“No more arguments.”
These three words silenced all of Yang Lun’s protests.
If serving in the Cabinet was shameful to him, then standing before Deng Ying filled Yang Lun with emotions so complex he couldn’t even explain them to himself. The only thing he refused was to feel pity for this man.
Deng Ying wasn’t without the means to preserve his life.
Having risen to Imperial Ceremonial Supervisor and Director of the Eastern Depot, just as Bai Yuyang had worried about. He could have done as He Yixian did, covering the young emperor’s eyes and ears.
But he lowered his hand, saying he would argue no more.
“Why won’t you argue?” Yang Lun blurted out.
Deng Ying looked toward the crowds on the main street and said evenly, “It’s hard to say if I would have been among them, had I not been castrated.”
These words seemed to confirm Yang Wan’s statement about ‘forging a knife to kill oneself.’
When Deng Ying thought of Yang Wan, he felt a trace of warmth.
He looked up at Yang Lun, “Zizi, my life has been in decline, but I’ve done what needed to be done. If not for Wan-wan, I would have long wished to bury this broken body. But she hasn’t left me to this day, so… even though I’ve despised myself for years, I still want to live longer for her. But regardless, I cannot betray my original intention in taking this path—to not let those who serve the country die from false charges. The cases they want to reopen should be reopened, so let them do it. I…”
He paused, a slight smile appearing on his face, “I’m going back to eat beef.”
Yang Lun watched him silently as he walked past, then turned and called out:
“Fu Ling.”
Deng Ying turned back and said, “Come have some too.”
Yang Lun stood there for a long while without speaking, finally forcing out, “Then wait a bit, I’ll go buy some oranges for Wan’er.”
Deng Ying started, then nodded with a smile: “Alright.”
In the inner courtyard of the Eastern Depot, Yang Wan sat alone in front of the crossing gate.
She was truly tired, the wind at the entrance made her drowsy, so she simply leaned against the doorframe and closed her eyes to rest, unexpectedly falling asleep.
Who knows how long she slept, when suddenly someone roughly picked her up, immediately followed by a barrage of scolding.
“I told you to go home but you wouldn’t, instead you’re here sleeping at his doorway.”
Then turning to scold the person behind him, “Did you know she’s been sick recently?!”
Yang Wan dazedly opened her eyes, only then seeing that the person pulling her was Yang Lun, and seeing Deng Ying standing behind him not daring to say a word, she couldn’t help but smile.
Yang Lun raged, “What are you smiling about?”
Yang Wan, allowing herself to be held up by him, said: “Haven’t seen brother in a long time, seeing you now makes me happy.”
Hearing these words, Yang Lun immediately lowered his flags and drums, “So you still remember you have a brother.”
“Are you upset I haven’t come home to see you?”
Yang Lun said: “Whether you come home or not, your brother will still look after you.”
As he spoke, he pointed back at Deng Ying, “Tell me everything he’s done wrong lately, I’ll settle accounts with him today.”
Yang Wan turned to look at Deng Ying, smiling, “Did you hear that? Time to settle accounts.”
Deng Ying responded: “I heard, I accept my punishment.”
Only then did Yang Wan say to Yang Lun: “Stop pulling me up, let’s go in and eat beef. Yunqing and my sister helped me cook, my culinary skills have improved a lot.”
Yang Lun said sternly: “Fine, I’ll try it today.”
After speaking, he released Yang Wan and strode straight through the door.
Only then did Yang Wan pull Deng Ying over and ask, “How did it go with Qianhu Qin?”
Deng Ying said: “So you knew about that too.”
“Mm, and I guessed you’d go save him, then get cursed out thoroughly.”
Deng Ying burst out laughing at this, “You’re not angry?”
“What would I be angry about?”
As she spoke, she straightened her clothes that Yang Lun had wrinkled, “I’m used to it by now.”
She led him toward the inner courtyard as she walked, “Are you drinking today?”
Deng Ying followed her saying: “I can’t drink much, but if Zizi wants to drink, I can keep him company.”
Yang Wan turned back saying: “He’ll definitely want to drink with you. You two sit first, I’ll go buy wine.”
“No need Wan-wan, there’s wine in the office, I’ll go get it.”
An early summer gathering.
With a pot of stewed beef and two jars of Huadiao wine, Deng Ying had a limited intake, only drinking a few cups.
Yang Lun was initially restrained, but after getting into the spirit, lost all control. After emptying one jar, Yang Wan took away his cup. But surprisingly he wasn’t annoyed, sitting red-faced in the circular chair for a while before suddenly standing up saying he wanted to go out for some air.
Yang Wan got up and adjusted her clothes, following him out.
The April wind blew gently on the two of them. Sweating from the alcohol, the wind’s chill reached their sides. Yang Lun hiccupped and patted his face.
“Why did you come out?”
Yang Wan leaned against the door saying: “To keep an eye on you, we’re worried you might do something rash.”
“Me? Do something rash?”
Yang Lun gave a bitter laugh, “Yang Wan, how did you come to terms with it?”
Yang Wan shook her head, “I still haven’t come to terms with it.”
Yang Lun turned sideways asking: “Then why don’t you curse at him?”
Yang Wan was silent for a while before saying: “Knowing good days are numbered, yet still being angry with him, not living well—wouldn’t that be foolish? Look how good we are now. If it weren’t for wanting you to avoid suspicion, I’d often invite you to Qingbo House, and after everyone’s finished their work, we could all eat hotpot together lively.”
Yang Lun rubbed his itchy eyes, “If it had happened to me, your sister-in-law’s eyes would be swollen from crying by now, how could she have the heart to eat hotpot?”
Yang Wan lowered her head, saying softly: “There’s no need to hurt him with tears at this time. What I’ve always loved is his original intention toward the Great Ming, he has never betrayed that—this proves my love wasn’t wrong.”
