As the season waned, all flowers returned to dust.

The boundless silence of late spring in the inner palace bred loneliness in people’s hearts.

Yang Wan made herself a bowl of noodles and carried it steaming to the window. Taking advantage of the empty office at the Fifth Division, she tucked her legs onto the chair, ready for a quick meal.

The noodles were still too hot—she nearly burned her tongue on the first bite. She pushed the bowl aside to cool and rolled up her sleeves to continue writing her notes.

Her recent notes were chaotic, with several pages torn out in succession.

When she couldn’t write anymore, she habitually sketched little portraits of Deng Ying on the paper.

Initially, she had wanted to capture that perfect sense of brokenness she felt when first seeing Deng Ying, but her drawing skills were poor, and her sketches of him always looked somewhat dazed. Yet somehow, over time, she gradually lost her obsession with that broken quality, even beginning to intentionally avoid it.

So she gently turned past the page of little portraits.

She took a bite of noodles with her left hand, then returned to her brush, but still couldn’t write a single word after a long while.

The people of the inner palace knew nothing of the shadow war between the Directorate of Ceremonial and the Cabinet.

Yet Yang Wan’s inner unease grew stronger as time passed.

Without historical records to rely on, depending entirely on her understanding of human nature, she found it difficult to deduce how Deng Ying had escaped the deadly trap between the Directorate and the Cabinet.

Recalling Deng Ying’s words to her, Yang Wan had more than once thought of the Ministry of Justice’s cruel torture methods.

She hadn’t personally studied Ming Dynasty punishments, but she had a senior fellow student who had devoted many years to researching this area. She had mentioned Deng Ying and the three-day lingchi execution at Meridian Gate. In the margins of her notes, her senior had written:

“The emperor of the time perhaps merely used this man’s body as a symbol of guilt, using extreme punishment to declare to the world his attitude toward the eunuch faction, clearly demonstrating the baseness of the eunuch group, and manifesting imperial power’s absolute control over palace servants. When they executed Deng Ying at the palace gates, perhaps no one remembered that this eunuch dying in agony had once been the builder of this imperial city.”

Yang Wan remembered stumbling upon this passage in the research room’s materials.

By then, her senior had graduated and was teaching at a foreign university, so she hesitated to disturb her.

This passage merely describes, outside of academic context, the significance of executing a eunuch by lingchi at that time, without taking any particular stance on Deng Ying as a person.

When Yang Wan first read this passage, she thought her senior was someone who felt compassion for history.

But now, recalling these words, she found herself on the verge of tears.

“Eating noodles made your eyes red again? I think you need to go out for a walk.”

Song Qingyun entered carrying a basin of wood-shaving water.

Yang Wan turned around, “You went to wash your hair.”

“Mm-hmm.”

Song Qingyun’s voice was light and cheerful: “It’s a nice sunny day. I saw those Palace Directorate people all went there. Though they always act superior to us, putting on airs and making me serve them. Hey, do you want to wash? If you go now, they were leaving when I left—it’ll be nice and quiet.”

Yang Wan lowered her head to eat her noodles, “Alright, I’ll go after I finish eating.”

Song Qingyun sat by the window wringing her hair, then suddenly jumped up as if remembering something: “Oh my, I forgot something!”

Yang Wan asked through a mouthful of noodles, “What?”

“Hu Siji’s matter. Asked you to go to the Archives Collection to fetch some documents.”

Yang Wan stirred her noodles, “Oh, I know, wasn’t that for tomorrow? I’m not even on duty today.”

Song Qingyun pursed her lips, “You know what she’s like, rushing around like death itself. She couldn’t find you this morning, guessed you were with Lady Ning, and didn’t dare look there, so she found me instead. Asked me to tell you, but I forgot until seeing you just now.”

Yang Wan glanced at the time, “Still need to go up to Huiji Gate.”

“Mm, it’s my fault for telling you so late.”

Yang Wan continued eating her noodles, “It’s fine, work needs to be done. I’ll go after I finish eating.”

“Alright, leave the bowl, I’ll wash it for you.”

Yang Wan laughed, “How dare I trouble you?”

