All the eunuchs of the eighth rank and above in the Imperial Ceremonial Office had gathered at its entrance.

These men rarely saw Deng Ying, only knowing that he oversaw the reconstruction of Taihe Hall and, like Yang Lun and others, gave lectures at the Inner School—a transcendent figure not to be offended. Today, as the Old Ancestor suddenly ordered his caning, each harbored their own thoughts. Some stretched their necks eagerly for the spectacle, while others, empathizing with his situation, wore expressions of fox-like sorrow.

Zheng Yuejia walked with his hands behind his back to the executioner from the Office of Careful Conduct, tapping lightly on the back of his hand.

The executioner, Head Eunuch Wang, hurriedly bowed and asked, “What is the Old Ancestor’s meaning?”

As he spoke, he looked toward Deng Ying, who stood with lowered hands before the punishment bench.

He wore a long robe without his official outer garment, appearing as if he’d been brought directly from his quarters.

Zheng Yuejia knew that Taihe Hall’s early completion was achieved through Deng Ying’s self-sacrifice.

Even after many days following completion, Deng Ying spent most of his time resting in his duty room, yet still appeared haggard.

Seeing Zheng Yuejia’s silence, Head Eunuch Wang observed Deng Ying’s condition and carefully considered before saying, “I hear his health isn’t good. For forty strokes… there are lenient ways and harsh ways. Which should we use?”

Zheng Yuejia replied, “With Taihe Hall complete, His Majesty rewarded him just today in the Hall of Mental Cultivation. How could we use the harshest method?”

Head Eunuch Wang responded, “Yes… yes yes, that’s what I thought too, but when I left, I noticed the Old Ancestor’s foot position… he wants us to strike hard.”

Zheng Yuejia turned and said, “The Imperial Ceremonial Office oversees the punishment to serve as a warning to others. You know these methods—make it look frightening, but don’t damage his bones.”

Hearing Zheng Yuejia’s words, Head Eunuch Wang quickly said, “Yes, these few words with you have given us clarity.”

He couldn’t help but sigh, “Truthfully, I find him both hateful and pitiful. We’re not like those sour officials outside who were overthrown at the Meridian Gate. He still maintains his stubborn pride. Before, when the Old Ancestor punished those below, it was just anger at their thoughtlessness—actually being merciful. Seeing the children crying pitifully before him, when did he ever truly order us to be harsh? A bit of discipline was enough. But this… aiya.”

As he spoke, he sighed: “Indeed worthy of having studied with Minister Bai—he can’t be treated as a mere descendant.”

His emotional exclamation wasn’t subdued, and many present heard it.

Deng Ying, standing at the punishment bench, bent over and coughed softly.

In truth, as observers could see, what Yang Lun and others wouldn’t say, this eunuch had voiced. For Deng Ying, these weren’t words of humiliation, but rather of understanding—quite rare.

Thinking this, he looked down at the blood-stained punishment bench. Fear wasn’t absent, but Deng Ying wanted to force it from his heart. Previously, he couldn’t understand why the court treated him this way, but since Zhang Zhanchun and the people of Tongjia Academy died tragically, he felt those incomprehensible matters gradually becoming insignificant.

As Yang Wan said, he couldn’t let them die in vain. No matter what became of him, as their successor, he had to live on well.

The autumn wind blew in from the moat, seeming to carry a faint scent of blood.

Everyone looked up to see the sky had already begun to darken. Today’s executions at the Meridian Gate seemed to have drawn away all vital energy—the wind borrowed the chill of new ghosts, blowing until people’s scalps tingled.

Suddenly, the office door was pushed open, and Hu Xiang walked out with his hands on his hips.

He had been beaten once before at Zhao Landlord’s wedding hall by those men from the Six Offices, leaving a large scar on his forehead that he would frequently rub.

Pressing his forehead, he first glanced at Deng Ying, then swept his gaze across everyone present before turning to ask Zheng Yuejia, “Everyone here?”

Zheng Yuejia replied, “All here.”

Hu Xiang found the scar on his forehead more irritating than usual, and the malicious fire he’d suppressed for months seemed to finally find an outlet. “Then what are we waiting for? Beat him.”

“Yes.”