After speaking, she changed the subject: “Do you want someone to escort you back after drinking?”
“No need, I’ll walk a bit.”
“Alright, I’ll see you to the gate.”
As they passed through the crossing gate together, Yang Lun casually asked: “Qingbo House, anything happening lately?”
Yang Wan said lightly: “Oh, occasionally people come to burn some books, but with the Military Police and Northern Pacification Guard watching, it hasn’t caused any big disturbance. I’ve temporarily stopped the inner chamber business, so it’s been quite idle these days.”
Yang Lun turned his head saying: “His Majesty misses you and the Imperial Consort very much. The Imperial Consort cannot enter the palace again, but you can. If you’re free, return to the inner court.”
Yang Wan shook her head, “The Liuli Factory case and Tongjia case are both being retried, His Majesty would be very troubled seeing me.”
“Wan’er.”
Yang Lun hesitated, then pleaded: “You could beg for mercy.”
Yang Wan pressed her lips together, “I won’t beg.”
“Why not?”
Yang Wan stopped in her tracks, “Because there was no wrongdoing, to begin with, why should we kneel and beg for forgiveness? Who can forgive him? In this world, apart from Master Zhang, no one has the right to make him kneel. I won’t kneel either, I’ll just live by his side and see how this world will treat us.”
Yang Lun looked behind Yang Wan and shook his head, suddenly saying: “I don’t know if he accumulated sins or merits in his previous life, to end up in such a situation in this life, yet still meet you.”
Yang Wan smiled saying: “Whether he accumulated sins or merits I don’t know, but I must have accumulated merits.”
“You talk nonsense when he’s not around.”
As he spoke, he withdrew his gaze, “I’m leaving, take good care of yourself. No matter what happens in the future, you can always come home.”
“I know.”
“Don’t see me out.”
Following his words, Yang Wan stopped, watching Yang Lun walk out the main gate before returning to the inner hall.
The wine and meat inside had gone cold, and Deng Ying was sleeping soundly sprawled on the table. His alcohol tolerance was poor, even drinking a little would make his head heavy, and with several days of little sleep, he had gradually fallen into a deep slumber.
Yang Wan rolled up her sleeves and cleaned up the mess on the table, washed her hands, and returned to sit beside him, looking at Deng Ying’s sleeping face and couldn’t help but touch his nose.
Deng Ying coughed once but didn’t wake up.
The window let in a clear breeze, gently blowing his robes, and facing the wind, his bone structure would occasionally show through.
Yang Wan also lay down beside him, the outside gaze gradually fading away, thick clouds drifting in, the earthy smell wafting up faintly from the grass and trees, mixing with the scent of wine and meat, yet not unpleasant.
Rain fell drizzling, soon becoming heavy.
Yang Wan raised her head to look at the eaves, where rainwater flowed down forming a water curtain, like a fragile yet gentle barrier, enclosing her and Deng Ying within.
Yang Wan rested her head on Deng Ying’s arm and also closed her eyes.
The first half of the Jinghe era had passed.
Historically, Deng Ying died in the autumn of this year.
“Counting autumn sounds, dreams grow short, plantain leaves beneath the eaves in rain.”
Yang Wan wrote this line of poetry on the last page of her notebook.
At the end of April, the ‘homicide case’ of the Tongjia Academy students’ wives and children was transferred from the Shuntian Prefecture to the Eastern Depot prison. The Censorate erupted in a chorus of condemnation, and with the retrial and overturning of both the Liuli Factory case and Tongjia case, memorials impeaching Deng Ying flew like snowflakes onto the Cabinet’s desk. Bai Yuyang piled all these memorials on Yang Lun’s desk, and just as Yang Lun was struggling to write official notes and draft responses, Yang Wan turned to the first page of her notebook at Qingbo House.
That page clearly stated:
In the twelfth year of Zhenning, in the torture chamber at Nanhai, Deng Ying had a huge misunderstanding about me, thinking I was the only woman in the world who hadn’t given up on his remaining life, when in fact I was just an academic female pervert trying to extract first-hand material from him.
The text was in English.
The sense of playfulness in the writing style, like her former sense of disconnection from this era, had gradually become somewhat unfamiliar.
She wasn’t an academic pervert, she was a careful recorder, a professional historical researcher, and among the surging crowds, one of the few warm-hearted people.
Yang Wan tore out this page and spread a new sheet of paper before her, rolled up her sleeves to grind ink, and fed the brush tip until saturated. When she began writing, her strokes were proper, trying as much as possible to restrain modern grammar, yet the writing style wasn’t deliberately formal either.
In the summer of the first year of Jinghe, she began translating this notebook herself.
Compared to “The Biography of Deng Ying,” this ‘flowing account’ had no system, no logic, referenced no documents, and had no systematic research theory for support—it was just her account. From a professional perspective, this couldn’t be considered serious academic work, but it was her most complete understanding of the Great Ming Dynasty where Deng Ying lived, as a researcher.
She organized and revised day and night, and her cough illness also grew increasingly severe.
Song Yunqing helped her find a doctor, but taking medicine showed no improvement.
However, what left her somewhat speechless was that she began losing hair, just like when she was writing her doctoral dissertation.
Yang Jin advised her: “It’s not good to keep pushing yourself like this.”
Hearing this, Yang Wan just smiled, “Writers all pour their hearts and souls into their work, I’m barely getting started.”
Yang Jin said: “That’s mostly for the sake of achievement and literary fame, what are you doing this for?”
Yang Wan lowered her head, looking at the ink characters beneath her hand.
“I’m the same, it’s all for ‘fame.'”
Yang Jin said: “Wan’er, you’re not someone who seeks fame.”
“Seeking ‘fame’ for someone else is the same.”