So on that bitterly cold night, he too had carefully opened his heart to this unfamiliar young woman.
He said that in his current state, he was ashamed to share a room with her.
But she answered: “You have no need to feel shame before anyone. It is the court that should feel shame before you.”
He said he couldn’t understand why he had to endure such torture here.
She asked in return, “Would you rather die?”
Now, he gradually understood.
But this young woman seemed unable to understand anymore.
Deng Ying stared at the words on the page as pain shot through his spine, almost making him curl up. He was forced to put down the book and slowly sink to his knees.
“You don’t want to read?”
Zhang Luo looked down at him, “This book is trying to clear your name.”
“I know.”
Zhang Luo was silent for a moment before asking, “Do you want to see her?”
Deng Ying’s whole body trembled.
Zhang Luo continued, “You can see her today. The Grand Secretariat requested permission to arrest and interrogate her, and His Majesty approved. The Eastern Depot has already sent people to bring her in. But don’t worry, she’s different from you. His Majesty protects her, her life won’t be harmed. After your execution, when this matter settles, she can still live on.”
Deng Ying stood up, faced Zhang Luo, and knelt down. He raised his hands level, then pressed them to the grass mat of the cell, bending forward to kowtow to Zhang Luo. “Please treat Yang Wan well.”
Zhang Luo looked down, “Do you think I’ve treated you well?”
The kneeling man said softly, “You’ve shown the utmost kindness and righteousness.”
“Indeed. Yang Wan once told me that if one day she became a prisoner too, she hoped I would treat her as I treated you.”
He looked up as he finished speaking, “Deng Fuling, at first I didn’t understand why she would say such a thing, but after reading this book, I understand seven or eight tenths of it. Though she is a woman, she wielded her brush for you. Among the thousands of scholars who play with ink and paper, I’ve seen many weak-boned ones in prison, but Yang Wan alone earns my admiration. Rest assured, I will treat you both well.”
As his words fell, the sound of dragging chains came from the corridor. A jailer reported, “My Lord, the person has been brought back from Qingbo House.”
“Bring her here.”
“Yes.”
The footsteps in the corridor drew closer, and Deng Ying looked up to see once again that fragile yet bright smile.
Like him now, she wore prisoner’s clothes, her long hair falling across her chest, her face pale, yet her smile was completely genuine.
Though supported by others, she wasn’t at all disheveled. Even her voice remained as light as before. “Little Ying, I’ve come to find you. We made a pinky promise, see? I haven’t broken my word.”
She really had come to find him.
She had never once broken her word.
Outside the torture chamber at Nanhai, she had once climbed up to the window and made a pinky promise with him, saying she would definitely come find him.
Later she truly came, teaching him how to eat nuts for health in the guardhouse by the city moat, forcing him to treat his illness, cooking noodles for him. Helping him tie his hair, buying him fruit…
Now she had come to find him again, not to lead him out of hell, not to comfort him, but to face together that ending which perhaps she had long seen through but never wanted to speak of.
“Little Ying, did you miss me?”
She reached out to hold the cell bars as she crouched down, “Say something.”
“I…”
He couldn’t respond to this moonlight-precious tenderness.
Fortunately, she didn’t mind Deng Ying’s loss for words, and said with curved brows, “With Lord Zhang here, you definitely can’t say it out loud.”
She turned to Zhang Luo, “Can I speak with him alone for a while?”
“You may.”
Zhang Luo turned to leave the cell, “Go in.”
Yang Wan stood up, “Thank you. If I have the chance, I’ll treat you to tangerines again.”
Zhang Luo gave a small laugh and ordered someone to lock the cell, telling them both, “I’ll give you one hour. When the time is up, I must take Yang Wan away.”
Yang Wan nodded. “Good, that’s enough.”
Zhang Luo then turned to tell the jailer, “Guard outside.”
The lone prison lamp illuminated their faces as Yang Wan knelt before Deng Ying, looking up at the top of his head.
“I think you haven’t listened to me properly.”
“I’m sorry, Wanwan.”
“Only scoundrels keep saying sorry, and then dare to remain unrepentant even after apologizing.”
Deng Ying lowered his head, “Yes, I am a scoundrel, I am unrepentant, Wanwan…”
He unconsciously gripped his own hands, “I’m already like this, you don’t need to treat me this way anymore.”
Yang Wan shook her head.
In the lamplight, she gazed at Deng Ying’s face and figure. She had once been struck by the perfect brokenness about him, but now she realized that appreciation had been entirely superficial. She had once examined him like a painting, that person concretized among papers, his suffering and injuries six hundred years distant from her.
But now he was before her.
Somewhat dirty, covered in wounds, his skin exposed outside the prison clothes was fragile and pale.
He hadn’t changed.
But Yang Wan understood now – it wasn’t brokenness, it was his cultivation, his strength to remain silent before others and endure humiliation behind their backs.
“Then how should I treat you?”
“Accept my registry, let me…”
“Deng Ying.”
She suddenly interrupted him, “I am a person who lives for you.”