Yang Wan stood outside the door, listening to their conversation.
Deng Ying was discussing the “Benevolence” chapter from Volume Five of “Zhenguan Zhengyao.” He spoke of how in the seventh year of Zhenguan, Tang Taizong mourned Zhang Gongjin, the Governor of Xiangzhou, disregarding the inauspicious day, and how in the fifteenth year, Tang Taizong issued an edict to comfort sick soldiers. Yi Lang listened quietly to Deng Ying’s words, occasionally asking questions.
When Deng Ying left the study, the sky was overcast, and Chengqian Palace was already lit with lanterns.
Yang Wan waited for him at the bottom of the steps, arms crossed, smiling at him. “You’re amazing.”
Deng Ying was still unsteady on his feet, having to hold onto the corridor pillars while descending the steps.
Yang Wan extended her hand to support Deng Ying, watching the steps beneath his feet as she continued softly: “I’m not worthy of comparison.”
Deng Ying looked down at Yang Wan with a smile, “I heard you want to buy Qingbo House.”
“Did Qin Wende tell you?”
“Yes, why do you want to buy it?”
Yang Wan looked up: “Because it’s the voice of the Great Ming. Though at its strongest it might break, I still love it.”
The voice of the Great Ming.
It was the first time Deng Ying had heard someone use the term “voice” to describe popular literature – vivid, yet so precise it created a mental image that seemed almost cruel.
“Do you have enough money to buy and operate it?”
“Even if I asked you, it wouldn’t help.”
She took Deng Ying’s arm, “The money is from Sister and Yi Lang. I’m borrowing it and will pay it back later. You, as the Eastern Depot Superintendent, just help me protect it. Let it make money.”
Deng Ying nodded with a smile, responding with a soft “Alright.”
The two walked along the palace path, with Deng Ying, still recovering from his severe injuries, taking each step with difficulty.
Yang Wan looked up at the moon while walking and suddenly said: “At the end of this month, take me outside the palace.”
Deng Ying asked: “Where do you want to go?”
“I want to take you home for dinner.”
Deng Ying stopped, hesitating to speak.
Yang Wan turned back, “Are you afraid of Yang Zixi?”
“Yes.”
Deng Ying followed Yang Wan’s gaze toward the palace wall, “Perhaps before long, he’ll be interrogating me personally.”
“Why?”
“Next year, Hangzhou will implement new tax policies. The Ministry of Revenue has already started auditing the remaining school lands in Hangzhou.”
Yang Wan squeezed her fingers, “How will you handle it?”
Deng Ying shook his head, “Once Chushan Academy and Hutan Academy are investigated, the Directorate of Ceremonial will protect me.”
Yang Wan furrowed her brows upon hearing this, turning to face Deng Ying: “If the Directorate of Ceremonial protects you, what will happen to those who impeach you?”
Deng Ying remained silent.
Yang Wan looked at Deng Ying and said: “You must protect them.”
Deng Ying raised his hand to caress Yang Wan’s cheek, “Wan’er, when my injuries are better when I can sit for long periods, I’ll go home with you for dinner.”
Yang Wan lowered her head, her skin brushing against Deng Ying’s palm.
“Are you still in pain?”
Deng Ying stroked Yang Wan’s eye corner, shaking his head, “It’s been scabbed over for a long time. The medicine you gave me was very good.”
After the scabs formed and fell off, then the swelling subsided, Deng Ying’s injuries lasted until the deep winter of the thirteenth year of Zhenning.
During this time, Yi Lang was willing to let Deng Ying stay in his study, occasionally allowing the weakened Deng Ying to sit before him.
Starting from early December, the Hanlin Academy recommended an elderly scholar, Wang Linjiang, as the Crown Prince’s teacher. He began teaching Yi Lang “Zhenguan Zhengyao” from the beginning, and after the lessons, Yi Lang would review with Deng Ying.
When Deng Ying was present, Yang Wan rarely entered, and even when she did, it was only to bring them refreshments.
Once, she made noodles for the two men. Since Deng Ying couldn’t eat in front of Yi Lang, he sat on the corridor steps to eat.
To avoid spilling the soup, he carefully rolled up his sleeves, exposing his forearms in the cold night, eating slowly and deliberately, one bite at a time.
Yi Lang in the study would occasionally glance at Deng Ying but say nothing.
Yang Wan stood alone by the side window, watching these two men eating their noodles in silence before her. Though she stood by the cold window, her heart felt warm.
Pure as snow, without distant fragrance – Deng Ying was someone whose true heart could only be understood after becoming close to him.
Yang Wan saw in him a kind of sacrificial beauty, like the core of mono-aware aesthetics.
Rolling up the blinds on a winter day, seeing snow covering the ground, knowing it would soon turn to mud, yet still being moved by its self-consuming dedication to this moment of purity. He had no distant fragrance, unknown in the night, only to be fortunately encountered when raising a lantern and rolling up the blinds.
“All things are humble and without evil. That’s why Terajima Jutaro wrote: ‘Being born human, I am sorry.'”
Yang Wan wrote these words in her notebook.
That day, Yi Lang bestowed a winter garment upon Deng Ying.
The moon-white silk was lined with some unknown animal down – Yang Wan remembered, it was Deng Ying’s only bright-colored robe.