After hearing these words, Deng Ying lifted his robe and slowly sat down.
The Cabinet’s choice to submit their impeachment at tomorrow’s Imperial Gate audience, rather than through the Directorate of Ceremonial to the Emperor, was a move that left no room for retreat—neither for Deng Ying nor for themselves.
He Yixian gestured for Hu Xiang to place a chair opposite Deng Ying. He sat down at the desk, blocking half the light from Deng Ying’s face. Deng Ying looked up at He Yi and asked, “Do the ancestral eyes watch even the homes of court officials?”
He Yixian waved his hand. “You’re the Director of the Eastern Depot. Tell me, which household in the capital doesn’t have your eyes watching it? Deng Ying, it’s not that you can’t see—it’s that you don’t want to see. You don’t want your teacher to think of you as someone like Zhang Luo.”
He sighed deeply as he spoke, patting the back of Deng Ying’s hand that rested under the lamp.
“You’re facing impeachment tomorrow. If I hadn’t mentioned it, were you planning to spend all night here copying archives, waiting for the Ministry of Justice to come arrest you?”
Deng Ying withdrew his hand to his knee and replied to He Yixian: “Rest assured, Ancestor. Even if this servant is imprisoned, I won’t do anything to damage His Majesty’s authority.”
He Yixian said: “His Majesty knows you’re sensible.”
He leveled his voice and continued, “Despite that wound and the damage to your body, you’re still truly one of the palace people. We all live under His Majesty’s protection. Whatever your thoughts may be, the Directorate of Ceremonial won’t stand by and watch you die.”
Deng Ying lowered his eyelids. “This humble servant is unworthy of such great kindness.”
He Yixian gave a short laugh. “As palace servants, whether we like it or not, we share the same honor and disgrace.”
As he spoke, he lowered his head to look at Deng Ying’s ankles. “There are still several hours until tomorrow’s court session at Fengtian Gate. Go rest and refresh yourself. Hu Xiang.”
“Yes, Ancestor.”
He Yixian pointed at what was under Deng Ying’s hand. “Come help him.”
Deng Ying walked back to the duty room by the city moat.
The door opened inward, and the charcoal in the brazier by the bed burned brightly. On the table lay two packages of herbs and a package of nuts. Under the nuts was pressed a leather warming pad. It was poorly made, with uneven stitching barely holding two pieces of sheepskin together.
Yang Wan was leaning against his bed, already asleep.
Her sleep was restless, unconsciously clutching Deng Ying’s sleeping clothes folded by the bed.
Deng Ying carefully put away his things, removed his official robes, and sat beside Yang Wan, placing his feet near the brazier.
Days of melting snow had left a bone-chilling cold, and the old wounds from his imprisonment were acting worse with each passing day.
Though two years had passed, everything that happened in the Ministry of Justice prison remained vivid in his mind.
He looked down at his wrists, remembering what he had once told Yang Wan.
He had told her these were marks from the shackles, and like the wounds on his ankles, they would be difficult to heal. Although he had been following Yang Wan’s instructions to take medicine and care for his health, the effects were minimal. While he initially couldn’t understand why he had to endure such punishment when he hadn’t committed any major crimes, now he wanted to accept these punishments and continue living.
These words still hold now.
The only difference was that he now had Yang Wan.
He possessed Yang Wan in a way that others would consider despicable.
But in his heart, he knew it was his way of surrendering himself to her.
Loss of clan, guilt, castration…
Beneath his official robes, he had lost every game.
No one cared about his dignity. The punishments inflicted on him were considered justified, each time a process of utter humiliation.
But Yang Wan let him win and allowed him to make love with dignity and peace of mind. When he dared not refuse the shackles, she held his hand, giving him just the right amount of restraint. When he feared exposure, she allowed him to keep his complete dignity. She disguised herself as a fragrant prison, not to torment him, but to shelter his remaining life, giving him a sense of belonging and safety.
These two years that Deng Ying dared not look back on or think about had finally slowly passed with Yang Wan.
Even though the path ahead remained unclear, having such a person behind him, watching him walk forward, made even the most difficult road seem less challenging.
He gently tucked Yang Wan’s hair behind her ear, knelt, closed his eyes, and bent to kiss her lips.
Yang Wan didn’t wake, only stretching her legs and lightly kicking the blanket. Deng Ying stood up to pull back the blanket she had kicked away, covering her below the forehead, trying to extract his sleeping clothes from her grip. But she only held on tighter.
Deng Ying calculated the time—barely an hour until the second watch.
He decided not to lie down, instead sitting beside Yang Wan quietly warming his hands and feet.
The person behind him breathed peacefully, turning over wrapped in his blanket, clutching his sleeping clothes to her chest.
Deng Ying turned his head to look at Yang Wan’s back, leaf shadows from the window falling across her body.
It was good to see her like this before the court, even though she was just sleeping and said nothing. Deng Ying’s heart was gradually soothed.
The bitter early spring wind howled across the capital’s sky.
Just past the second watch, court officials in the capital had already risen. Lanterns burned in mansions and residences along East and West Chang’an Streets.
This was the first imperial court session of Zhenning’s fourteenth year where the Emperor would personally attend, and not merely a ceremonial court but a true policy discussion. Officials from various departments had no intention of letting the Emperor off easy. Though it was still early and the wind bitter, the waiting rooms were packed with officials.
In the duty room above Duan Gate, palace servants had brewed warming tea for the Cabinet’s close ministers.
Yang Lun’s fingers crackled as he gripped his teacup.
“I shouldn’t have let Teacher take the lead when I wasn’t willing to start it myself. He’s already too sick to get up!”
Bai Yuyang stood before him and said: “This was Father’s wish.”
Yang Lun froze.
Bai Yuyang continued: “This is also to protect the Ministry of Revenue and the officials who signed with us. Father asked me to tell you that you were right not to sign. After spring begins, Hangzhou’s field policies will still need to go through you. The Ministry of Revenue cannot be in chaos now.”
After hearing this, Yang Lun choked up.