The autumn of the twelfth year of Zhenning arrived silently amid the bloody mist of the imperial prison.
A few days before the Mid-Autumn Festival, a cold rain fell, and the weather quickly turned chilly. Yang Wan, caught off guard, caught a slight cold. With the affairs of the Department of Imperial Attire growing increasingly busy as the Mid-Autumn Festival approached, Yang Wan delayed treatment for a day or two and unexpectedly began running a fever.
In modern times, this would be something easily solved with a few cephalosporin pills, but in the great Ming Dynasty, it could be life-threatening.
Initially, Yang Wan didn’t want to let Consort Ning know, but Lady Jiang dared not conceal it from her.
After Song Yunqing reported to Chengrong Palace, Consort Ning ordered Heyu to bring Yang Wan to Chengrong Palace for care.
Yang Wan, afraid that people around Consort Ning would tell Deng Ying about this, kept asking about it from time to time.
When Consort Ning came to see her, hearing this, she couldn’t help but press Yang Wan down onto the couch, “Getting up again and again, do you not want to get better?”
Yang Wan clutched the bedding, “I’m afraid they’ll gossip needlessly with people like Li Yu.”
Consort Ning lifted the bed curtain, sat down beside her, and smoothed her sweat-dampened hair, “What does it matter if he knows?”
Yang Wan coughed once, “It’s nothing, just that he seems too busy.”
She sighed after speaking.
For an entire sixth month, Deng Ying had exhausted himself working on the Hall of Supreme Harmony project. Although he was always focused when working, Yang Wan had never seen him pour himself into something so self-destructively before.
“The Hall of Supreme Harmony must be near completion, right?”
Yang Wan nodded.
“When I went to look a few days ago, I saw that all the ridge-beast sculptures on the roof had been completed.”
Consort Ning smiled, “You… whenever it comes to matters concerning him, no matter how sick you are, you become energetic.”
Yang Wan neither agreed nor disagreed.
Sometimes when one focuses too much on one person, they overlook those around them.
Looking at Consort Ning’s gentle gaze, Yang Wan thought of how every time after was summoned to serve the emperor, she would sit quietly alone in the sleeping chamber for a while, but show nothing when she came out.
She was better than Yang Wan at concealing her emotions, not wanting those around her to worry, but this only made Yang Wan feel more heartache for her.
“The Mid-Autumn Festival is in a few days. Once this servant is feeling better, I’ll make some mooncakes with novel flavors for Your Highness.”
Consort Ning patted her forehead, “Heyu and the others have told me many times, from now on, except for cooking noodles, you’re not allowed in the kitchen anymore.”
Yang Wan propped herself up, “If I can’t enter the kitchen, I can teach them!”
Consort Ning nodded with a smile, “Alright, this is sister’s first Mid-Autumn Festival in the palace with Wan’er.”
Perhaps because she had found some practical joy, over the next two days, Yang Wan did indeed get much better.
After her fever broke, she was able to get up and move around.
On this clear day, Yang Wan lit an incense stick and sat at her desk wearing a light robe, organizing her previous notes. Yi Lang, wearing a brand new brocade robe, returned and rushed straight to Yang Wan as soon as he entered.
“Aunt, are you feeling better?”
Yang Wan stood up and bowed to him, “This servant is improperly dressed, I fear I’m being disrespectful to Your Highness.”
Yi Lang took Yang Wan’s hand, “Aunt hasn’t played with me for a long time.”
Yang Wan crouched down, using her sleeve to wipe his sweat, and looked up to ask the eunuch following him: “Where is the Consort?”
The eunuch bowed and replied: “The Consort went to Cining Palace to pay respects to the Empress Dowager, she hasn’t returned yet.”
Yang Wan nodded and said: “Alright, you wait outside, I’ll accompany His Highness.”
Then she pointed to a chair nearby, “Your Highness, please sit for a moment while this servant goes to put on proper clothes.”
Yi Lang nodded in agreement and obediently went to sit in the chair.
Yang Wan didn’t think much of it and turned to enter the inner chamber.
However, when she came back out, she saw Yi Lang leafing through her notes that were left on the desk.
To avoid unnecessary trouble, Yang Wan had written all her analytical and evaluative content in English, using Chinese characters only for purely historical records. She was usually very careful and rarely let anyone see this notebook, but today, she had indeed been careless with this child who had only recently learned to read.
Yi Lang couldn’t understand the earlier parts, but on the page, Yang Wan had left open, he saw the names of Zhou Congshan, Zhao Pingling, and more than ten others, along with the characters for “autumn execution” noted after these names. He couldn’t help but raise his head to ask Yang Wan, “Aunt, why are you writing down these people’s names?”
For some reason, when he asked this question, though his voice was childish, his expression was very serious.
Yang Wan was momentarily speechless.
Yi Lang suddenly raised his voice.
“Aunt, you’re privately discussing state affairs.”
After saying this, he looked up at Yang Wan.
Yang Wan suddenly understood.
Perhaps because he was so young and so close to her, she had almost forgotten that this child would be the next emperor.
“Aunt.”
He called to her again, and Yang Wan quickly knelt before the desk, “This servant acknowledges her error.”
Yi Lang lowered his head, “Palace servants are not allowed to privately discuss state affairs, and it’s even more inappropriate for Aunt to write it down.”
Yang Wan bit her lip, momentarily unable to speak.