The Mid-Autumn palace banquet of the twelfth year of Zhenning allowed Yang Wan to witness firsthand the extravagant style of royal feasts during the Zhenning era of the great Ming Dynasty.
If the Ministry of Revenue’s deficit in historical records was just a single number, then the delicacies, pageantry, and utensils laid out before Yang Wan’s eyes were its detailed annotations. Being in the midst of it, she finally understood Yang Lun and Bai Huan’s contradictions and despair.
Because of the long-standing tension between the civil officials and the emperor, this was only a three-cup regular banquet. Even so, the Six Departments and Twenty-Four Offices of the Inner Court were overwhelmed with preparations. While Yang Wan was recuperating in Chengrong Palace, Song Yunqing was nearly driven to tears working under Wang Siyue.
She and Yang Wan were both “scribes” in the Department of Imperial Attire. With one person missing, the workload of documentation increased significantly. Today’s feast required constant requisitioning of items and deployment of personnel between the Departments of Music and Ceremonies. Official documents poured in like snowflakes, piling up on Song Yunqing’s desk, yet people from outside still came urgently requesting more.
Song Yunqing couldn’t help but complain: “This isn’t some makeshift operation that can be dismantled after one show. I’ve been stationed here all day without even a chance to eat or drink, what more do you people outside want? I can’t just sprout another pair of hands!”
Just as she finished speaking, a voice came from the doorway: “Getting this angry?”
Song Yunqing raised her head from her writing to see Yang Wan entering with a food tray, and finally smiled: “Why are you here? Are you feeling better?”
Yang Wan set down the tray while rolling up her sleeves, “More or less. Give me some space to work.”
Song Yunqing pointed to the opposite side, “Clear yourself a spot, I’m already dizzy.”
Yang Wan lowered her head to sort through the documents before her, “I could hear you complaining from outside.”
Song Yunqing put down her brush and said: “But don’t push yourself. If you don’t recover properly from this cold, the effects could last a lifetime.”
Yang Wan smiled, “I still have a bit of a cough, but I couldn’t stay cooped up in my room anymore. Go take a break, at least eat something. I’ll handle things for a while.”
Song Yunqing set down her work and sat to the side, picking up the chopsticks from the food tray, “What did you make?”
Yang Wan dipped her brush in ink while casually replying: “Plain noodles, just make do with them.”
Song Yunqing picked up some noodles and took a bite, “I heard Li Yu and Chen Hua mention once that you made these noodles for Director Deng.”
Yang Wan continued writing while saying: “Wasn’t it you who taught me? We can’t do much else, but isn’t eating the easiest thing?”
Song Yunqing laughed, “Come on, easy? Last time you nearly scared the Department Head to death when you started the fire.”
Yang Wan smiled without responding.
She wrote quickly, and soon several volumes had accumulated beside her. She looked up and called outside: “Have the female servants from the Department of Music come in and deliver these out. The rest that isn’t related to current requisitions, tell them to wait a while.”
Seeing her composed manner, Song Yunqing smiled and said: “I must say, you do have some talent. I find it difficult just to sort these things out, but you not only organized them but also clearly distinguished their priority and order.”
Yang Wan laughed, “You’re flattering me.”
“No, I think you’re good. We talk privately about how in this whole palace, it seems only Director Deng is worthy of you.”
She sighed, “Such a pure and pristine person… ah… if only he hadn’t been punished with that knife wound.”
Yang Wan glanced at her sideways, smiling as she said: “Does Chief Chen know you think this way?”
Song Yunqing quickly shook her head: “That’s not what I meant. I’m thinking of you. You’re Consort Ning’s sister – if you want to leave the palace later, you could get permission with some grace. I’m different. My family has dispersed, and my brother became a eunuch. Even if I left, I’d have no one to depend on. Fortunately, Chen Hua is willing to let me be his primary concern. Now I feel nothing else matters – what’s important is having someone to accompany you, knowing your joys and sorrows. That’s better than anything.”
After speaking, she quickly finished several mouthfuls of noodles and stood up to wash her hands, adding: “Tonight, Chen Hua, Li Yu, and I are getting together for a fish hotpot. Would you like to come? Bring Director Deng along?”
