The fourteenth year of Zhenning, year’s end, on a snowy night.
The floating snow on the moat was carried away by the cold water, flowing in large clusters toward the outside of the city. When Yang Wan brought the noodle bowl outside and came back in, she saw Deng Ying sitting quietly at the edge of the bed, soaking his feet, his hands resting on the bed’s surface.
He kept his head down without speaking, as if afraid of what Yang Wan might say.
Yang Wan smiled, took off her shoes, and got on the bed, kneeling to stuff cotton into the window cracks, while calling to him, “Deng Ying.”
“Mm?”
“Has the foot-soaking water gotten cold?”
Deng Ying looked at his ankles, where the swelling had reduced considerably. The human body was like this – mistreat it and it would deteriorate terribly, but care for it properly and it would improve. During the time Yang Wan had confined him to bed to recover, his injuries had indeed healed significantly. But when Yang Wan wasn’t around, he would forget to brew medicine for foot soaks in cold weather, to eat warming foods regularly, to get extra rest occasionally, and to maintain his health.
He never realized that his treatment of himself stemmed from his inner “self-loathing,” which over time gradually led to self-destruction. Only when sitting beside Yang Wan would he be willing to rally his spirits and try to repair his broken body.
“Has it gotten cold?”
Yang Wan lowered her hand and turned back to ask again, “Why aren’t you speaking?”
“It’s not cold.”
Yang Wan shifted on her knees to sit beside Deng Ying, looking down at the basin, saying softly: “It seems like the past half month of recovery has been completely wasted.”
Deng Ying’s neck stiffened, and he didn’t dare turn around.
“Wan Wan, I know I was wrong.”
Yang Wan let out a laugh, “You know you were wrong, but you still won’t change.”
“I will change.”
“How will you change?”
She smiled as she spoke, her gaze gentle, her voice softening, “Will you change in the imperial prison?”
“Wan Wan…”
“Never mind.”
Yang Wan interrupted him, “Dry your feet and come up.”
Deng Ying dried his feet and drew his legs under the covers.
The bedding held Yang Wan’s warmth. She had already placed pillows at the headboard, her knees drawn up as a desk, spreading open the notebook she often read.
“Deng Ying.”
“Yes?”
“Come sit on the inside.”
“Oh… alright.”
He lifted the covers, crawling on his knees to the inner side of the bed.
Yang Wan moved the lamp at the bedhead closer with her hand, illuminating the notebook on her knees.
She turned to the first few pages and showed them to Deng Ying, “Look at my childish drawings.”
Deng Ying looked down at the paper, where the figure wore a headscarf and hat, the body proportions extremely unbalanced.
“Is it me?”
“Yes.”
Yang Wan couldn’t help but laugh, “It’s you, but I’m almost embarrassed to admit it.”
She poked the face in the drawing with her finger.
“Deng Ying.”
“Mm.”
“You’re good at drawing, aren’t you?”
Deng Ying shook his head, “I used to be somewhat good, but now I can only draw blueprints.”
“Are you skilled at drawing blueprints then?”
Deng Ying smiled without answering.
Yang Wan looked up, “You never talk about the things you’re good at. It was the same before when I asked whether you or my brother was better at studying.”
Deng Ying clasped his hands together. His middle garment’s sleeves weren’t long, and the old marks of shackles were faintly visible on his exposed wrists.
“Wan Wan, I can’t leave anything behind, but I think, as long as I don’t speak, future generations will at least not think I was an arrogant and disrespectful person.”
This was his only small hope for his posthumous reputation.
Yang Wan lowered her head, turning to a fresh page.
“Deng Ying, I’ll draw you again. Looking at you while drawing, it should turn out better.”
Deng Ying unconsciously straightened his back, “Dressed like this… is it acceptable?”
Yang Wan looked up at him. He wore a grey-blue robe, with newly changed undergarments beneath, slightly yellowed from washing.
“It’s fine, very clean.”
Yang Wan got up barefoot from the bed, walked to Deng Ying’s desk, brought back the brush and ink, and placed them at the bedhead.
She sat back in the covers, still using her knees as a desk, holding the brush and saying: “You’ve almost turned into a wooden block. It’s alright, relax.”
Deng Ying slowly relaxed his shoulders and back.
Yang Wan’s lines were still somewhat childish, but she drew with great care.
The drawing couldn’t be colored, so the figure’s clothing remained snow-white.
“Did Zihui teach you how to draw?”
“Who?”
“Zihui.”
“Mm…”
Yang Wan didn’t look up, saying offhandedly: “He probably can’t draw.”
“He can, but drawing is for entertainment. Many years ago, he gave it up. I would occasionally draw detailed buildings and towers to learn about construction. However, your drawing style indeed doesn’t seem like something Zihui would teach.”
Yang Wan was drawing a “crucial” part and made a vague sound of acknowledgment without answering.
“Wan Wan.”
“What is it?”
“Who exactly was your teacher…”
“You mean for my drawing?”
Of course, that wasn’t what Deng Ying meant to ask, but if he had to ask directly, he didn’t know where to begin.
The question “Who was your teacher” – even if she answered it, couldn’t explain her differences from others. So he could only follow Yang Wan’s lead and make a sound of agreement.
“I taught myself.”
She held up her notebook, “Does it look like you?”
“It does.”
“That’s good enough then.”
She got up to put away the brush and ink, blew out the lamp, and lay down.
