Yang Wan struggled with an endless dream for a long time, constantly dreaming of her graduation defense and Deng Ying’s execution ground. These scenes were all incomplete, without endings. Previously, she had found stability in understanding endings. This wasn’t some heroic “living towards death” philosophy—after all, she hadn’t wanted to place herself within such grand narratives then.

She had simply chosen to observe this period—one that was originally unrelated to her and impossible for her to change—under the premise of accepting historical materialism.

History has never had gaps, but human relationships were full of emotional fissures.

These fissures blocked her known endings, eventually weaving into a net that trapped her, throwing her into chaos before finally returning her to the tangible hospital bed.

She finally opened her eyes.

The room was filled with thick medicinal smells.

She tried to cough, and the medicine vapor rose from her stomach to her nose, making her whole body shudder from the bitterness.

The room was empty, the bed curtains half-drawn, with a stool beside the bed holding a plate of peeled oranges.

Yang Wan’s mouth was unbearably bitter, so she lifted her covers, propped herself up, and reached for an orange segment.

“Wan-wan, don’t eat that.”

These four gentle words startled the orange segment from Yang Wan’s hand.

The speaker stood before the bed, raising the half-drawn curtain while saying, “Zi Xi bought those. I just ate one earlier—they’re sour.”

Yang Wan looked up at him. He wore plain gray-blue robes with a waist sash and flowing sleeves. His hair was tied back with her hair ribbon, loosely bound behind him, making him look as if he too was recovering from illness.

“Wan-wan, would you like some water?”

Yang Wan shook her head dazedly. “What… what day is it?”

Deng Ying answered, “The fifth day of the ninth month.”

“The fifth… You weren’t executed by lingchi… you… you survived.”

As she spoke, she instinctively gripped Deng Ying’s wrist.

Though she touched his wounds, he quietly endured it, using his other hand to brush away Yang Wan’s loose hair from her ear, saying softly, “Yes, I wasn’t executed by lingchi. I survived.”

“So… I won again?”

Deng Ying nodded, “Yes, Wan-wan won again.”

After speaking, he couldn’t help but hiss in pain. Yang Wan looked down and finally realized she was tightly gripping his injured wrist.

“I…”

She quickly released her grip and scolded him through tears, “Why didn’t you say it hurt?”

Deng Ying smiled without speaking.

Nearby, He Yu approached with a medicine bowl, saying with a smile, “Now Miss knows to tell Minister to cry out in pain. Earlier when you were confused, who knows how badly you gripped Minister’s hands.”

Yang Wan asked, “What happened to me?”

He Yu didn’t answer, just smiled and nodded toward Deng Ying’s arm.

“Roll up your sleeve, let me see.”

“I’m fine.”

“Roll it up quickly.”

Deng Ying raised his arm, letting the loose sleeve fall naturally. The bruises on his arm indeed didn’t look like old wounds.

Yang Wan looked at He Yu in surprise. “I did that?”

He Yu handed the bowl to Deng Ying, responding, “Of course it was you. These past few days while you were ill, Minister has been caring for you. During the day was one thing, but at night when we wanted to give the Minister a break, you wouldn’t allow it. You kept Minister sitting on that stool by your bed night after night. Minister is also recovering, yet you’ve worn him out so much that he’s been irregular with taking his own medicine.”

She finished speaking and covered her mouth with a laugh.

Yang Wan said, “Now that you’ve entered Yangxin Hall, you’ve taken on quite the scolding tone.”

He Yu replied, “I wouldn’t dare. His Majesty is waiting for my report. Miss, are you still feeling unwell? His Majesty has arranged for Imperial Physicians Zhang and He to attend to Chengqian Palace. If you’re not feeling well, we can summon them.”

After speaking, she bowed to them both and withdrew.

Deng Ying stood up, intending to close the window behind Yang Wan, but heard her say, “Come back.”

Deng Ying stopped in his tracks, and before he could say anything, Yang Wan said, “Sit and drink your medicine.”

“Oh, alright.”

He quickly moved the oranges from the stool and sat down, picking up the medicine He Yu had brought, and drinking it sip by sip.

After finishing, he casually picked up an orange segment and chewed it despite the sourness.

“Deng Ying.”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you sit here like a fool at night instead of leaving?”

Deng Ying held the orange peel and said, “You wouldn’t let me leave, how could I go?”

Yang Wan said, “You didn’t want to leave me either, right?”

“Yes.”

Deng Ying placed his hand on his knee. “I wanted so desperately to live.”

He looked at Yang Wan, “I wanted so desperately to live by your side.”

Yang Wan moved her body inward a few inches. “Come up here.”

Deng Ying smiled and shook his head, tucking the blanket around Yang Wan’s legs. “How can I take care of you if I’m lying down?”

Yang Wan said, “I’m already in this state, and if you fall ill from my troubling you, we’ll both be bedridden, and His Majesty can come to take care of us.”

Deng Ying laughed, “Wan-wan, don’t speak of His Majesty that way.”

“Then come up here.”

“Alright.”

Deng Ying rose and sat on the edge of the bed, bent down to remove his shoes, and slowly lay down beside Yang Wan.

