, like someone waiting outside, weak yet unwilling, stating sentence by sentence that he wanted to come home.

“Aren’t you afraid?”

Yang Xing asked Yang Wan, “This is rebellious writing.”

“I am afraid.”

Yang Wan coughed once, “That’s why before this, I need to settle things for you and Yunqing.”

Yang Xing shook her head, “No need.”

She held Yang Wan’s hand while speaking, “Sister carries regrets, living the rest of her life gazing at the moon as if being slowly cut to pieces. You’re different. Sister very much wants to watch you do what sister could never do in her life.”