In the deep winter of the twelfth year of Zhenning, the snow season arrived nearly a month later than the previous year. The cold air gathered with the biting wind across the land, causing people to hunch their shoulders against the chill. Outside the palace walls on the southeastern side of the capital, in the imperial hunting ground of Nanhaizi spanning twenty thousand square meters, all the sea households were anticipating the year’s first snow.
Deng Ying leaned against the stone wall, facing a large group of people as thinly clothed as himself.
They huddled in different corners in small groups, silently staring at Deng Ying with complex emotions. Deng Ying pulled back his shackled leg a few inches, letting his trouser leg fall to barely cover the abrasions on his ankle. Under everyone’s gaze, a young man tore off a piece of cloth from his clothes and timidly offered it to Deng Ying, saying, “Use this to wrap your ankle.”
Deng Ying looked down at the grayish-white rag and suddenly felt a connection to these people’s circumstances.
They were in the storehouse of Nanhaizi, typically used to store grain and meat for the palace, but now it was almost empty, with only a few pieces of dried meat hanging desolately from the ceiling.
Due to poor autumn harvests, the Sili Jian had converted this place into a temporary detention camp. The warehouse housed eunuchs without household registration. In the early years of Zhenning, the court had banned the unauthorized castration of males and severely punished those who self-castrated to evade corvée labor and taxes. However, as royal offspring increased and the affairs of the Twenty-four Bureaus grew more complex, the demand for eunuchs grew larger, rendering the early prohibition essentially meaningless.
The people in Nanhaizi were mostly self-castrated eunuchs, some barely fifteen or sixteen, others elderly. They worked in Nanhaizi during the day and crowded into the warehouse at night, each harboring hopes of being selected by the Sili Jian and Twenty-four Bureaus.
Deng Ying was the only “man” among them.
Perhaps the arrangement was intentional.
Ants surrounding a wounded crane.
This was indeed the finest humiliation before execution.
“This isn’t… oh my goodness…”
The wind lamp at the door cast fuzzy-edged shadows.
Deng Ying raised his head as Yang Wan slipped in through the side door carrying a large bundle of medicinal herbs, her words were cut short as she fell right in front of him.
The ground was covered with dry grass and wheat bran, which immediately drew blood when it scraped against the skin.
Yang Wan squinted in pain, struggling to sit up as she examined her scraped palm, helplessly blowing on the wound several times.
After half a month, she still hadn’t grown accustomed to this body.
No one in the warehouse made a sound, clearly not their first time seeing Yang Wan.
After a collective glance at her, they each retreated to their corners.
Yang Wan coughed, spitting out a grass root that had gotten into her mouth. Just as she was about to stand, her forehead met Deng Ying’s cold fingers.
She quickly looked up. The man before her still sat silently against the wall, his clean hand extended toward her, shackles binding his wrist, the thin sleeve of his prison garment now slipped to his elbow, revealing old and new scars crisscrossing his arm.
What a devastatingly beautiful person.
Yang Wan marveled inwardly at this perfect brokenness after torture; bearing the pain of a ruined family above and enduring the shame of a crippled remaining life below, yet still maintaining his dignified composure—if brought to modern times, how many young women’s hearts would he break? Moreover, he remained silent, his expression peaceful, his conduct measured, maintaining his initial mysterious appeal as Yang Wan’s research subject while never losing his scholarly refinement.
“It’s… it’s fine, I can get up myself.”
She rose, brushing off the grass ash from her body, carefully piling the herbs by Deng Ying’s feet.
“If you keep rubbing that ankle wound, it’ll show bone soon. You’ll end up limping from this ordeal. I’m not a proper doctor, you know. This herbal remedy is something my grandmother taught me when I was little, and I’m not even sure if I remember it completely. If it works, no need to thank me, if it doesn’t…”
She reached out to lift his trouser leg, “If it doesn’t work, don’t blame…”
As her hand grasped his trouser leg, Deng Ying suddenly pulled his leg aside, causing Yang Wan to lose balance from the unexpected force and fall solidly once again.
“Good grief…”
Deng Ying still didn’t speak, his gaze showing no wariness, just confusion.
Yang Wan lay on the ground, rolling her eyes. She straightened up on her own, settling cross-legged in front of him, calmly fixing her disheveled hair. She spread her hands, trying to make her voice sound as sincere as possible, “Look, let me be frank with you, I just want to apply some medicine. You be straight with me too—it’s been half a month, what will it take for you to let me touch you?”
Deng Ying hugged his shackled arms, bending to lower the trouser leg Yang Wan had lifted, then rested his hands on his knees and silently closed his eyes.
Just as she had previously devoted all her patience to original documents, Yang Wan found her current temperament so good it felt almost unreal even to herself.
“Deng Ying.”
She stared at his face, adjusting her tone as she called his name.
The man before her merely twitched his eyelids.
An elderly eunuch sitting beside Deng Ying couldn’t bear to watch anymore and advised Yang Wan, “Miss, since he was brought here to us, he hasn’t opened his mouth once, perhaps…” he gestured at his throat.
Yang Wan couldn’t help but laugh, “Ha, he can talk plenty. He’ll end up infuriating quite a few people later.”
The old man smiled at her bright voice, “Miss, you have such an interesting way of speaking.”
Compliments were pleasant in any era.
Yang Wan separated some herbs and handed them to the old man, “Uncle, I see you have wounds on your hands too. Crush these and apply them, they’ll help.”
The old man dared not take them, asking instead, “Miss, where did you get these herbs?”
“Scraped them from the small drying yard in Eunuch Li’s compound.”
At this, even Deng Ying opened his eyes.
The old man lowered his voice, shrinking back into his corner half an inch, “St… stolen?”
“Mm-hmm.”
She winked at Deng Ying, “When you have money later, you can pay Li Shan back yourself.”
The old man’s eyes grew anxious as he asked Yang Wan uneasily, “Miss, aren’t you afraid of being beaten for stealing Master Li’s things?”
Yang Wan looked into Deng Ying’s eyes with a smile, casually responding to the old man, “It’s fine, I’m quick on my feet.”
Just as she finished speaking, a series of dry grass-stalk-crushing sounds came from the muddy ground at the entrance.