Deng Ying propped himself up on his elbow and slowly lay down.
Yang Wan asked him softly, “Where is the knot of your sweat towel?”
Deng Ying pressed his hand against Yang Wan’s, “Wan-wan…”
Yang Wan withdrew her hand and gently stroked Deng Ying’s face, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “It’s alright.”
She had already found the knot of the sweat towel but didn’t immediately untie it. Lowering her head, she said softly, “Deng Ying, I don’t really know how you feel, and perhaps you’re not willing to tell me, so I can only try based on my intuition. If anything makes you uncomfortable, just tell me to stop, alright?”
After hearing this, Deng Ying nodded dazedly after a long moment.
Only then did Yang Wan untie the sweat towel at Deng Ying’s waist.
His undergarments, now free from restraint, immediately loosened.
Yang Wan’s hands were cooler than his body temperature below, coolly caressing Deng Ying’s waist and abdomen, slowly moving toward his thighs.
Deng Ying’s body instantly tensed.
“Relax, Deng Ying, or you’ll be uncomfortable later.”
“Wan-wan…”
“What is it?”
“That place is dirty…”
The word “dirty” only made it halfway out before Yang Wan’s lips sealed his mouth.
Her hand didn’t move randomly, just resting quietly over Deng Ying’s lower body until he calmed down, then gently beginning to squeeze.
“Deng Ying, intimacy is like this for everyone. There’s nothing dirty about it. It’s just usually protected by clothing, and now it’s merely shy.”
She smiled as she spoke, “Without clothes, we’re all the same.”
Without clothes, they were all the same.
Deng Ying didn’t understand that this statement contained the understanding of sexuality and humanity from someone who lived in the twenty-first century and worked in humanities research. Yang Wan had no intention of explaining to Deng Ying these concepts that had taken over six hundred years to develop. She curved her fingers, gently pinching the small protrusion at Deng Ying’s lower body. That place remained because when he underwent his punishment, he was already an adult, and the executioner, considering his survival, had left him some margin.
Zheng Yuejia had protected him during the body inspection, sparing him from further mutilation, and so over the years, some sensation had gradually returned there, enough to feel Yang Wan’s touch.
Yang Wan noticed Deng Ying’s ears gradually turning red, confirming she hadn’t made a mistake.
Regarding methods of intimacy with someone like Deng Ying, historical records were unclear. The Qing dynasty notes “Langji Congtan” stated: “When eunuchs are with women, they prefer caressing and oral stimulation, becoming tense for a time until sweating occurs, then stopping. This is because their desire is fully released at this point, though in an altered way.”
The phrase “caressing and oral stimulation, becoming tense until sweating occurs” probably meant that those who had undergone palace castration could still experience pleasure, though not like ordinary people – when they became hot and sweaty, they had reached their limit. But just like the name of these notes – “Langji Congtan” – it sounded like something a frivolous scholar had made up to satisfy people’s curiosity, completely lacking in rigor.
Yang Wan deeply feared being deceived by these texts and inadvertently hurting Deng Ying. Fortunately.
He didn’t seem uncomfortable; his body was gradually relaxing.
Only then did she dare to tell Deng Ying, “Lift your waist a bit, my wrist is getting cramped.”
The person beneath her could no longer speak but still obediently raised his waist.
Yang Wan pulled his undergarments down to his knees; the silk material was so slippery it immediately slid to his ankles. He finally exposed his lower body completely – this was the first time since his castration that he faced his own body in front of another person.
Back then on the execution platform, Deng Ying had used decades of cultivation and willpower to face that humiliating punishment. Though fearful inside, he hadn’t been flustered. But at this moment, his mind was almost completely blank, yet he didn’t want to use any willpower to suppress his agitation. In this state of confusion, he felt the warm pleasure in his lower body, a sensation unrelated to scholarly cultivation or eunuch consciousness, enough to temporarily make one forget their identity.
“Deng Ying.”
“…”
“I want to hear your voice.”
“Wan-wan…”
He couldn’t speak at all, could only call Yang Wan’s name.
Yang Wan looked down at him, “Deng Ying, I hope because of me, you can forgive yourself. Even if not now, you must forgive yourself in the future and live peacefully… Deng Ying, I love you very much…”
In the deep night, the rain poured heavily, and her final words were spoken so softly that Deng Ying didn’t hear them.
Later, he slept deeply, like a warm piece of jade, lying motionless beside Yang Wan.
Yang Wan secretly got up in the night, cleaned herself with the cooled water, and applied medicine.
The rain thundered on the roof as Yang Wan looked at Deng Ying on the bed, remembering her descriptions of him in “The Biography of Deng Ying,” all about his political attitudes and national ideologies. Without historical materials for support, Yang Wan had never touched upon his “desires.” So while tens of thousands of words could describe his life, they couldn’t capture the process of his spiritual wounds healing.
Yang Wan thought about this as she walked to the lamp, took out her notebook, and opened it on the desk.
From the twelfth to the fourteenth year of Zhenning, her writing style changed from rigidly cold to occasionally losing control.
This process wasn’t healing for her, but rather further fragmentation.
Fortunately, there was Deng Ying, like good medicine, helping her constantly recover, turning from external to internal observation.
She stroked the ink marks in her notebook while glancing at the person on the bed, whispering to herself:
“I’m trapped here and unwilling to give up, partly from fear of death, but mostly because of you…”
The person on the bed’s fingers twitched slightly, his eyelids fluttering.
The next day, Deng Ying woke earlier than Yang Wan.
He sat on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes, then pushed open the door to enter the courtyard.
The rain hadn’t stopped. Qin Wende was waiting at the courtyard gate with the Eastern Depot guards, holding umbrellas. A large array of brown-yellow paper umbrellas was neatly arranged, and passersby, seeing the sabers at these men’s waists, avoided them like ghosts. Qin Wende came forward with an umbrella, saying, “Superintendent, our men are assembled. Shall we go now?”