Song Qingyun said, “Come on, hurry up and go. Everyone knows you’re unsettled with Deputy Director Deng away—as long as you don’t wreck the kitchen, it’s fine.”

Yang Wan understood her good intentions and didn’t refuse further.

She quickly finished her remaining noodles, changed into palace clothes, and headed up to Huiji Gate.

Huiji Gate was the necessary exit for Cabinet ministers leaving the palace, but palace female officials were forbidden from private communication with outside officials. So even when Yang Wan sometimes encountered Yang Lun at the gate, they didn’t dare speak privately. However, being in the inner palace, Yang Lun was her only source of information about Deng Ying’s situation, so today, Yang Wan intended to break this prohibition.

Unlike last time when Yi Lang was present, now she could only wait hidden behind Huiji Gate.

The Cabinet seemed to have business today. Yang Wan kept looking toward their office, but the door remained closed.

The wind blew through the gate, rustling her newly changed thin palace garments. Feeling cold, she sniffled and crouched against the palace wall hugging her knees, thinking to rest a moment.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over her.

Yang Wan looked up to see someone wearing a dark plain robe with a mourning sash at his waist. He held an embroidered spring sword and was looking down at her.

“Do you know what happens when palace women communicate privately with outside officials?”

His voice was ice-cold.

Yang Wan stood up, “Twenty strokes of the rod and bell-ringing on the city roads.”

“So you know.”

“Aren’t you also an outside official, sir?”

Zhang Luo gave a cold laugh: “You’ve never known how to speak to me properly.”

Yang Wan bowed, “Yang Wan acknowledges her error.”

Zhang Luo watched her straighten up after her bow, then suddenly spoke: “Even if you learn of that slave’s situation from Yang Lun, can you save him?”

Yang Wan pressed her lips together, “He never wanted anyone to save him from the beginning.”

Hearing these words, Zhang Luo stepped closer to Yang Wan, close enough that she could almost smell the sandalwood fragrance on him.

“You’re a smarter woman than Yang Lun.”

Yang Wan braced her hand against the wall, “What do you want to tell me, sir?”

“I want to ask why you rejected me to follow someone who doesn’t even qualify as a man.”

“Does this matter so much to you, sir?”

“Yes.”

Zhang Luo raised his voice, “I care. I saw him at the Ministry of Justice hearing the other day, kneeling on the ground at the mercy of the bailiffs. The Great Ming Code shows no mercy to criminal slaves—during torture they strip them naked, and treat them worse than pigs and dogs, with no dignity left. Would you still want to look at such a body?”

Yang Wan’s mind rang with a buzz, “Why do you humiliate him like this?”

“Heh.”

That cold laugh pierced the heart.

“Yang Wan, your words are wrong. It’s not that I want to humiliate him—it’s the Ming Code that must restrain him.”

Hearing these words, Yang Wan suddenly understood that this man’s oppressive aura didn’t come entirely from his malice, but from his obsession with the feudal era’s order. He wasn’t venting personal hatred on Deng Ying—he simply had no compassion for eunuchs, merely taking the scholar-official class’s contempt for palace servants to its extreme.

Yang Wan recalled her senior’s words—perhaps no one remembered that this eunuch dying in agony had once been the builder of this imperial city.

A surge of uncontrollable grief welled up, and tears spilled from her eyes before she could stop them.

She quickly tilted her head back.

Zhang Luo looked at her, “You cry for him? When did this begin?”

As he spoke, he raised his hand.

Yang Wan dodged to the side.

“Don’t touch me.”

“Hmph.”

Zhang Luo laughed coldly, “Yang Wan, I’ve been traveling east and west these past few years, not inquiring after your affairs. The other day when father asked about you, I was thinking, if I had married you earlier, kept you by my side, and properly restrained you, would you be different from how you are now?”

“Restrain? What are women in your eyes?”

The words burst from Yang Wan’s lips, but after speaking them, a pale sense of futility rose in her mind.

Saying such words to Zhang Luo six hundred years ago was completely meaningless.

Just as she was about to speak again, Yang Lun’s shout suddenly came from behind.

