In the autumn of Zhenning’s twelfth year, over eighty people from the Tongjia Academy died in the imperial prison.
…
Some of these people had clear faces in historical records, while some didn’t even have names.
But they made up the joys and sorrows of the Zhenning era and paved the way for those still living – Deng Ying, Yang Lun, Zhang Luo.
If Yang Wan could be a bit more cold-hearted, this was undoubtedly a blood feast hosting her.
But could she enjoy it alone?
Yang Wan shook her head at the silent temple gate.
For now, she could only try not to think too much, quietly waiting for Deng Ying to return.
After about two hours, the person she waited for finally walked out alone, grief visible on his face though well-contained.
Yang Wan stumbled forward, and Deng Ying almost instinctively reached out to support her, forgetting he still held a jade lotus pendant in his hand.
Yang Wan looked down and lifted his hand. “Oh, what’s this…”
“Nothing.”
He hurriedly put the jade pendant in his robes, his movements notably flustered.
Yang Wan watched his nervous manner and tentatively asked:
“Who gave it to you?”
“Teacher left it for me.”
Yang Wan nodded without asking more. “Then keep it safe.”
She gently swayed the umbrella. “Let’s go back.”
“All right.”
She heard his agreement but didn’t immediately move. “I want to hold onto your sleeve while we walk.”
“I can support you while we walk.”
Yang Wan shook her head and grabbed Deng Ying’s sleeve.
“Wait until the day you truly want to support me. By the way, I want to go to your place first to apply some medicine and change clothes. I don’t want the Consort and Lady Jiang to know about today’s events.”
As she spoke, she kept a steady grip on Deng Ying’s sleeve, her body trembling slightly, whether from cold or pain.
Deng Ying turned his head to look at her.
“Are you afraid of Zhang Luo?”
“Yes.”
Yang Wan nodded. “He’s the person I fear most. Not just me – Lord Yang and the others fear him too.”
Hearing these words, Deng Ying fell silent for a moment.
Yang Wan tugged at his sleeve.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Thinking about what you said.”
Yang Wan stopped walking. “Don’t think too much.”
Deng Ying smiled slightly without responding to her words.
The blood feast hosting Yang Wan finally raised its curtain in June of that year.
A month-long literary uproar involved nearly four hundred officials in the capital. The Emperor, furious, ordered the Imperial Guard to publicly cane dozens of officials, including the two censors Huang and Liu. He commanded all officials to gather at the Meridian Gate to witness the punishment.
However, such punishment failed to intimidate these young officials.
Instead, it became new material for the Donglin Party’s memorials. The scholars, eyes red with passion, didn’t fear the public caning and even took pride in it. Their words became increasingly unrestrained, and the matters they involved grew more and more numerous.
Bai Huan still showed no reaction, and Zhang Cong’s several attempts to suppress the situation proved completely ineffective.
On this day, just as Zhang Luo walked out of the Northern Depot, he saw a sedan chair waiting nearby.
“Who is it?”
“This old servant.”
He Yixian responded and got down from the sedan, bowing to Zhang Luo.
Zhang Luo said: “Why has Director He left serving His Majesty to come here?”
He Yixian raised his head. “This old servant is His Majesty’s servant, naturally here on His Majesty’s business.”