As the last dish of snow taro was poured into the soup, dishes, and bowls lay scattered across the courtyard.
After everyone finished their final bowl of soup, they set down their chopsticks and dispersed. Yang Wan cleaned up the pots and bowls, then went to wash up in the courtyard.
Deng Ying sat alone on the edge of the bed wrapped in his clothes, waiting for Yang Wan to return.
Occasional bird calls came from the grape vines on the wall. In the surrounding silence, those sounds grew increasingly ethereal.
Before long, the sounds in the courtyard ceased. Yang Wan entered while fixing her hair with one hand.
She wore slippers, their soft pat-pat echoing as she walked back and forth behind the screen.
Deng Ying lowered his book and turned, asking, “Wan-wan, what are you doing?”
“Oh,” Yang Wan responded, “I’m pouring water.”
She emerged carrying a pot of bellflower honey water, setting it by the bed. “Drink this before sleep.”
She handed a cup to Deng Ying, saying, “Come sit up here.”
Deng Ying took the cup and sat on the inner side. Yang Wan pulled up the covers over his legs, then removed her shoes and slipped under the blanket. They sat together holding their cups. Yang Wan watched the steam rising from her cup and casually asked, “When you return to the palace, will you still live by the moat?”
Deng Ying shook his head, “I’ll live behind the Yangxin Gate.”
“Where He Yixian used to live?”
“Yes.”
Yang Wan set down her cup, turned to pull up the covers, and lay on her side next to Deng Ying. “From now on we’ll have to call you Minister Deng.”
Deng Ying remained silent. He closed the book resting on his knees, carefully placed both it and the cup on the bedside table, then shifted to kneel on the bed.
He kept his head lowered, not daring to look at Yang Wan, his hands gripping his knees until the cotton undergarments wrinkled beneath his fingers.
Yang Wan sat up as well, tilting her head to ask, “What do you want to do?”
Deng Ying’s fingers tightened again, “Wan-wan, do you want to?”
“Want what…”
“I’ve bathed, I’m clean.”
He cut off Yang Wan’s words, then closed his eyes and lowered his head like someone awaiting sentencing.
Yang Wan reached for his hands clenched on his knees, but he held tightly to the fabric.
“Deng Ying, let go.”
“Ah? Oh, alright…”
He quickly released his grip. Yang Wan gently lifted his wrists, “You have injuries here.”
Deng Ying looked at his fingers, “Wan-wan, I don’t need to use my hands.”
“I won’t allow it.”
After saying this, she shifted on her knees to sit facing Deng Ying.
“Lie down.”
Deng Ying shook his head, “Let me do it.”
“Not listening to me anymore?”
“No, I’ll listen to you.”
“Then lie down.”
Deng Ying hesitated for a moment, but eventually stretched out his legs and lay back. Once he was settled, Yang Wan leaned over to blow out the nearest lamp, though the light behind the screen remained lit, casting a warm, soft glow through the screen onto the bed curtains.
“Close your eyes.”
“Wan-wan…”
“Don’t worry, just close your eyes.”
Deng Ying closed his eyes and felt a gentle kiss on his forehead. At the same time, a hand clumsily tugged at the sweat cloth around his waist, clearly unsure where the knot’s weakness lay. Deng Ying quickly pressed down on that hand, “Wan-wan, don’t treat me this way.”
The hand gently slipped out from under his palm and stroked his hand’s back, “Alright, then undo it yourself.”
He dared not disobey Yang Wan.
Once the sweat cloth was undone, he had to face what lay beneath his clothes – a battle he was destined to lose. But in Yang Wan’s bed, she wouldn’t let him lose, so he felt he didn’t even deserve the right to forfeit.
“Relax your waist, Deng Ying.”
As she spoke, her palm gently covered where he had been punished, and then her thumb brushed against the gradually growing flesh bud. Since taking charge of the Eastern Depot, he no longer had to undergo the triennial “pruning” like other eunuchs. That bit of soft bone left after his punishment gradually regained sensation, capable of bringing fleeting moments of desire and pleasure, though more often just an aching pain. Even so, he hoped Yang Wan wouldn’t “pity” him.
This was Yang Wan, after all.
“Don’t grip the blanket, Deng Ying, hold my other hand.”
She offered him her hand as she spoke.
Deng Ying, afraid of hurting her, only dared to loosely hold her fingers.
“Deng Ying, don’t hold your breath, relax.”
As she spoke, she gently circled her fingers between skin and flesh. Deng Ying’s calves began to twitch slightly, his legs involuntarily straightening as a breath escaped him, leading to heavy breathing.