Each autumn rain brings another chill.

The Mid-Autumn Festival passed in the blink of an eye. As autumn deepened and the sky dried, half the phoenix trees in the capital were stripped bare overnight. The weather turned sharply cold.

The imperial prison provided quilted prisoner’s garments to those in custody.

Deng Ying was temporarily freed from his shackles. He sat in the corner, carefully massaging the bruises on his wrists and ankles. The execution day was approaching, and he didn’t want to appear undignified at the execution grounds due to impaired movement.

A young jailer, taking advantage of his supervisor’s absence, quietly poured a cup of his own hot tea and offered it to Deng Ying. Though the tea didn’t smell expensive, it was fragrant.

“This is…” Deng Ying looked up questioningly while rubbing his wrist.

The jailer glanced outside the cell, “Take a sip, no one’s coming.”

Deng Ying accepted the hot tea with both hands, took a sip, and bowed his head in gratitude, “Thank you.”

The jailer smiled, “I feel sorry for you.”

“Thank you for your compassion.” He couldn’t help but ask, “How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Very young.”

The jailer nodded, “I heard you’re young too, from an official family, and were once a jinshi scholar.”

Deng Ying lowered his eyes and replied, “Yes, but I no longer hold any titles now.”

The jailer said, “I studied at home before too, but not as well as you. I tried for several years but couldn’t earn any titles, so I took over my father’s position to serve the government. I used to hate people like you – those with knowledge and talent who didn’t do proper work, ending up in chains, about to be…”

He seemed to find it too cruel to say “lingchi” to Deng Ying’s face, so he held back.

Deng Ying placed the cup on his knee and softly replied, “Your criticism is justified.”

“Did you really do those things?”

Deng Ying startled slightly at the question and looked up, “The court has already passed judgment, why do you ask this?”

The jailer hesitated, took back the teacup and handed him the quilted clothes, “Change your clothes. I’ll return later.”

As he kicked the shackles aside and turned to leave, he saw Zhang Luo standing outside the cell. Frightened, he dropped the teacup, “My Lord… I…”

Zhang Luo glanced at the mess on the ground and said coldly, “He is a condemned prisoner. No matter how much you pity him, you cannot privately give him food or drink. If anything happens to him before the execution, you won’t be able to save yourself.”

“Yes…”

As the jailer was about to apologize, Zhang Luo added, “Clean this up.”

There was no blame in these words. The jailer hurriedly gathered the broken porcelain and retreated outside.

Zhang Luo entered the cell. Deng Ying had already stood up and backed against the wall to bow to him.

Zhang Luo looked around, “You can change to a different cell.”

Deng Ying straightened up, “I’ll stay here.”

Zhang Luo didn’t insist, “The execution is scheduled for the third day of next month. Before then, you may request any accommodations you need for your daily life.”

“None needed.” Deng Ying gripped his injured wrist. “You have already shown me great benevolence, I dare not forget this kindness.”

Zhang Luo shook his head and said evenly, “I’ve overseen the imperial prison for many years and understand everything about prison life. Though prisons should ‘show mercy to prisoners,’ who would feel compassion for the guilty? They wouldn’t treat a death row prisoner well without reason.”

Deng Ying remained silent, hands at his sides, waiting for Zhang Luo to continue.

Instead of speaking further, Zhang Luo raised his hand and held out a book to him.

“What is it?”

Zhang Luo lifted his arm higher. “See for yourself.”

Deng Ying reached out to take it, and Zhang Luo added, “You cannot keep it. After reading, it must be returned to me for burning.”

Deng Ying nodded and looked down at the cover.

The words “Eastern Depot Observation Notes” met his eyes, and as he turned the page, there was that somewhat “humorous” small portrait.

It was exactly as he had looked that night, sitting on the bed, when Yang Wan had sketched him in her notes.

Deng Ying’s hands trembled uncontrollably as he held the book. “This is…”

“Written by Yang Wan.”

Zhang Luo looked down at the pages as he spoke, “Last month in mid-autumn, Qingbo House’s printing blocks for this book were burned. Afterward, the Five Districts Command and I repeatedly confiscated copies from civilians, but it keeps reappearing despite the ban. I shouldn’t give you this book, but she wrote it for you. Before your death, you should at least see it once.”

Deng Ying lowered his head, fingers gently stroking the pages.

The first chapter described the period before and after his torture.

The ending passage read:

From the moment I saw him, I knew that I lived my life for Deng Ying. But outside the torture chamber, barriers still existed between us. He respected proper dress, yet had no clothes to cover himself; I was fully clothed, yet dared not look at him. In the twelfth year of Zhenning, only a charcoal brazier remained in the torture chamber. I sat by the fire, deliberately keeping my distance. Though thousands of words filled my heart, I could not speak them, only deceiving him with one sentence: “I’m a bit cold too.”

Four years had passed since meeting Yang Wan, and these words gradually awakened the details of their first meeting. That feeling, like trees sprouting, seemed to grow from within his flesh and bones. Deng Ying remembered she had indeed said those words: “Then sleep a while longer. I’m a bit cold, I’ll warm myself by the fire before leaving.”

In truth, she hadn’t left afterward.

