Deng Ying leaned against the bed, watching Yang Wan as she wrote at her desk.

Ever since purchasing the Qingbo Pavilion, Yang Wan had spent her free time writing in that book, though it was more difficult for her than before. She would write, tear it up, then write again. She refused to tell Deng Ying what she was writing about, and he didn’t ask. But he loved watching her write with such intensity.

She wrote with complete focus and dedication, only occasionally lifting her teacup for a sip, or resting her chin on her brush handle while lost in thought before continuing to write.

She was different from other literate women. She didn’t write poetry or care for delicate, ornate word patterns. Her brush grip lacked the refinement taught in ladies’ chambers she didn’t seem to know how to hold a brush properly, and her ring finger was always unstable on the shaft. When writing upright, she didn’t know how to properly hold back her sleeves. But because of this, when she picked up the brush, it carried the force of wielding a blade.

Even so, Yang Wan wanted to improve her calligraphy.

But rather than learning Deng Ying’s style, she began trying to copy Yi Lang’s characters.

Yi Lang was historically an emperor with great calligraphic achievements. In the 14th year of Zhenning, though his style hadn’t fully developed, it already showed influences of the “Three Songs” school. When Yang Wan asked Yi Lang to teach her writing, he could never correct her brush grip.

“Aunt, you write as if you’ve never learned before.”

Yang Wan didn’t know how to respond and could only laugh awkwardly.

Yi Lang adjusted her ring finger, muttering, “Why don’t you let Minister Deng teach you?”

“What, does Your Highness think your aunt is stupid?”

Yi Lang pressed down the edge of the paper. “No, my writing isn’t as good as Minister Deng’s.”

Yang Wan put down her brush and ordered sweet soup to be brought in for Yi Lang, saying, “His hands aren’t very comfortable right now.”

Yi Lang looked up and asked, “What happened to him?”

Yang Wan shook her head, “Nothing much, just that his hands and feet are rubbed raw.”

“Because Father Emperor made him ‘work while awaiting punishment’?”

Yang Wan nodded, placing the sweet soup beside Yi Lang. “Here, didn’t you say you were hungry earlier?”

Yi Lang picked up the sweet soup and then set it down again. “Aunt, if I drink this, can I skip taking the spring-calming medicine tonight?”

“Your Highness says this every day, but I have no say in the matter. If you take even one bowl less, the Imperial Pharmacy must record it. You don’t want your aunt to be punished when the Empress inquires, do you?”

“Oh…”

Seeing his dejected expression, Yang Wan couldn’t help but laugh, resting her chin in her hand. “Your Highness doesn’t want medicine when you have it, while your aunt wishes for medicine but can’t get any.”

She rolled up her sleeves to wash her brush.

Yi Lang grabbed her sleeve. “Aunt, aren’t you going to continue practicing?”

“Mm, we’ll continue tomorrow. Your aunt wants you to drink your sweet soup first, otherwise, when the medicine arrives later, Your Highness won’t be able to drink it.”

“I know to finish the medicine.”

He picked up the sweet soup, hesitated, and then asked Yang Wan, “Aunt, you want to get medicine for Minister Deng?”

“Yes.”

“Why can’t you get any?”

Yang Wan tilted her head back and sighed, “Because Imperial Physician Peng has gone to Prince Cheng’s manor to tend to his illness, and your aunt isn’t familiar enough with the other imperial physicians to ask.”

She crouched down to fix Yi Lang’s sleeves, continuing, “Your Highness should know, it was His Majesty who ordered him to work while awaiting punishment. Without imperial dispensation, those injuries on his hands and feet officially cannot be treated.”

Yi Lang was silent for a moment, then suddenly said, “I can let him be treated.”

Yang Wan’s hands froze.

Yi Lang took Yang Wan’s hands. “Aunt, have the Minister come tomorrow, I’ll grant him medicine.”

Yang Wan looked down at Yi Lang’s face, momentarily speechless.

“Aunt, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

She coughed lightly. “Your aunt doesn’t know how to thank you.”

Yi Lang smiled. “Aunt, you don’t need to thank me. I was too cruel to him before and hurt your heart. Now, I want to make you happier. Besides, he teaches the ‘Compassion’ chapter of ‘Zhenguan Zhengyao’ very well, and I still want to hear him teach the next volume.”

After hearing this, Yang Wan couldn’t help but stroke his head.

“Will Your Highness be more merciful to him in the future?”

Yi Lang nodded. “He told me, ‘Be cautious in applying harsh punishments.’ I’ve taken it to heart. As long as he follows propriety and laws, I will be merciful.”

Hearing these words, Yang Wan’s heart felt like it was being warmed by distant charcoal, kindling an elusive warmth.

After Zhang Cong’s downfall, the minor details of history seemed to be changing, and people’s hearts developed cracks where flowers of kindness began to grow. However historical materialism told Yang Wan that while specific historical events might change, the dynasty’s fate would not. Just as people’s emotions might change, their fundamental beliefs would not.

But were people’s emotions important?

For historical research, they truly weren’t important at all.

Because they changed too easily, were too unstable, and offered no value for analysis and summary.

However, for Yang Wan living in the 14th year of Zhenning, they were the source of her joy, anger, sorrow, and happiness—proof that she was truly alive.

Those people connected to her—Yi Lang, Consort Ning, Yang Lun, Zhang Luo, Bai Huan…

The compassion gradually revived in these people’s hearts, and the kindness they showed to Deng Ying, clearly reflected her 21st-century life.