“Zhang Luo!”

Yang Wan turned to see Yang Lun striding quickly up from Huiji Gate, grabbing her wrist and pulling her behind him.

“What are you doing? This is the inner palace!”

Zhang Luo stepped back, “No need for such behavior, Minister Yang. Your sister’s character is known throughout the city—I find it too dirty to touch.”

With that, he turned and walked toward the gate.

Yang Lun’s throat ached with anger. He started to pursue but was held back by Yang Wan’s grip on his sleeve.

“Let him talk. It won’t take a piece of flesh off me.”

Yang Lun turned around, “Did he lay hands on you?”

“No.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying…”

Yang Wan hurriedly wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

Yang Lun looked at Yang Wan helplessly.

Back home, Yang Wan used to cry in front of him often, but since bringing her back from South Lake, this was the first time Yang Lun had seen her red-eyed.

“I’m going to question Zhang Luo!”

“Enough, brother! It’s nothing. Don’t antagonize him at this time.”

As she spoke, she stumbled from his pull. Yang Lun quickly turned to steady her, looking down at her face, “As long as he didn’t hurt you, that’s good. Otherwise, your brother wouldn’t let him off.”

Yang Wan nodded, “I know. Thank you, brother.”

Seeing her tears had stopped, Yang Lun straightened up and calculated the time, then asked, “Why are you here?”

“Oh, Hu Siji ordered me to come, there’s business at the Archives Collection.”

“Is it finished?”

“It’s done. I was deliberately waiting for brother.”

Hearing this, Yang Lun stepped back, “You wanted to ask about Deng Ying, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Yang Lun set his jaw, looked at Yang Wan in silence for a moment, then finally spoke.

“Today the Directorate of Ceremonial brought him back from the Ministry of Justice prison.”

“Was he badly injured?”

“He wasn’t injured.”

Yang Wan was stunned.

“But just now Zhang Luo said…”

“They were going to torture him, but Master Zhang came.”

Yang Wan suddenly remembered that Zhang Zhanchun seemed to have died in the fifth month of Zhenning’s twelfth year, but history didn’t record how he died. She quickly asked, “You mean Master Zhang Zhanchun?”

Yang Lun nodded, “For the details, you’ll have to ask Deng Ying yourself, though he might not be well for the next day or two.”

“Why?”

Yang Lun lowered his head, “To save him, Master Zhang took the blame for the Shandong brick supply case. He taught and raised Deng Ying for ten years, and was Deng Ying’s most respected teacher. Now he’s imprisoned for his sake… ai…”

Yang Lun couldn’t help but sigh.

“Alright, I need to leave the palace. How are the Princess and Prince?”

Yang Wan didn’t speak, just nodded numbly.

“Take good care of them. Recently… the political situation has been unstable. The Princess will inevitably hear some news. Explain things well on my behalf, don’t let her worry too much.”

Yang Wan followed a few steps, “Brother, stop investigating this matter.”

Yang Lun turned back, “Wan’er, Deng Fu Lin, and Master Zhang aren’t afraid of death, and we aren’t people who fear death either. Regardless of His Majesty’s stance, we must let the common people see the loyalty that we scholars and officials have for the Great Ming.”

Observing history from afar brings compassion.

But when living within it, mere compassion… seems insufficient.

After Yang Lun left, Yang Wan walked toward the Fifth Division with her sleeves drawn close.

On the palace path, she met Li Yu who was starting his shift. Seeing Yang Wan, he quickly snuck down, “Finally found you!”

Yang Wan coughed once, “What is it?”

Li Yu said, “Deng Ying has returned, but he hasn’t opened his door all day. I’ve shouted myself hoarse, but he won’t answer. I’m worried something’s happened to him. He has no one else looking after him in the palace—don’t you care for him? Go check on him.”

A gust of wind blew down the palace path, lifting Yang Wan’s skirts. The swirling mortal dust brushed against her face.

Yang Wan drew her clothes closer, “Do you have noodles there?”

“Noodles?”

“Yes, ready-made ones.”

“We do.”

“What about a stove?”

“We have that too, by the big willow tree at the moat.”