She sat before his torture bed, constantly facing away. Even when she heard his groans of pain, she busied herself with the fire to help cover for him, never turning around once.

She had protected his heart without leaving a trace.

So on that bitterly cold night, he too had carefully opened his heart to this unfamiliar young woman.

He said that in his current state, he was ashamed to share a room with her.

But she answered: “You have no need to feel shame before anyone. It is the court that should feel shame before you.”

He said he couldn’t understand why he had to endure such torture here.

She asked in return, “Would you rather die?”

Now, he gradually understood.

But this young woman seemed unable to understand anymore.

Deng Ying stared at the words on the page as pain shot through his spine, almost making him curl up. He was forced to put down the book and slowly sink to his knees.

“You don’t want to read?”

Zhang Luo looked down at him, “This book is trying to clear your name.”

“I know.”

Zhang Luo was silent for a moment before asking, “Do you want to see her?”

Deng Ying’s whole body trembled.

Zhang Luo continued, “You can see her today. The Grand Secretariat requested permission to arrest and interrogate her, and His Majesty approved. The Eastern Depot has already sent people to bring her in. But don’t worry, she’s different from you. His Majesty protects her, her life won’t be harmed. After your execution, when this matter settles, she can still live on.”

Deng Ying stood up, faced Zhang Luo, and knelt down. He raised his hands level, then pressed them to the grass mat of the cell, bending forward to kowtow to Zhang Luo. “Please treat Yang Wan well.”

Zhang Luo looked down, “Do you think I’ve treated you well?”

The kneeling man said softly, “You’ve shown the utmost kindness and righteousness.”

“Indeed. Yang Wan once told me that if one day she became a prisoner too, she hoped I would treat her as I treated you.”

He looked up as he finished speaking, “Deng Fuling, at first I didn’t understand why she would say such a thing, but after reading this book, I understand seven or eight tenths of it. Though she is a woman, she wielded her brush for you. Among the thousands of scholars who play with ink and paper, I’ve seen many weak-boned ones in prison, but Yang Wan alone earns my admiration. Rest assured, I will treat you both well.”

As his words fell, the sound of dragging chains came from the corridor. A jailer reported, “My Lord, the person has been brought back from Qingbo House.”

“Bring her here.”

“Yes.”

The footsteps in the corridor drew closer, and Deng Ying looked up to see once again that fragile yet bright smile.

Like him now, she wore prisoner’s clothes, her long hair falling across her chest, her face pale, yet her smile was completely genuine.

Though supported by others, she wasn’t at all disheveled. Even her voice remained as light as before. “Little Ying, I’ve come to find you. We made a pinky promise, see? I haven’t broken my word.”

She really had come to find him.

She had never once broken her word.

Outside the torture chamber at Nanhai, she had once climbed up to the window and made a pinky promise with him, saying she would definitely come find him.

Later she truly came, teaching him how to eat nuts for health in the guardhouse by the city moat, forcing him to treat his illness, cooking noodles for him. Helping him tie his hair, buying him fruit…

Now she had come to find him again, not to lead him out of hell, not to comfort him, but to face together that ending which perhaps she had long seen through but never wanted to speak of.

“Little Ying, did you miss me?”

She reached out to hold the cell bars as she crouched down, “Say something.”

“I…”

He couldn’t respond to this moonlight-precious tenderness.

Fortunately, she didn’t mind Deng Ying’s loss for words, and said with curved brows, “With Lord Zhang here, you definitely can’t say it out loud.”

She turned to Zhang Luo, “Can I speak with him alone for a while?”

“You may.”

Zhang Luo turned to leave the cell, “Go in.”

Yang Wan stood up, “Thank you. If I have the chance, I’ll treat you to tangerines again.”

Zhang Luo gave a small laugh and ordered someone to lock the cell, telling them both, “I’ll give you one hour. When the time is up, I must take Yang Wan away.”

Yang Wan nodded. “Good, that’s enough.”

Zhang Luo then turned to tell the jailer, “Guard outside.”

The lone prison lamp illuminated their faces as Yang Wan knelt before Deng Ying, looking up at the top of his head.

“I think you haven’t listened to me properly.”

“I’m sorry, Wanwan.”

“Only scoundrels keep saying sorry, and then dare to remain unrepentant even after apologizing.”

Deng Ying lowered his head, “Yes, I am a scoundrel, I am unrepentant, Wanwan…”

He unconsciously gripped his own hands, “I’m already like this, you don’t need to treat me this way anymore.”

Yang Wan shook her head.

In the lamplight, she gazed at Deng Ying’s face and figure. She had once been struck by the perfect brokenness about him, but now she realized that appreciation had been entirely superficial. She had once examined him like a painting, that person concretized among papers, his suffering and injuries six hundred years distant from her.

But now he was before her.

Somewhat dirty, covered in wounds, his skin exposed outside the prison clothes was fragile and pale.

He hadn’t changed.

But Yang Wan understood now – it wasn’t brokenness, it was his cultivation, his strength to remain silent before others and endure humiliation behind their backs.

“Then how should I treat you?”

“Accept my registry, let me…”

“Deng Ying.”

She suddenly interrupted him, “I am a person who lives for you.”