She stepped closer to Zhang Luo and asked, “Is the purpose of the Great Ming Code merely to restrain?”
Then she suddenly cast a sorrowful glance at Zhang Luo.
“Zhang Luo.” She called his name, “Have you ever felt sympathy for prisoners?”
Zhang Luo froze, “What are you saying…”
“Or rather, back when you were in the South, when you heard about Yang Wan’s disappearance, and the Zhang family abandoned their search fearing she had lost her virtue – did you ever feel sympathy for Yang Wan as a woman?”
As she spoke, her eyes seemed to glisten with tears, the sorrow in them growing deeper, “Prisoners never see daylight, and neither have I. I’ve always been under your control – whether you beat me or humiliate me, I cannot resist. Isn’t that enough?”
She finished speaking and tilted her head back to hold back the bitterness in her throat.
Unable to see the grief in her eyes, Zhang Luo’s shock vanished instantly. He hated himself for being fooled by a woman’s tears, his voice growing colder.
“You think crying in front of me will make me sympathize with you?”
Yang Wan gave a short laugh, “I never intended to manipulate you with pretenses – that wouldn’t be fair to you. I am sincere with you because you are also a living person. You’ve gone against your conscience and shown me mercy before. Whether it was out of sympathy or not, I thank you, but I cannot accept your character, nor will I betray myself out of fear of your condemnation.”
Zhang Luo looked down at Yang Wan’s slightly flushed face.
She was different from a year ago. The sharp sense of distance remained, but that deliberate formality he had noticed seemed to have diminished.
“The Great Ming Code exists not to restrain, but to punish,” he said, stepping closer to Yang Wan. “I restrain you because your wrongdoings haven’t reached the level requiring punishment. You were once betrothed to me, my mother valued you, and I’ve kept the position of primary wife vacant for you. If you’re willing to turn back and admit your mistakes to me, there is nothing a husband cannot forgive his wife.”
“Is this still how you think now?”
“Yes. When I learned you were still pure, I was still willing to give you a chance.”
Hearing these words, Yang Wan suddenly felt dizzy.
In modern times, this obsession with purity was called a “complex,” carrying a hint of literary mockery and even implicit acceptance. But from Zhang Luo’s mouth, it sounded like judgment – an official sitting high in court, the accused kneeling below, with one declaration of “innocent” demanding gratitude for this grand mercy.
Yang Wan felt spiritually nauseated by these words.
But she also understood that two completely different yet equally unbreakable spiritual barriers could not be forced together. Moreover, he was the wall of this era, while she was merely a speck of accidental dust.
So she lowered her voice and asked with a bitter smile, “Your leniency toward me is because I remain pure?”
Zhang Luo didn’t deny it. “It’s good that you understand.”
With that, he raised his hand to summon the Imperial Guards and coldly ordered, “Take her to Wuying Hall.”
Yang Wan’s nausea toward Zhang Luo was quickly overshadowed by Yi Lang’s barely concealed fear.
Wuying Hall was an unfinished palace. Most of the construction funds earlier in the year had gone to Taihe Hall, so Wuying Hall’s east and west annexes hadn’t begun construction yet. Only Hengshou Chamber, a two-bay residence, had been built in the eastern courtyard. Yi Lang was temporarily confined there.
The guard told Yang Wan, “Female Attendant, each day from Chen hour to Shen hour, take the corridor past the moon terrace to fetch supplies from Wuying Gate. Besides you, no one else may serve His Highness. If anything happens to His Highness, you will be held responsible.”
Yang Wan nodded “Yes” and turned to gently push open the door to Hengshou Chamber.
Yi Lang sat alone on the couch, hugging his knees with his head down.
It was nearly dark. Yang Wan lit a lamp by the couch and sat beside Yi Lang, softly calling, “Your Highness.”
Yi Lang quickly raised his head, “Aunt…”
Yang Wan used her sleeve to wipe the tears from his face, “It’s alright, Your Highness, we’ll just stay here for a few days while I take care of you.”
Yi Lang curled up in Yang Wan’s arms, “What about Mother… will she be implicated because of me?”
Yang Wan didn’t know how to answer, she could only take off her cloak and wrap Yi Lang in it completely, “No, Your Highness hasn’t done anything wrong, and nothing will happen to Her Majesty…”
Yi Lang clung to Yang Wan’s shoulders, saying in a muffled voice, “I never meant to disrespect Father Emperor.”
Yang Wan nodded gently, “I know, they misunderstood and harmed Your Highness.”
“Aunt, why would Master Huang do such a thing…”
Yang Wan choked up slightly, “Because he wanted to see his good student grow up quickly, to quickly take on responsibility for the country and its people.”
Yi Lang’s small hand gently pinched Yang Wan’s sleeve, “I will grow up, and I’ll listen to the teachers’ words and work for the people’s welfare. Why couldn’t he wait for Yi Lang to grow up?”
“Mm…” Yang Wan’s voice caught, “Maybe he felt he was getting too old.”
Then she looked down at the child in her arms, “Your Highness if you were your father, would you execute Huang Ran?”
Yi Lang silently nodded.
Yang Wan trembled. Yi Lang noticed and quickly looked up.
“Aunt, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing… I’m just a bit cold.”
Yi Lang took off Yang Wan’s cloak.
“Here, wear it, Aunt.”
Yang Wan took the cloak Yi Lang offered, remaining silent for a long while.
That first night in Wuying Hall, Yang Wan couldn’t sleep at all.
She sat by the couch and told Yi Lang several bedtime stories that her grandmother had told her when she was young.
It wasn’t until late in the night that Yi Lang finally fell into a peaceful sleep.
Yang Wan sat by the lamp, trying to piece together this segment of history.