The young man before him hadn’t changed in appearance or character over these dozen years.
“How long have you been planning this?”
“About a day.”
Bai Huan heaved a long sigh, “Do you truly not want to live anymore?”
“That’s not it.”
Deng Ying shook his head, “I want to live, but Teacher, I don’t deserve a peaceful end. I should have faced execution alongside my father. These three years of life were granted by imperial mercy and heaven’s grace. I cannot be greedy for more.”
“Very well…”
Bai Huan turned his face away from Deng Ying’s gaze, wiping his eyes.
This was the student he and Zhang Zhanchun had taught, but also an outcast criminal. After the Tongjia tragedy, Deng Ying had stepped over eighty-some white bones to reach the position of Eastern Depot Director. Like others, Bai Huan had doubted his true nature. However, when he tore his nature from his flesh and laid it before the empire’s scholars, not one would look at it.
Or rather, it wasn’t that they wouldn’t look, but that they instinctively avoided it.
In partisan attacks, his “evil” would be displayed on the city walls, while his “good” would forever be lost in the light.
Bai Huan’s hands gripped the chair back tightly. Despite the winter cold, the cloth on his back gradually became damp with sweat.
“Stand up, don’t kneel anymore.”
Deng Ying stood up, “I apologize, Teacher, I was too disrespectful.”
“It’s fine.”
Bai Huan released one hand and waved at him, saying softly, “Have you prepared a coffin for yourself?”
Deng Ying silently shook his head.
“After years as Director, you couldn’t even save up for that?”
“I have an outer residence in a good location that might sell for some money, but… it’s the only thing I can leave behind. I don’t want to sell it.”
He smiled slightly, “Having clothes for burial is good enough.”
“Fu Ling.”
Bai Huan called Deng Ying.
“Yes.”
“Your teacher will give you one.”
This became the historical “Bai Huan’s Gift of a Coffin.” Although many private histories and unofficial records described this event, it was absent from the “Ming History” written during the Qing Dynasty.
Like the characters “Achieving Purity” written by Yang Lun, this had been one of Yang Wan’s research breakthroughs. However, at that time, she was only trying to explore research possibilities from these two generations of ministers’ unusual attitudes. She didn’t know then that Bai Huan’s gift of a coffin while ill contained that era’s “identity acceptance.”
As part of “humanistic culture,” this identity acceptance couldn’t be considered an awakening of thought – it existed only in the relationship between teacher and student across two generations.
But for Deng Ying, it was proof of the “literary heart.”
Just like the clear sky of the fifteenth day of the eleventh month in the fourteenth year of Zhenning, when the snow wind swept dust and dead leaves up to the blue heavens, and by chance, the sun hung bright that day.
Under the sunlight, all things shared the same radiance and dust.
Yang Lun sat eating noodles at a stall in front of Guangji Temple. A strong gust blew several dead leaves into his bowl. The old man at the stall saw this and hurriedly wiped his hands, walking over and saying, “Oh my, let me make another bowl for you, sir.”
Yang Lun said nothing, but rolled up his sleeves to pick the leaves from his bowl, then lifted it to take two large mouthfuls.
“Sir… you don’t seem very happy today.”
Yang Lun remained silent, but wouldn’t put down his bowl.
The old man saw his hands trembling slightly as he held the bowl, but couldn’t know that behind the bowl, he was using all his strength to hold back inexplicable tears welling in his eyes.
“How much?”
He put down the bowl and stood up, reaching to take out money.
The old man at the stall covered his pot lid, breathing on his hands for warmth as he waved him off: “No charge for you. It’s windy at this stall, making you eat dust and suffer the cold. In this area, they don’t allow stalls during the day. When the Five Cities Military Commission comes, I’ll be in trouble. I’ll pack up after a while. You’d better head to the palace soon.”
Yang Lun glanced toward the Bell and Drum Tower.
Today there would be a court discussion on the late Emperor’s funeral rites. The throne would be empty, with the Directorate of Ceremonial and the Cabinet standing on either side.
And only one person would stand in the middle.
Yang Lun closed his eyes. At this point, he could do nothing more for this person, not even maintain his dignity in dress and appearance. He recalled their conversation yesterday when he visited Deng Ying at the Ministry of Justice.
He had asked Deng Ying if he needed anything, saying he would have someone buy it.
Deng Ying lowered his hands and smiled slightly, saying he only needed paper and brush to write his confession, but these were already available in the prison, so there was no need to buy them specially.