Deng Ying returned from the Ceremonial Department to his quarters by the moat. The noon sun dazzled his eyes, and the shadows of willow trees swayed across the white ground by the riverbank. Li Yu was about to leave, but seeing Deng Ying return, he stepped back and said, “Director Chen gave me some cooling tea. I don’t know what kind it is, but I brewed some for you too. It’s in your room.”

Deng Ying noticed his bound sleeves and cloth shoes, and couldn’t help but ask:

“Where are you going?”

Li Yu rolled his eyes, “You must be distracted these days if you’ve forgotten today is the sixth of the sixth month, the Scripture Airing Festival.”

“Oh…”

Deng Ying pressed his brow, “I am a bit scattered.”

Li Yu said, “During past Scripture Airing Festivals, when the Ceremonial Office and both Chinese and foreign scripture workshops couldn’t handle all the airing by themselves, they would draw palace maids serving the consorts from the Six Palaces to help. And those maids were always willing. This year they can’t spare anyone from the Six Palaces, so they can only transfer people from the outer and inner four gates. I originally didn’t want to go, but my godfather said that since the palace is executing someone tomorrow, airing scriptures accumulates merit that can be dedicated to others. I thought… I could dedicate some to Secretary Deng.”

He finished and then asked, “By the way, why are you back so early? Aren’t you going to the Eastern Surveillance Office? Tomorrow is…”

His throat caught and he didn’t continue.

“I came back to rest for a while.”

“Oh, right.”

Li Yu looked awkward as he adjusted the loose bindings on his shoulder. “You rest then, I’m heading to the scripture workshop.”

After walking a few steps, he turned back, “Would you like… me to dedicate some merit to you too?”

Deng Ying shook his head with a smile, “It would be wasted on me. Dedicate it to your sister instead.”

“Oh, alright.”

After Li Yu left, Deng Ying returned to his quarters and washed his face, then hung his court robes on the wooden rack. Instead of lying down immediately, he sat cross-legged on the couch and reread Yang Lun’s “Land Clearing Strategy.”

Although the actual progress of land clearing in the south was slower than Yang Lun had predicted, from the memorials Yang Lun sent back, Deng Ying discovered that Hubei was almost completely exposed by Yang Lun’s investigations. Moving further south would mean entering Jiangzhe.

The situation in Zhejiang was quite different from Hubei.

Though Hubei had imperial relatives like the Duke of Jing, these were merely impressive on the surface—wealthy households without real official power.

Zhejiang was more complicated.

Although He Yixian wasn’t from Zhejiang, the current Zhejiang Provincial Governor Lu Tong had, when first entering officialdom, been scorned for his character and scholarship by Bai Huan and others. In anger, he had gone through He Yixian’s connections. Unexpectedly, it had worked, and he later enjoyed smooth career advancement, becoming a frontier official in a strategic location.

While the Yang family’s roots were in Zhejiang, the Yang family patriarch had been cultivating in a temple for years and no longer managed family affairs, leaving several uneducated young masters who, relying on Yang Lun’s position in the cabinet, did business in cotton cloth with officials. Yang Lun was far away and rarely inquired about family matters throughout the year. Whether there were hidden fields under the family business, even Yang Lun himself didn’t know.

If he wanted to deal with others’ hidden fields, he would have to start with his own family first.

This was already difficult enough, and with the obstruction of local officials, one wrong move could cost him his life.

Deng Ying remembered that in late May, news had come from the south that Yang Lun had fallen into the water from his boat while heading to Zhejiang, and later fell ill from shock. Later, Yang Lun personally wrote to the Emperor saying it was just a rumor.

For Yang Lun, land clearing was something that had to be done in one push—a second attempt would weaken, and a third would fail.

He refused to be recalled to the capital due to illness. But he must have known that this fall into the water was deliberately orchestrated, just as Deng Ying and Yang Wan both knew deeply that the people behind the Crane Residence case, like He Yixian, were closely watching this “Land Clearing Strategy” that was already reaching its conclusion. Yang Lun would not leave any room for these people; his reasoning was righteous and would hold up in court.

For hundreds of years in the Great Ming, countless young, honest scholars like Yang Lun had successively pursued empty dreams of political clarity.

But those were ultimately empty dreams.

Without taking such a blow and sinking into the mire, how could one know how turbulent the grey waves between light and darkness were, how everything could turn upside down with just one thought from the sovereign father?

Deng Ying closed his eyes. He had indeed been tired these past few days—the summer heat and lack of sleep suddenly caught up with him, making his eyelids extremely heavy. He put down the book and lay on his side on the bed, arms folded.

The weather was too hot for Deng Ying to want a blanket, and he even left the window open.

The shadows of water ripples are printed clearly on the window panels.

Deng Ying unconsciously curled his legs, his trouser legs rubbing against the bedding and rolling up to his knees. His old ankle wounds were exposed to the window breeze, slightly painful, but he was too weary to move.

This sleep was dreamless, and when he woke, the sun was already setting in the west.

Deng Ying looked down to find his ankle loosely wrapped with a piece of silk. He quickly sat up and removed it.

The silk quality, with its subtle lotus embroidery and faint feminine fragrance, immediately revealed who had visited.

Just as Deng Ying was about to put on his shoes and get up, Yang Wan ran in awkwardly carrying two bowls of noodles. After setting down the bowls, she hurriedly pressed her hands to her earlobes, “It’s so hot, it’s burning me!”

Seeing this, Deng Ying forgot about his shoes and walked barefoot to Yang Wan’s side. “Let me see.”