Head Eunuch Wang stepped forward, “Hold him down and tie him up.”

“Hey hey hey?”

Hu Xiang raised his hand, “What kind of procedure is this? Beating him like this, how will these people learn shame? Why preserve this bottom layer of dignity? Zheng Bibang forgot when we were beaten, and when the Old Ancestor taught us proper conduct, he showed no mercy either. Strip his lower garments—what kind of game is this?”

Deng Ying closed his eyes, remaining silent.

As Zheng Yuejia watched someone step forward to untie Deng Ying’s sweat towel, he quickly said, “Wait.”

Hu Xiang turned back, “Zheng Yuejia, this isn’t the first time you’ve protected this person.”

Zheng Yuejia walked to Hu Xiang’s front, “I beg mercy for him.”

Hu Xiang smiled, “Heh, I forgot, you were once almost an imperial examination candidate yourself. What? You find him pitiful?”

“Yes, please, Director Hu, have mercy on him.”

Hu Xiang looked at Deng Ying’s back, “True, he’s young, good-looking, and certainly capable…”

His tone suddenly changed, “You and I have served the Old Ancestor for so long—don’t we know he most despises those who are too capable? If you want to beg mercy, go beg the Old Ancestor. Here, I must vent today’s anger from the Hall of Mental Cultivation for the Old Ancestor.”

Zheng Yuejia wiped sweat from his forehead, “He deserves punishment, I dare not beg mercy, but you and I must consider—His Majesty just greatly praised him today for completing Taihe Hall. If he learns that we beat the man too severely here today, he’ll surely think we servants can’t comprehend his heart.”

Hu Xiang said, “Nonsense, this is the internal discipline of the Imperial Ceremonial Office—who would dare speak of it to His Majesty?”

Zheng Yuejia said, “Have you forgotten? His lover is Miss Yang from the Imperial Dressing Bureau—she’s Noble Consort Ning’s sister. If she learns we went too far today, won’t she make a fuss to the Noble Consort? Imperial Consort Jiang is with child, and these days Noble Consort Ning has been attending His Majesty…”

Hearing this, Hu Xiang was somewhat intimidated.

“Hehe, you certainly know how to talk. Fine, for your sake, we’ll beat him with one layer of inner clothing—that’s how we’ll do it.”

“Thank you.”

After speaking, Zheng Yuejia looked at Head Eunuch Wang.

Head Eunuch Wang understood, turning to speak a few words to the executing eunuchs.

Everyone before the office held their breath. This wasn’t their first time witnessing such a scene—they were all palace servants, and after that one cut, nothing else mattered. They didn’t find anything strange about it among themselves, and there wasn’t a time when someone didn’t weep and beg for mercy, hoping to receive fewer strokes. Like Deng Ying, silently enduring the punishment, unwilling to beg for a single stroke of mercy—this was the first time they’d seen such a person.

Deng Ying lay on the punishment bench, turning his face to rest sideways on the bench surface.

He remembered this was also an autumn execution day—the day Zhou Congshan and others died.

He had felt tremendous guilt over the deaths of Zhang Zhanchun, Zhou Congshan, and the Zhao brothers, yet couldn’t punish himself. Since that was so, weren’t these forty strokes a form of redemption?

Thinking this, he couldn’t help but feel at peace.

He coughed several times, trying to calm his breathing, closed his eyes, and quietly waited.

The clothes he wore were his sleeping garments, clinging to his skin in the wind, very cold.

It was autumn, yet Deng Ying felt as if he had returned to South Lake in the first month.

Before his punishment, he opened that window, wanting to see the people and things outside, absurdly hoping to meet someone warmer than himself.

Yang Wan.

Compared to his confusion then, now he recalled Yang Wan’s appearance.

But in that instant, his newly calmed state of mind was suddenly disrupted, and he even wanted to slap himself.

How could he think of her at this moment?

How could he bring her to this place of filth?

But no matter how he forced himself, he couldn’t drive this woman from his mind.

She just quietly stood there watching Deng Ying, opening her mouth but making no sound, seemingly right before his eyes yet separated by hundreds of years.

Deng Ying felt somewhat fearful.