“Deng Ying, lie down.”
“Alright.”
Deng Ying stretched out his legs and lay down under the covers. Yang Wan suddenly turned over and gently embraced his waist.
“When will you go to confess?”
Deng Ying started, “After I see the teacher… I’ll go.”
“Then I won’t be able to see you for another long while.”
Deng Ying’s throat tightened.
Yang Wan continued:
“I’ve always told you that when I’m not around, you need to take good care of yourself, be careful about eating and sleeping, don’t be careless. But whenever you’re alone, you mess yourself up. Do you know how much it hurts me to see you harm and destroy yourself?”
“I won’t be like that anymore.”
“Mm.”
Yang Wan bent her knees, curling herself into a ball beside Deng Ying.
“Go then.”
She mumbled.
Deng Ying looked down at her, “Go where?”
Yang Wan didn’t respond, her breath falling in waves against Deng Ying’s shoulder.
Deng Ying pulled his hand from under the covers and tucked all the inner blankets around her.
He hoped Yang Wan could sleep warmly in his quarters, but he still didn’t dare embrace her body, even though she was already asleep beside him, even though her hand rested quietly on his waist. He still didn’t dare imagine even a single touch without her permission.
But when Yang Wan leaned against him, he didn’t despise his body so much and even hoped this broken vessel could struggle on a bit longer.
In truth, Deng Ying had already decided to confess to forging the edict. He didn’t care what Yang Lun and the Cabinet thought; his only fear was that Yang Wan would cry.
But she hadn’t cried. She still cared about his future meals and daily life.
Those words gave Deng Ying the illusion that he and Yang Wan still had many long days ahead, that he could grow old, and that they could live together in a house outside, cooking noodles and fixing the roof.
He would certainly die, but he wanted to live, only because of this person beside him – she was too good.
The snow fell steadily through another night, finally stopping the next morning.
When Yang Wan woke up, Deng Ying had already risen. He had cooked a bowl of rice porridge for Yang Wan, with a covered bowl of steamed egg beside it.
The floor had already been swept and sprinkled with dust-settling water; it was still damp under bare feet.
Yang Wan put on her shoes and sat at the table to eat. Her drawing of Deng Ying from yesterday still lay at the table’s edge. Though the nose and eyes weren’t quite right, the more Yang Wan looked at it, the more she felt it resembled him.
She finished her porridge, closed the notebook, and tucked it into her clothes.
She stood up with the bowl and chopsticks to wash them at the moat.
The stove that Li Yu often used still stood by the moat, but the kettle that had sat atop it was gone.
As Yang Wan passed by the stove with her dishes, she saw someone crouching beside it – it was Chen Hua.
He was crouching on the ground arranging plates: two plates of pastries, and one plate of dried fruit.
Hearing Yang Wan’s footsteps, he was about to hurry away.
“Master Chen, it’s me.”
“Miss Wan…”
“Mm.”
Yang Wan set down her dishes and walked to the stove, “Here to see Li Yu?”
Chen Hua wiped his sweat, “Yes, with Scribe Li dead and Yunqing gone, only I can come to see him. His Majesty hasn’t had his grand funeral yet, and burning spirit money in private is a capital offense, so I can only set out these things. Fortunately, these osmanthus cakes and sweet oil pastries were Li Yu’s favorites.”
He pressed his palms together, “Li Yu, you always called me brother-in-law, but I never did anything for you, couldn’t even bury you, had to trouble Superintendent Deng. Your brother-in-law is truly useless…”
“Master Chen, don’t say that.”
Chen Hua shook his head, crouching down again, choking up as he spoke: “Before, when he wanted just one or two pastries, I was too concerned about my face to get them for him. Thinking about it now, how can I call myself human? Li Yu, today your brother-in-law got you two big plates, eat them slowly. Next month… when your brother-in-law comes to see you, I’ll bring more. Whatever you want to eat, when you have a chance, visit me in a dream and let me know.”
He bowed deeply, saying through tears: “Rest in peace, rest in peace.”
Yang Wan looked at the pastries and dried fruit on the ground, “Don’t rest in peace yet, pause on your way to the yellow springs, and look back. As long as you can’t close your eyes in peace, we won’t compromise either.”
Chen Hua’s eyes filled with tears as he looked up at Yang Wan, “I knew it… I knew Li Yu died unjustly.”
He knelt before Yang Wan.
Yang Wan quickly bent to help him up, “Master Chen, what are you doing? Get up.”
Chen Hua said: “Li Yu and Scribe Li both died in one day, Yunqing will certainly be implicated. I couldn’t save her. The Ceremonial Bureau has its rules, and Lady Jiang won’t save her either. Only you and Superintendent Deng would help her…”
He wiped his face, “I know that if others heard these words, it would harm you and the Superintendent, so I’ve been holding back, not daring to ask the Superintendent or you. I speak of it today not to ask where Yunqing is, I just wanted… wanted to thank you and the Superintendent for your kindness. You don’t need to tell me anything, just let me remember this debt of gratitude.”
Yang Wan simply crouched down, speaking evenly: “Master Chen, this isn’t about kindness. They should never have died. I’m not a god, but I know cause and effect are all on their way. Those whom Li Yu cannot forgive, I cannot forgive either. You mustn’t be afraid. We live not just to remember others’ kindness, but to speak for justice. Even if now is not the time, someday the snow will fall again, and we will be able to speak out.”