Yang Wan said through gritted teeth, “It’s not burned.”

She spread her hands, “Look, just a bit red.”

Then she looked down at Deng Ying’s feet on the ground, “You’re just walking on the ground barefoot?”

“Oh…”

Deng Ying felt somewhat embarrassed, “I’ll put them on right away.”

Yang Wan sat down holding the edge of the table, “Put them on and come eat the noodles.”

She bent down to smell the soup’s aroma, “This is still what I do best.”

Deng Ying watched her while putting on his shoes.

She wore the court dress of a registry official today, with bound sleeves like Li Yu, and elaborate makeup, but because her injuries hadn’t fully healed, her face was still somewhat pale.

Seeing Deng Ying watching her, she stirred his noodles, “Hurry up, they’re going to get mushy.”

Deng Ying sat on the couch to put on his shoes, washed his hands at the basin by the door, walked to the table and sat down, took the chopsticks from Yang Wan’s hand, and lifted the noodles to turn them over. The scallions from the bottom came up to float on the pork fat-glossed soup surface, releasing a fresh fragrance.

“Smells good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s been so long since I’ve had this.”

Yang Wan rested her chin in her hand, looking at him, “If I hadn’t come, you wouldn’t eat anything tonight?”

“Mm.”

Deng Ying responded sincerely while eating, his nose making an affirming sound, then suddenly realized his answer wasn’t right and quickly put down his chopsticks to correct himself, “No, I would eat.”

Yang Wan didn’t expose his lie, carefully lifted her noodles, and took a sip of the soup. “Will you be there for the execution tomorrow?”

Deng Ying shook his head while chewing, “I asked Qin Wende to go.”

“Oh.”

Yang Wan picked up some noodles but didn’t bring them to her mouth.

Deng Ying looked up at her, “Are you going?”

“Yes, all six departments will be there, so I have to go.”

“Then should I…”

“No need, Deng Ying.”

Yang Wan tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, took a bite of noodles, and said softly, “Don’t worry, I’m not the person who gets sick at the smell of blood anymore. And…”

She paused, then continued in a deep voice while eating her noodles, “I won’t get sick anymore.”

She then took another large bite of noodles.

“Wan’er.”

“Mm?”

Deng Ying folded his arms on the table and brought up something Yang Wan hadn’t expected.

“I want to… buy a house outside.”

“Why?”

“Don’t misunderstand, I’m not trying to accumulate private wealth. The house doesn’t need to be big, just a single-courtyard compound would be fine, new or old doesn’t matter, I can do some work on it myself. I want to buy it… and keep it there.”

Yang Wan stopped her chopsticks, “Why are you suddenly thinking of this?”

Deng Ying lowered his head, not telling Yang Wan the truth.

What was he afraid of? He was afraid that, like Zheng Yuejia, he would be unable to leave anything for Consort Ning.

So he wanted to leave a house for Yang Wan—this was the easiest thing for him, and what he was best at.

He could design and build the courtyard himself, and make the cabinets and drawers with his own hands.

Whether or not Yang Wan would have her own home in the future, she could visit occasionally, just like visiting him.

That house would be like a Deng Ying who had never experienced all of this.

Never punished, never became a factory supervisor, had no crimes to his name, just a young man who had built many houses, worthy of remembrance.

“Why aren’t you saying anything?”

Yang Wan’s gaze was somewhat worried.

Deng Ying pulled back from his thoughts, smiled, and raised his hand to brush away the scallion stuck to her mouth.

“I have no descendants or relatives left, but I should have a home, right? What if I’m old someday and His Majesty shows mercy and allows me to leave the palace? Then I’d have a place to live.”

Yang Wan nodded after hearing this, “Then buy it, and have Qin Wende and others look for one for you.”

Deng Ying smiled at her, “Which area does Wan’er like?”

Yang Wan thought about it seriously for a moment, “Near Guangji Temple would be best, it’s lively there and close to my brother’s home.”

“Good.”

“Eh… no, no, the courtyards there are all very expensive.”

“It doesn’t matter. Is facing west good?”

“Yes, the west is warm, your feet get cold, and it will be worse when you’re old…”

She suddenly choked up when she said the word “old.”

Indeed, Yang Wan was also quietly deceiving Deng Ying.

Historical records showed that when Deng Ying was executed, he was still young—heaven hadn’t given him the privilege of growing old.

“Let’s make it west-facing, it’s decided.”

Yang Wan swallowed, holding back the burning in her throat, “In winter, we’ll hang especially thick cotton curtains, and I can make ankle warmers for you.”

Deng Ying couldn’t help but laugh. “You know how to make those?”

“I’ll learn.”

Yang Wan pressed her lips together, “It’s not difficult, and besides, though I’m clumsy with my hands, you’re skilled. I can draw designs for you to make boxes and cabinets and such. And we can set up a swing in the courtyard—you know how to make a swing, right?”

“Yes.”

“See, how perfect.”

She clasped her hands together, trying her best to smile naturally.

Deng Ying smiled at her, “You talk as if you’re going to live there with me.”

Yang Wan said, “I am going to live there with you.”

She turned away to rub her eyes, then turned back after taking a deep breath.

“Deng Ying, when you’re old, you’ll be a mild-tempered little old man, finishing all the housework, and probably have some money too. I’ll just relax every day, go around eating and drinking with you, at most help you shell some nuts. I’m telling you, you must grow old, I absolutely must see what you look like when you’re old.”

“Alright.”