After “The Biography of Deng Ying” was published, anyone shed tears for Deng Ying, Yang Wan could no longer see. But that was no longer important; what mattered were the hearts of people now. These people, in the cold political atmosphere, permitted Yang Wan to say that “I object” to Deng Ying. And after the feudal era, wasn’t Yang Wan who wrote “The Biography of Deng Ying” also crying out “I object” in the cold historical atmosphere, for that criminal who had always knelt in the snowy ground, giving him a winter coat?

If so, what was there to fear?

Deng Ying had always been Deng Ying.

And Yang Wan had never changed.

In early January of the 14th year of Zhenning, while the schoolland case remained unresolved, another incident occurred in the Great Ming court.

The Salt Control Commissioner of Zhejiang submitted a memorial accusing Ministry of Rites Vice Minister Liang Weiben of colluding with Japanese pirates and operating illegal salt factories. The local salt tax collectors were either killed or beaten severely and sent back whenever they went to collect taxes.

Liang Weiben was a jinshi degree holder from the second year of Zhenning, Bai Huan’s student, and his current position had been recommended to the Zhenning Emperor by Bai Huan through the Cabinet.

Just as Liang Weiben was imprisoned in the Ministry of Justice, an obscure Supervising Secretary from the Bureau of Revenue submitted a memorial accusing Prime Minister Bai Huan of accepting bribes from Liang Weiben and selling official positions, treating the Great Ming’s administration as a marketplace.

The Six Bureaus and Censorate usually fought their battles with brush and paper, and they were accustomed to the Zhenning Emperor leaving many impeachment memorials unanswered. However, this Supervising Secretary from the Bureau of Revenue submitted five memorials in three days.

The Cabinet was thus alarmed, and Bai Yuyang was also distracted in the Ministry of Justice’s main hall.

Deng Ying had no choice but to call out to him.

“Minister Bai.”

Only then did Bai Yuyang remember that Deng Ying was still under interrogation. He slapped the table to cover his distraction: “Silence! Did this official ask you to speak?”

Deng Ying couldn’t help but cough several times and fell silent.

Yang Lun, sitting to the side, stood up and casually pulled over a stool, placing it behind Deng Ying.

Deng Ying turned back in surprise, lowering his voice to ask, “Yang Zixi, what are you doing?”

Yang Lun didn’t try to avoid Bai Yuyang at all, speaking even louder than Bai Yuyang had earlier: “What am I doing? Can you even stand anymore? Sit down.”

Deng Ying glanced at Bai Yuyang and stepped aside. “This is the court hall.”

“What court hall? Has any formal court session been set today?”

Yang Lun said, sweeping his gaze toward Bai Yuyang, “The one conducting the investigation can’t even continue it.”

Bai Yuyang heard this and shouted: “Yang Lun, even if there’s no formal court session, this is still an interrogation. Your disrespect…”

“Are you going to punish me?”

Yang Lun forced Deng Ying to sit down. When Deng Ying tried to stand, Yang Lun pressed him down firmly.

“Vice Minister Yang let go.”

Yang Lun glared at Deng Ying. “You sit properly.”

Then he raised his head to address Bai Yuyang: “He’s the Head Secretary of the Directorate of Ceremonial, and hasn’t been convicted of anything. Why can’t he sit in the hall? His humility toward us is his choice. Our Cabinet is now in such a passive position—if we continue to torment him, who will help negotiate for our teacher before the Emperor?”

After hearing this, Bai Yuyang looked at Yang Lun in disbelief and shouted: “Yang Lun, you came to the Ministry of Justice today to assist in investigating his crimes. How dare you speak words of collusion with this person in the hall?”

Yang Lun released Deng Ying’s shoulder and laughed coldly: “You’re already panicking, what investigation can you conduct?”

Deng Ying stood up and walked between the two, gesturing to both to calm down. “Those five memorials are still being held by His Majesty without response, so there’s still room to maneuver. However, this case definitely cannot fall to the Three Judicial Offices. If it goes to the Northern Depot, things will become difficult.”

Bai Yuyang said, “In today’s interrogation, do you want these words recorded?”

Yang Lun snatched the record from the scribe’s hands and tore it up.

“Now it’s not an interrogation anymore. Deng Fuling, continue speaking.”

Seeing Bai Yuyang trembling with anger from Yang Lun’s actions, Deng Ying bowed to him respectfully. The shackles rubbed against his wrists, and he unconsciously pressed his lips together.

“Minister Bai, forgive my presumption, but Liang Weiben’s case is real. Even if the case against the Minister isn’t real, the Directorate of Ceremonial will eventually make it real. Moreover, there’s a crucial point—Liang Weiben was connected with Japanese pirates. Once this charge is linked to Minister Bai, the consequences will be unimaginable.”

“So what? You think by telling me all this, the Ministry of Justice won’t determine your punishment for embezzling school lands?”

Deng Ying looked up. “I didn’t say that. I will accept my punishment for privately taking school lands, but I hope Minister Bai can delay it for a while.”

He lifted his robe and knelt.

“One month is all I ask. Please grant this request.”

Bai Yuyang looked down at Deng Ying. “What do you want to do?”

“I want to save our teacher.”

“How can you save him?”

Deng Ying looked up. “If this case goes to the Eastern Depot and I investigate it, I can clear our teacher’s name.”

Bai Yuyang remained silent.

Yang Lun spoke up: “Minister Bai, neither of us has any other options. What harm is there in giving him one month?”

Bai Yuyang said: “This isn’t about one month, it’s about whether we should trust this eunuch slave.”

When Yang Lun heard the words “eunuch slave,” he yanked Deng Ying up, grabbing the iron chains under his arms. “You think he chose to be this half-human, half-ghost person in the Eastern Depot? When Zhang Zhanchun died in prison, who felt the most pain if not his student? Now our teacher is in trouble, and you’re still wondering whether to trust him?”