In this present moment, stripped of dignity and barely surviving, no matter how much he rejected everyone’s pity, he desperately wanted—needed—Yang Wan’s compassion.

With her, although he tried his utmost to conceal his inner wounds, he paradoxically wanted to lay all his humiliation and pain before her. It seemed only before her could he admit that he couldn’t accept his life; if possible, he hoped he wouldn’t be treated too cruelly; if possible, he wished to live a better life.

The executioner didn’t give him extra time to compose himself.

The first stroke fell, muffled through the clothing.

Following Head Eunuch Wang’s instructions, though the stance was frightening, the force was held back. Deng Ying’s body jerked upward. Previously, when he was imprisoned in the Ministry of Justice due to his father’s crime since Deng Yi’s crimes were already determined, the Ministry had nothing to interrogate him about, so he was only imprisoned without torture. Therefore, the current pain exceeded his understanding of this punishment, like being carved with a dull knife, almost shattering his rationality. For the first ten strokes, he could still control his body, but by the eleventh stroke, he could no longer maintain composure. However, whenever he struggled, someone immediately pressed him down.

Hu Xiang watched as the punishment rod fell on Deng Ying’s body, drawing blood after just twenty strokes.

“Stop for now.”

He walked a few steps toward Deng Ying, crouched down, leaned close, and said in a low voice, “The Old Ancestor told me to ask you—why did you speak to His Majesty that way in the Hall of Mental Cultivation today?”

This was the true intent behind this caning.

Deng Ying recalled this morning’s Chen hour when he and Xu Qi from the Ministry of Works reported the completion of Taihe Hall to Emperor Zhenning in the Hall of Mental Cultivation.

The Emperor was greatly pleased, immediately decreeing that on his birthday, he would receive the court officials’ congratulations in Taihe Hall. He Yixian, Zheng Yuejia, and others all knelt to congratulate Emperor Zhenning.

The Emperor looked at Deng Ying and suddenly said to He Yixian, “It was also you who stayed my hand from killing him, allowing me to grant him this grace. He hasn’t disappointed you, nor has he disappointed me. You’ve indeed grown old and have your ways of judging people, but regarding the Eastern Depot matter, you didn’t judge correctly.”

Hearing these words, Zheng Yuejia hurriedly prostrated himself, “This slave deserves death.”

Emperor Zhenning shook his head, “You servant, you don’t care much about anything, just knowing to attend to my brush and ink daily—though you do attend to them well, I can’t do without them. From now on, stop running between both sides, I see you’re not up to it anymore.”

Zheng Yuejia kowtowed: “Yes, this slave thanks Your Majesty for the grace.”

The Emperor nodded, then looked at Deng Ying kneeling behind Zheng Yuejia.

“How old are you this year?”

Deng Ying raised his head, “This slave is twenty-four.”

“Twenty-four, a good age.”

The Emperor spoke while rubbing his forehead, recalling, “I remember you passed the imperial examination about ten years ago, come to think of it, you were once my student.”

“This slave dares not.”

The Emperor waved his hand, “Such words, I’ve heard too many, Deng Ying.”

“Present.”

“I ask you, how do you feel about me letting you live like this?”

“This slave…”

“Speak truthfully.”

The Emperor suddenly raised his voice, “Otherwise, I’ll have you beaten to death right now.”

Deng Ying took a deep breath, prostrated himself in kowtow, and then said, “This slave is a criminal, fortunate to preserve his life through imperial grace. Therefore, this slave has no other thoughts, only wishing to serve Your Majesty with his remaining life, sharing Your Majesty’s burdens, hoping to redeem one ten-thousandth of his father’s crimes.”

The Emperor looked at He Yixian, “What does the Senior Attendant think?”

He Yixian hurriedly asked, “What does Your Majesty mean?”

The Emperor clicked his tongue impatiently:

“I want you to recommend another person.”

He Yixian saw the Emperor’s gaze sweep toward Deng Ying as he spoke these words, and could only say quietly:

“Your Majesty, Deng Ying is the son of a criminal…”

The Emperor smiled slightly, no longer looking at He Yixian, and lowered his head to address Deng Ying: “Fine, you may rise first. I’ll think more about how to let you share my burdens.”