He stopped this line of conversation, mounted his horse, and said, “I’ll go with you now to search the Lake Palace.”
At this moment, the torture chamber was deathly silent.
The unbearable pain had begun to subside. Deng Ying lay face-up on the couch while Zhang the Beard stood at his feet, untying the ropes that bound him. As he pulled at them, he said, “I’ve been an executioner for many years, but you’re the most unlucky one. Speaking nicely, it’s official business; speaking plainly, there’s not even a bit of money in it. Never mind that – usually when I work on people, they have to give me a note saying ‘death brings no blame,’ but you don’t need to write one. So I have to say this: if after three days your lower half isn’t well and the spirits of death take you underground, you can’t complain about me to the King of Hell.”
Deng Ying tried to speak but only managed a cough.
Zhang the Beard pulled off the bindings at his ankles, “Don’t cough, hold it in. The more you cough, the more it hurts.”
Deng Ying seemed to heed his words, forcing down the cough.
Zhang the Beard wiped the sweat from his brow and gave a coarse laugh, “But you young man, you really can endure pain. Before, there were many stronger than you, but none who didn’t cry out. When you stayed silent, I was scared you’d die on me.”
After speaking, he reached to pull off the bindings at his wrists as well, slung them over his shoulder, and bent down to say, “Alright, keep enduring. These three days are between life and death – if you make it through, you’ll have crossed the ghost gate and can become a different person.”
Three days, and then he could become a different person.
But these three days were truly difficult to endure. Deng Ying could only sleep through the pain in a daze.
When he woke thinking much time had passed, he opened his eyes to find it still light outside.
It was still the same day, just approaching dusk, with everything silent.
Outside the window, the snow had mostly stopped, and in the clearing western sky, the outline of the setting sun could be dimly seen through the clouds.
Deng Ying felt that except for his wound which burned like fire, the rest of his body was as cold as ice.
The room was stuffy, his nostrils full of the smell of blood.
He wanted to push open the window, but his arms had no strength. He could only grasp the windowsill, trying to push open the latch.
“You can’t let the wind in yet.”
The voice came from the head of the bed, accompanied by the sound of water splashing, followed by the rustle of clothing as someone moved.
Deng Ying managed to crane his neck to look toward the head of the bed.
A lamp was lit on the wooden stand at the bedhead, and someone was bent over washing a cloth in a basin.
“Yang… Wan?”
The person under the lamp started, quickly raising her head.
This was the first time Deng Ying had spoken to her.
“Mm, it’s me again.”
She brushed aside the messy hair from her forehead, giving a self-deprecating smile.
“Do you become uncomfortable whenever you see me?”
As she spoke, she wiped away water that had splashed on her face, folded and wrung out the cloth, then walked toward Deng Ying.
“Don’t come closer.”
As he spoke, his body suddenly tensed, veins standing out on his neck. Whether from pain or heat, sweat soaked his entire body.
If earlier in the storehouse he had been able to coldly avoid Yang Wan, now he didn’t even qualify to avoid her.
“That’s not what I meant.” She spoke while placing the cloth on his forehead.
Then she crouched down with her back to Deng Ying, using an iron poker to stir the charcoal brazier, “I don’t mean to offend you. Sitting like this, I won’t turn around unless necessary.”
Deng Ying propped himself up to look at his lower body. A white cotton cloth covered his wound; besides this, he had no other covering. The despair brought by his body’s brokenness and exposure created a hole in his resilient mental defenses, threatening to collapse them entirely. For a moment, the word “death” flashed through his mind.
Then at this moment, Yang Wan suddenly spoke again.
“Are you still cold? There’s a lot of charcoal piled outside, should I bring some more in?”
Her hand stretched out in front of the fire, delicate and beautiful.
Her hair was made puffy and messy by the flames, loosely piled on her shoulders, the exposed skin of her shoulders pure and flawless. Seeing a woman’s skin at this moment, Deng Ying suddenly felt that the physical contact he had desired before his punishment now seemed utterly base and contemptible.
“Get out.”
He could only say these two words, but maintaining his cultivated manner, even in circumstances of shame and hatred, his voice wasn’t cruel or even distant – he only wanted to separate this woman from his wretchedness.
Yang Wan wasn’t surprised. She raised one hand to prop up her chin, looking at the shadows on the ground as she smiled and said:
“Don’t send me away. I had decided not to come to find you at this time, but just now I couldn’t help coming to take a look, at you…”
She wanted to say Deng Ying was too pitiful but felt that showing him sympathy now would be insulting him, so she cleared her throat to cover it up, “I was too cold myself, and seeing you had a charcoal brazier here, I came in to warm up.”
“…”
The bed board creaked as Deng Ying’s hand slipped, unable to prop himself up, and touched Yang Wan’s back.
Yang Wan only glanced to the side without turning around, taking his wrist and lifting the arm behind her, “Don’t keep trying to prop yourself up to look. You’re not a prisoner of the Ministry of Justice now – the door isn’t locked, they just don’t dare come in to manage you.”
Deng Ying pressed the wrist she had gripped, looking sideways at Yang Wan’s back.
“How do you know?”
Yang Wan smiled, “Ah, it’s the twelfth year of Zhenning – having the surname Deng is a crime. Anyone associated with you has to face the Imperial Guard. Even Yang Lun knows to avoid it, so who wouldn’t know to stay away?”
This showed more understanding than most people.
“Aren’t you afraid?”
“Me?”
She smiled as she spoke, reaching up to rub her shoulder, then continued stirring the charcoal at her feet, occasionally sniffling, her shoulders rising and falling. Her manner was far from elegant, but it was natural – so natural it almost made one forget she was sitting in a eunuch’s torture chamber.
“Don’t think too much.”
She said this seemingly without any deliberate emotion, but Deng Ying wanted to hear it again.
“What did you say?”
He asked deliberately.
“I said, don’t think too much. Although when a tree falls the monkeys scatter, and when a wall falls everyone pushes it, not everyone wants to kick you while you’re down. You’re too gentle a person – I couldn’t bring myself to do it.”