Yang Wan continued working without pause, “I wouldn’t dare disturb you. Quickly finish these tasks so you can leave early.”
“All right.”
Song Yunqing picked up her brush again, her expression becoming slightly somber, “I originally didn’t want to trouble anyone by forcing a gathering, seeing how busy Chen Hua is. But these past couple of months, hearing about things outside… ah, it’s too tragic… Living people suddenly become like that, never to be seen again. It made me realize we should enjoy ourselves while we can, eating and drinking, taking pleasure in each day we have.”
Yang Wan stopped writing and looked up: “You speak well. I’ll remember this and tell Deng Ying later.”
Song Yunqing said: “He’s different. He’s building the imperial palace. If he were to let go, these hundred halls and thousand pavilions couldn’t be built.”
A hundred halls and a thousand pavilions couldn’t be built.
Song Yunqing hadn’t deeply considered the meaning behind these words she’d spoken unintentionally, but Yang Wan was struck by their implications.
Although later generations developed more scientific worldviews and methodologies to analyze dynastic lifespans and ancestral fate, their commentary on historical figures was always based on historical limitations, speaking from on high. None matched the sincerity and depth of Song Yunqing’s simple statement that “the hundred halls and thousand pavilions couldn’t be built.”
Yang Wan fell silent at this, and Song Yunqing also stopped speaking. The two women each managed their tasks, their brushes moving without pause.
At the hour of shen (3-5 PM), they finally left the Department of Imperial Attire together.
When Yang Wan returned to Chengrong Palace, everything was quiet.
The older palace maids like Heyu had all followed Consort Ning to the Mid-Autumn palace banquet, while the younger servants had taken advantage of their free time to gather in various places to enjoy food and view the moon. Yang Wan took some mooncakes from the kitchen and walked toward the duty room of the Directorate of Ceremonial. When she reached Deng Ying’s quarters, she found no lights inside. The water sounds from the moat was cold and clear, and besides the boundless moonlight, there wasn’t a trace of human sound.
Yang Wan looked at the mooncakes in her hands, feeling somewhat helpless, and could only find a spot sheltered from the wind to stand.
She could guess that Deng Ying was probably at the Hall of Supreme Harmony. This past month, Yang Lun and Bai Huan had sacrificed almost all their dignity as officials and servants of the people trying to save the people of Tongjia Academy, but Deng Ying never inquired about this matter, focusing single-mindedly on the Hall of Supreme Harmony. The construction schedule had accelerated – originally planned for completion in October, they had already finished painting the colored beams.
Yang Wan remembered that after Frost’s Descent in the twelfth year of Zhenning, Zhou Congshan died tragically at the Meridian Gate. Throughout Beijing’s streets and alleys, there were countless roadside memorial services, and the entire city was filled with grief and weeping.
Emperor Zhenning deeply felt that the Embroidered Uniform Guard’s extra-legal authority had grown too expansive, so he established the Eastern Depot within the Directorate of Ceremonial to monitor Zhang Luo’s control over the Northern Commanding Guard’s prisons, using this to check the power of the Embroidered Uniform Guard. Yang Wan felt that Deng Ying seemed to sense this subtle political change at this time, though he hadn’t spoken about it to anyone.
As she thought about these things, her eyes grew heavy.
Her body hadn’t fully recovered, and now standing for so long by the wind-swept moat, her hands and feet grew cold, and her throat itched terribly. She pulled her padded jacket tighter and, disregarding propriety, crouched down while hugging the mooncakes.
Just when Yang Wan was becoming unbearably cold, Deng Ying finally returned.
He was still wearing his ash-grey plain shirt with sleeves half-rolled up his arms. He had been going to fetch water to wash his face when he vaguely saw someone crouching in front of his quarters.
He hurried forward and found Yang Wan huddled behind the broom by his door, shivering from the cold.
Deng Ying crouched down to block the wind behind her, “How long have you been waiting here?”
Yang Wan coughed several times, “About an hour or so. If you hadn’t come back soon, I would have frozen to death.”
Deng Ying felt somewhat at a loss, “I didn’t know you’d come, I…”