Those sitting and lying in the hall awakened from their drowsiness at the smell of noodles.
Yang Wan placed the noodles beside Zhou Muyi and poured him a cup of tea. Standing up, she looked at him and said, “I can only make noodles. For these two days, this is all you’ll have to stave off hunger.”
Zhou Muyi said, “What do you want to do with us?”
Yang Wan was silent for a moment, then pulled over a stool and sat in the center of the hall, looking over everyone present.
“I want you to do what Deng Ying cannot.”
Zhou Muyi didn’t speak, but a young voice came from the corner.
“What does he want to do?”
Yang Wan looked up at the speaker.
He appeared to be only fifteen or sixteen, with delicate features and a frail build.
Looking at him, Yang Wan’s voice softened involuntarily, “Take the imperial examinations, enter official service, and maintain your current conscience while doing things that benefit the country and people.”
“But… can we still participate in this year’s spring examinations?”
Yang Wan looked at him silently for a moment, then suddenly asked, “Do you regret it?”
The youth didn’t respond.
Yang Wan sat quietly with her arms crossed, her thin silhouette cast by the dim lamplight. The weariness and irritation on her face were unconcealed, yet she still tried to maintain her composure and emotions.
“Do you remember what he said to you on East Public Street?”
She raised her hands, making fists and extending them toward everyone.
“He asked you, do you want to be like him?”
No one in the hall answered.
The flickering lamplight cast everyone’s shadows in grotesque shapes.
The smell of ink and noodles mingled in the air, and with so many people, the moisture caused water drops to form and fall one by one from the wooden bookshelves.
Yang Wan lowered her hands and laughed softly, looking down, “See, you don’t even dare to answer.”
“No…”
The youth raised his head, “I want to take the spring examinations, I want to become an official, I want to work for the people’s welfare. I don’t want to be like him. Sister, I… I regret it…”
After hearing these words, Yang Wan turned to look at Zhou Muyi, “What about you? Do you regret it?”
Zhou Muyi clenched and unclenched his fist, answering with another question, “Are you Yang Wan?”
“Yes.”
“You share meals with him—why do you want to save us?”
Yang Wan raised her head, forcing back the ache in her eyes, “Because he wants to save you.”
“Impossible!”
Yang Wan gave a cold laugh, “Why are you so agitated?”
Zhou Muyi propped himself up, “If he wanted to save us, why did he take the Chushan Academy’s school lands for himself? Why did he make it impossible for the academy to continue?”
Yang Wan looked at Zhou Muyi coldly, “Didn’t you break into his home and mine? You saw what was inside, didn’t you?”
Zhou Muyi’s throat caught.
Yang Wan sat dejectedly in the lamplight, one hand hanging behind the chair back, her voice faint.
“A wooden bed frame, an elm desk, two or three chests, a few thin clothes… what else?”
Zhou Muyi said, “Isn’t this just his pretense?”
“Pretense? Heh.”
Yang Wan laughed once, “Do you know why Chushan and Hudian academies survived these six months?”
“What do you mean?”
“Zhou Muyi, of the academy lands, not much could be returned, but what could be, he returned to you completely. The funds that Prime Minister Bai and Minister Bai gathered for your academies all came from his salary. Even so, today he’s still imprisoned in the imperial jail for the crime of the academy lands. And I…”
She laughed through held-back tears, “And I still have to save you.”
Zhou Muyi stuck out his neck, “I don’t believe your words, and I don’t need your help.”
“Don’t need it?”
Yang Wan raised her voice in question.
“Zhou Muyi, have you been in the imperial prison? Do you know what happens after you go in?”
As she spoke, Yang Wan removed her outer garment and lifted her inner clothes to reveal half her waist and abdomen, where last year’s horrifying whip wound remained, like a centipede crawling across her waist.
Most of those present hurriedly lowered their heads to avoid looking.
Yang Wan said, “Don’t talk to me about propriety and not looking—there’s no ‘propriety’ in the imperial prison. Your so-called scholarly dignity, your literary integrity, will all be stripped away by torture.”
She lowered her clothes and put her outer garment back on, standing up from the chair, “He has already gone to the place you wanted him to go. The place he wants you to go, he hopes you can reach with your integrity intact. I can only save you once. I beg you, keep your lives and walk well the path that he cannot walk.”
Just as she finished speaking, the youth in the corner called out to her tremulously, “Sister…”
Yang Wan turned around, “What is it?”
“I don’t understand… what kind of person is Deng Ying?”
“Haven’t you been cursing him for all these days?”
“I…”
The youth fell silent.
Yang Wan said, “He doesn’t care at all what kind of person he is in your eyes, but I care, which is why I say these things. However, for you, what I say doesn’t matter. Life spans decades, dynasties span centuries, and countless figures remain—besides those who die on the execution ground and can make a final declaration, leaving behind their last words, how many can speak openly? What kind of people they truly were, live and judge for yourself.”
After saying this, Yang Wan pulled the chair back to its original position and walked to the courtyard to have the remaining noodles brought in.
She sat alone on the steps, hugging her knees.
The moon was bright, the wind clear, with cooking smoke rising in all directions.
Alone, countless complex emotions surged up.
Yang Wan quickly buried her head against her knees. Thinking of her words from earlier, she clutched her sleeve. She wanted to cry but knew this wasn’t the time, so she could only tease herself with a tearful voice: “Deng Xiao-ying, after dating me for so long, you only polished two beads for me, never bought me anything, and then got yourself thrown in prison—you’re quite the scoundrel, aren’t you…”