Yang Lun avoided Deng Ying’s gaze, walking a few steps away with clenched fists, “I cannot decide this alone, I must consult with the teacher.”
“No need.”
Deng Ying followed him, leveling his voice, “Let me see the teacher, I’ll tell him myself.”
Yang Lun turned back, “Where are you going now?”
“Back to the duty room by the moat, to get some sleep.”
“Can you sleep?”
“No.”
But what difference did that make?
The two parted silently at Donghua Gate.
By the moat, the wind carried snow under his umbrella, hitting Deng Ying’s chest and abdomen in waves.
He felt very cold but refused to curl up and walk awkwardly as the other servants did.
In the three years since his punishment, his obsession with etiquette and proper dress had never diminished, but his soul, confined within his mutilated body, had lost its edge. He had never spoken harshly to anyone, internalizing all his emotions and pain, which accumulated day by day, leading to self-destruction. He had thought about his “end” more than once, had witnessed Zheng Yuejia’s tragic death, and today had handled Li Yu’s mutilated body himself. This overwhelming “terror” that loomed over those who had survived punishment was like a chain that had been locked around his wrist since the day he entered the palace.
He had never thought about breaking free, only wearing it while trying his best to move forward, until Yang Wan said to him, “Deng Ying, give me your hand.”
“You’re back?”
A voice came from in front of the duty room. Deng Ying looked up to see Yang Wan crouching in the snow with her knees hugged to her chest, snow piled on her head, half-melted on her face, leaving her skin glistening.
“Yes, I’m back.”
Yang Wan stood up, lowering her head to brush the snow from her head.
“I made noodles, but they’ve gone sticky.”
“It’s alright, Wan Wan.”
He looked at her face, “I want to eat them.”
“You want to eat them.”
Yang Wan repeated his words, lowering her head with a smile, “Little Xin Ying, you’ve always spoken to me with such a good temper.”
“Wan Wan, I am under your care, truly fearful, not knowing how to treat you so that you won’t let go.”
“I never thought about letting go.”
After saying this, she walked a few steps through the snow toward Deng Ying.
“Deng Ying. Give me your hand.”
Sometimes, Deng Ying felt that Yang Wan had always known what he would do. Whenever he tried to give up on himself, she would always ask him to extend his hand. But when she held onto Deng Ying, it wasn’t to restrain him. She seemed to just want to quietly accompany him for a while. Like someone who had read through his book of life and death, understanding the causes and effects, knowing more clearly than he did that his path ahead led into stormy seas with no return, and therefore being more steadfast and composed than he was.
“Deng Ying, I’m only now gradually understanding how to make our lives a little more comfortable.”
As she spoke, she took both his raised wrists, gently clasping them together in her hands, leading him into the room.
“Eat the noodles.”
“Alright.”
Following her words, he lowered his head to eat. The noodles were very sticky, somewhat choking him, and he couldn’t help but cough.
“It’s okay. Let me.”
She stood up, taking the cloth Deng Ying had placed on the water basin, carefully wiping away the spilled soup from the table, while saying: “Deng Ying, I think I can guess how you plan to break the deadlock between the Office of Ceremonies and the Cabinet.”
The noodles Deng Ying had bitten through fell into the soup, splashing broth on his face. Yang Wan smiled as she raised her sleeve to wipe it away.
“You plan to confess to forging the imperial edict.”
Deng Ying held his chopsticks, and after a long while, nodded.
“Did you tell my brother?”
“Yes, I’m sorry, Wan Wan, I…”
“It’s alright.”
Yang Wan withdrew her hand, lowering her eyes, “I just didn’t expect that the opening I created for you… if I hadn’t sent Lady Chen to find the Empress Dowager then, you wouldn’t have been able to enter Yangxin Hall.”
She pressed her lips together, “Deng Ying, if this were me three years ago, I would have hated myself to death, but now…”
She touched his nose, “It’s okay.”
After saying this, her gaze softened, “I know that what you’ve guarded all your life is your ‘scholarly heart,’ and the only person you can’t let go of is me. So what can I do?”
She looked up at Deng Ying, “I can only hold your hand and walk with you, help you live the life you want to live, become the person you want to become.”
At this point, Yang Wan inexplicably choked up.
The historical inevitability in Deng Ying wasn’t just the pattern of feudal times, but also this person’s inner cultivation before her, and his contradictions about “identity” in his understanding. She could bravely prove his worth in the 21st-century academic world, but in the Great Ming Dynasty six hundred years ago, she had to respect his only choice.
“Am I not impressive…”
She choked, “I live up to being Yang Wan, don’t I?”
“Yes, you live up to being Yang Wan.”
“But I want to do even better.”
She gripped Deng Ying’s wrist, “Let people hundreds of years later handle your posthumous reputation, they will do it well. Deng Ying, I…”
She paused, “I might be able to make your reputation while you’re alive.”