Noble Consort Jiang tilted her head back, the blue veins protruding on her slender white neck. “You know I’m a foolish person. After His Majesty favored me, I was just dragged along this path. The Empress, the Empress Dowager, His Majesty – they’re all my masters. I dare not even disobey orders from the Department of Ceremonies or the Inner Cabinet…”
As she spoke, she slumped down on her knees, her plain silk robes spreading across the ground like a delicate flower that had bloomed to its fullest before being forced to wither.
Yang Wan held up the lamp to illuminate Noble Consort Jiang’s face, who hurriedly raised her sleeve to shield herself.
“Don’t hide. Your Grace just mentioned what you meant about seeking help from Vice Minister Zhang.”
“I… I didn’t say that.”
As Noble Consort Jiang spoke, she trembled and turned her body away, not daring to face the lamp in Yang Wan’s hand.
Yang Wan gently gripped Noble Consort Jiang’s wrist, pulling down the hand covering her eyes. “Kill enough people, and one day the blade will fall upon yourself. There’s no use hiding now. Neither Secretary Zheng nor my sister will forgive Your Grace, and neither will I.”
Noble Consort Jiang asked tearfully in a trembling voice: “Are you going to take me and Pang Ling before His Majesty? I won’t go, I would rather die…”
Yang Wan shook her head, “Though I won’t forgive Your Grace, I don’t wish for a confused person like you to die before those clever ones.”
Upon hearing this, Noble Consort Jiang quickly turned around, fear still lingering in her eyes. “You can still give me a way to live?”
“Yes. But only one.”
Noble Consort Jiang hastily grabbed Yang Wan’s arm.
“Tell me.”
Yang Wan pried off her hand and straightened up.
“Your Grace should remove your hairpins, appear before His Majesty, and expose those behind the Qingbo Pavilion case. Plead with His Majesty to consider your merits against your crimes and spare you from death.”
Upon hearing these words, Noble Consort Jiang’s legs immediately went weak. “I…”
“If Your Grace doesn’t expose him, he will expose you instead. This is Your Grace’s only path to survival. I won’t force you. Your Grace can think it over here. If I don’t see Your Grace kneeling before the Palace of Mental Cultivation by dawn tomorrow, I will bring Pang Ling before His Majesty.”
“Yang Wan… Yang Wan… Yang Wan!”
Noble Consort Jiang’s voice was shrill and piercing.
Yang Wan didn’t respond further, but that voice pursued her all the way.
Since the twelfth year of Zhenning, it was the first time anyone had called Yang Wan’s name in such a manner.
Yang Wan had always thought her name was ordinary, even somewhat weak – most people had trouble remembering it after hearing it once. But as a person, her presence in modern society had been too strong, so strong that her parents and even her brother’s attention had unconsciously focused on her. When others mentioned her, they would always attach sharp labels like ‘the bald female Ph.D. who doesn’t date.’
In contrast, during the Zhenning era, she was a person unworthy of historical record.
She had always been an observer, never taking action, so naturally, no one had ever called her name in heart-wrenching tones, linking her existence to the fate of others.
So now, when Consort Jiang cried out “Yang Wan” in such miserable tones, begging for mercy and life, Yang Wan’s heart suddenly began to tremble uncontrollably.
Whether holding history in one’s hands would have repercussions – she didn’t have the physics academic background to contemplate that.
She simply felt that when a person from history, their fate, became connected to her, it also crushed her – this accidentally fallen speck of dust – firmly into the Zhenning years of the Great Ming, yet she seemed not entirely prepared for it.
In fact, as a researcher, regardless of one’s writing ability, mastery of historical materials, historical perspective, or methodology, one could never truly change history.
Whether the evaluation of a historical figure is right or wrong, whether the reconstruction of a historical event is accurate, they are just a group of powerless descendants. Though they are responsible for the “posthumous reputation” of countless departed souls, they never have to be responsible for actual “life and death” in history.
Yang Wan had now departed from this identity she had been accustomed to for many years.
This also meant that her surface-level separation from the Ming Dynasty was completely over – she could never, ever, ever go home again.
However, this didn’t mean she could from now on live without conflict, at peace in the Zhenning years.
Compared to the physical pain of those dozens of lashes, the pain of separation in her heart now was even greater.
But she didn’t want to express anything, just wanted to have a peaceful conversation with Deng Ying.
She instinctively turned back to look for Deng Ying.
In the shadow of the screen, Deng Ying was calmly speaking with Zhao Qi.
Noble Consort Jiang had already been helped back by the Yanxi Palace servants waiting outside the hall.
Under the lamplight, Zhao Qi asked Deng Ying where Pang Ling was confined.
“Lock him in the side room of the East Wing Hall.”
Deng Ying said while looking at Yang Wan, “I’ll have Zhao Qi stay.”
“What about you?”
These words came from Yang Wan almost without thought.
“I’m returning to the duty room. I’m too dirty, I want to fetch some water from the moat to wash myself.”
“Taking a cold bath in late autumn, do you want to lose your legs?”
Her tone was inexplicably harsh, and after speaking, her eyes even began to burn.
Knowing her emotions were somewhat out of control at the moment, she quickly tilted her head back, wiped her face, and held back tears as she walked toward her quarters.
“Wan-wan…”
Deng Ying followed Yang Wan a few steps, “Wan-wan, I’m sorry.”
“It’s nothing.”
Yang Wan paused, “I’m just feeling a bit anxious, so I spoke harshly to you too.”