He was still the same as before, yearning for touch yet not loving himself.
Yang Wan listened to Deng Ying’s words as her hand slowly fell to his waist.
His undergarments were also made of silk, but having been washed too many times, they had a rough fiber texture when touched.
“Lie closer.”
Yang Wan said softly.
But Deng Ying remained motionless, his back rigid.
Yang Wan’s fingers curled around his waist as she pushed with her elbow, moving several inches closer to him.
“I’m the one without a family.”
After saying this, she slowly curled her body into Deng Ying’s embrace.
Though the cold autumn rain was merciless, it was still kept out by this modest room.
Inside, the bed curtains hung down, and behind them, the bedding gave off the clean fragrance of bath beans.
After Yang Wan fell asleep, she unconsciously curled her legs tighter, her knees resting lightly against Deng Ying’s lower abdomen. If they moved any lower, they would touch that place he couldn’t bear to mention.
He was already an adult when he was punished. According to Ming Dynasty rules, when castrating adult males in the inner court, to reduce mortality, they could leave some parts intact.
However, when Deng Ying was punished, he was a criminal, so the inner court didn’t show him this mercy.
Deng Ying still remembered that after his wounds healed, the Ministry of Rites came to collect people. He and other eunuchs underwent pre-palace entry physical examinations at the ministry.
The examiner coldly commented on each eunuch’s wounds.
“This one’s cut is half an inch too shallow, come look—will the inner cartilage protrude later?”
“Hard to say.”
After saying this, he looked up at the register and added, “Oh, he’s not young, the executioner feared taking a life, this kind of cut happens.”
“Tsk… this is troublesome.”
“What, should we have him ‘trimmed’ again?”
These words were directed at Deng Ying. He didn’t want to listen, but had no right to avoid it, and could only try his best to let his thoughts drift away.
At that time, Zheng Yuejia was sent by the Ceremonial Office to oversee the Ministry of Rites’ affairs. He hadn’t originally entered, but hearing the conversation inside, he glanced at Deng Ying at the door, saw him standing with clenched fists and lowered head, and asked from the side: “Is the examination inside finished?”
“Oh, almost done, just this one—we’d like you to take a look, we’re unsure.”
The person speaking looked at the register in his hand again, then raised his head and directly called out Deng Ying’s name: “Deng Ying.”
“Present.”
That person pointed toward where Zheng Yuejia stood, “Go over there, let the Ceremonial Office ancestor take a look.”
Deng Ying turned to face Zheng Yuejia, but Zheng Yuejia didn’t look at him.
He took the register and flipped two pages, casually responding: “I won’t look now, let’s wait until next year. If it’s not good then trim it again, if it’s fine, no need to make him suffer now.”
Deng Ying stood before Zheng Yuejia with hands at his sides, his whole body exposed to the thin cold of early spring.
Zheng Yuejia closed the register, clapped his hands, and said to everyone receiving examinations in the room: “You may dress now.”
After speaking, he turned and walked out.
Deng Ying put on his clothes and walked out of the ministry’s back hall with the others who had been examined.
People spoke softly about post-punishment care—avoid spicy foods, wash frequently, cultivate the mind and nature, don’t foolishly imagine being with women again; in the future, with money, just buy servants to attend to daily needs, and life can still be good.
Everyone understood the reasoning, but the desire between yin and yang wasn’t like “reason.”
It wasn’t meant to be “established,” it was meant to be “broken.”
Yang Wan’s knees now pressed lightly against Deng Ying’s abdomen, without desire, yet making him recall once more the broken image of his lower body. Perhaps “inferiority” and “self-loathing” were originally just distorted frames—besides Yang Wan, Deng Ying’s back gradually broke out in a thin sweat.
After his punishment, he had always been sensitive to cold, and aside from pain, he rarely sweated.
Moreover, he disliked the stickiness on his body because it felt unclean, but now, all five senses silently broke through his usual boundaries.
Deng Ying had no choice but to close his eyes, repeatedly recalling the oath he had made before Yang Lun.
However, in the confusion between the covers, those knees brushed against the silk material below his body. Deng Ying suddenly expelled a large breath from his lungs, his whole body seeming to instantly drain blood, as rigid as wet firewood.
He couldn’t say where it hurt, but it hurt so much he couldn’t move at all.
“Wan Wan…”
He called out to Yang Wan instinctively.
The hand that had been on his waist slowly moved between his legs, through the silk undergarments, warmly enveloping his old wound.
The “drained” blood rapidly flowed back into his limbs and body. He trembled all over, but the pain gradually subsided.
“Deng Ying, it will slowly get better.”
After saying these words, Yang Wan pressed her lips together and closed her eyes.
Fortunately, the rain outside didn’t stop. The cold autumn suppressed desire, so she didn’t flush red or feel hot.
In truth, she didn’t need Deng Ying to endure, but she had to endure.