“Wan-wan, in the future, may I…”

“Read the little yellow book?”

“Ah?”

Yang Wan buried her head in the blanket and burst out laughing.

Seeing her like this, Deng Ying suddenly relaxed as well.

She had always called the book Chen Hua gave him the “little yellow book.” Though he didn’t understand how many meanings had evolved in the character “yellow,” when it came from Yang Wan’s mouth, it always carried a hint of playfulness. The original book was about how eunuchs should serve women, but after she renamed it, it seemed to no longer define his identity.

Deng Ying gently lifted Yang Wan’s blanket.

“What are you laughing at?”

Yang Wan pulled the blanket back, still unable to stop laughing.

Deng Ying laughed too, and simply repeated her earlier words gently, “May I read the little yellow book in the future?”

“You may.”

Yang Wan poked her head out from under the blanket and looked at Deng Ying, “Not only can you read it, you can learn from it too, but not these few days. You haven’t recovered yet, and I’m still ill.”

“I know.”

After speaking, he reached out to protect Yang Wan’s head, preventing her from hitting the headboard while moving about.

“Wan-wan.”

“What?”

“What does the ‘yellow’ in ‘little yellow book’ mean?”

Yang Wan hadn’t expected that after surviving such a close brush with death, this person would ask her such a serious question.

But she also felt this was good.

He had truly survived, like a fish that had slipped through the vast net of “time” and “space,” swimming silently in familiar waters. If one were to explain why he had survived, even with all the scientific advancement six hundred years later, there seemed to be no answer.

So she preferred to answer Deng Ying’s somewhat absurd current question—what does the “yellow” in “little yellow book” mean?

“The character ‘yellow,’ like the term ‘scumbag,’ was born six hundred years later. ‘Yellow’… represents intimate affairs between men and women. Initially, it wasn’t a good word, but later, as it was repeatedly interpreted in different contexts, it gradually developed more nuanced meanings, becoming more aligned with human desire—not evil, but not exactly proper either.”

She finished speaking and turned over, “Deng Ying, in my era, not only the Chinese characters but the entire Chinese civilization underwent earth-shattering changes. Six hundred years later, this land beneath our feet will be called ‘China.’ Countless successors, like you, will face death fearlessly and forge ahead for their hopes for the era and visions of the country’s future.”

“Do you prefer the Ch… six hundred years later?”

“China.”

“Yes, do you prefer the country six hundred years later?”

“Mm.”

Yang Wan nodded, “It’s more free, more open, more inclusive than now. It’s my homeland, it gives me the right to choose my own identity, and it nurtures me to become an independent woman. However…”

She reached out to hold Deng Ying’s arm, “I don’t despise the present either.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m a historian, my existence’s meaning is to find the meaning in the existence of people like you. Deng Ying, if possible, I would take you back to my home six hundred years later. I have a brother there too.”

She smiled as she spoke, “He’s a bit like Yang Lun, quite capable, though his temper isn’t very good, but he can’t win arguments with me. My mother is tough on the outside but soft-hearted, and my father is somewhat timid, always losing arguments with his mother, but they’re constantly arguing. Only on the matter of pushing me to marry do they agree. Though it’s a bit annoying, I know they all love me very much.”

Deng Ying was silent for a while, then suddenly asked, “Do you want to go back?”

Yang Wan didn’t answer him immediately.

She curled up her legs, pressing her knees against Deng Ying’s legs.

“Deng Ying, you studied Confucianism, but do you believe in the Buddhist concept of cause and effect’?”

“I dare not interpret it.”

“I dare not either, but when I can’t understand something, I always bring up this term. Look, six hundred years later, I studied you for ten years, but I had never seen you, never loved you. Cause and effect, karma, brought me here. Here, I am still your researcher, but at South Lake, I saw you, then loved you, possessed you, and lived daily life with you. I feel that perhaps the current me is more complete, more without regret.”

She finished speaking and buried her head in Deng Ying’s chest.

“In this life, I have worldly desires for you, wanting to live together with you for a long, long time. So let it be this way. I hope the Yang Wan six hundred years later will also have my current courage, to fight another battle for you in her writings.”

In the autumn of the first year of Jinghe, Deng Ying received the Emperor’s pardon, avoiding execution by Lingchi. He was stripped of all official positions and expelled from the inner court, with his registration transferred to the Yang household.

In the winter of that year.

Yang Lun stood outside Yang Wan’s residence holding a bag of oranges, shivering as he waited until dusk when he finally saw the two return arm in arm.

Deng Ying carried a basket of wood, while Yang Wan held a live hen.

“Where have you been!”

Yang Wan said, “Shopping, of course.”

“Deng Fu Ling, you’re spending my sister’s money again!”

“I… I do work…”

Yang Wan laughed, “Stop being sour, bringing a bag of oranges. Come in quickly, there’s wine inside, I’ll fry the chicken for you all.”

Perhaps there will inevitably be friction between the two eras, but I love him, and I love myself.

With my literary heart, I make a vow, to remain forever unwavering in my devotion.

—Yang Wan/She and the Lamp “Eastern Depot Observation Notes”