Yang Wan’s fingers had already reached the window latch, but hearing Deng Ying’s voice, she drew them back reluctantly.
She turned to ask him, “What’s happening?”
Deng Ying glanced at the window screen, simply saying, “Come here first.”
Yang Wan rose and walked back to Deng Ying’s side, still unable to resist peering outside, “Are they beating someone?”
“Yes.”
Deng Ying casually opened a book, drawing his gaze back as well, “Don’t go out. Wait until they finish.”
Yang Wan nodded, no longer speaking rashly. She arranged her sleeves and sat down beside Deng Ying, listening intently.
In the spring afternoon, emerald bird feathers trembled gently in the sunlight, all the courtyard shadows showing a gentle self-awareness toward the clear day.
Everything around was deathly quiet, not even agonized cries could be heard under the beating.
But both Yang Wan and Deng Ying understood this was because the victim had been gagged. This wasn’t mere punishment for a servant – this was a beating meant to kill.
Neither spoke, silently waiting for the tragedy outside to end.
The beating carried obvious killing intent, giving the victim no chance for survival. It was precise and efficient – after just over ten strikes came the sound of a spine breaking.
Yang Wan couldn’t help but draw in a sharp breath.
She grabbed Deng Ying’s wrist.
The spring robe’s sleeves were wide.
Earlier, for reading and writing, he had deliberately rolled up his sleeves three inches, half his forearm exposed on the desk. Yang Wan’s grip instantly broke the proper distance between men and women.
Deng Ying looked down at that clean white hand.
Her skin was like warm porcelain, set against a jade bracelet.
Like all noble young ladies in the capital, she had originally kept her nails about half an inch long, but due to clawing during her fall at the lake, they were almost all damaged. The newly grown ones hadn’t yet been dyed with safflower. They looked soft, with a pale natural color.
Sometimes, Deng Ying unconsciously avoided this young and beautiful female body hidden under silk and satin.
Just as he avoided his own body.
But he dared not dodge, fearing she would misunderstand it as him being repulsed by contact with her.
So he could only try to quietly withdraw his arm forward, attempting to pull his wrist from her hand.
But Yang Wan didn’t let go. Her arm brushed against the book pages on the desk, sliding toward him as he pulled back. Deng Ying didn’t dare move anymore, forced to leave his arm stiffly across the desk, allowing her grip to tighten.
Soon, the beating stopped.
Then came the sound of dragging, thin clothing brushing through the grass. Two or three black shadows passed by the window screen, their footsteps quick, soon disappearing into the distance.
Throughout this process, there wasn’t a single human voice, only the sound of flesh being struck and hurried yet composed footsteps.
But the smell penetrated everywhere.
Yang Wan smelled the blood and suddenly felt violently nauseous.
She wanted to vomit.
Strangely, she wasn’t afraid of the dead person being dragged outside, she just felt purely sick.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, just… feel… very nauseous.”
She covered her mouth and turned away, her shoulders hunching up as she tried to suppress the urge to vomit.
“Has this… not been the first time?”
Before she could finish speaking, her stomach churned, acid nearly rising into her throat, suddenly stinging her eyes.
She quickly crouched down and held her breath, curling almost into a ball as she endured, her whole body cold and shaking like chaff in a sieve.
Deng Ying watched Yang Wan crouching on the ground, feeling unprecedented anxiety.
He looked down at his hand, suddenly feeling his desire to touch her at this moment was so base and shameless.
He quickly tucked his hand into his sleeve, turned to pour a cup of water, rolled up his sleeves, and crouched down, bringing the cup before her eyes, “Don’t speak yet, drink a little.”
Yang Wan took the water and tilted her head back to take a mouthful, pressing her chest as she tried to swallow slowly, finally beginning to calm down.
She rinsed her mouth again with water, threw back her head to gather her breath-dampened hair behind her ears, wiped the tears that had been forced out with her sleeve, and gasped: “That… almost killed me.”
Deng Ying took the cup she had drunk from, and stood to place it on the desk, suppressing his inner turmoil, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you would feel so ill, I…”
“It’s fine.”
Yang Wan didn’t know what this “sorry” was apologizing for, nor how to explain her reaction to him. After all, in modern civilized society, the scene of “executing” someone was hidden from the public. She had a legal concept of the death penalty, but no concept of fresh corpses or the smell of dead people’s blood.
Thinking this, she pressed her throbbing temples, “I’m fine now, just couldn’t handle that smell for a moment.”
After speaking, she sniffed again, grabbed the chair back to stand up, lowered her head to arrange her dress, and asked in a muffled voice, “Why has the Directorate of Ceremonial been executing so many people lately?”
Deng Ying took advantage of her inattention to lower his sleeves, covering the skin of his wrists, and asked her in return, “What has Senior Lady Jiang told you all?”
Yang Wan shook her head while arranging her clothes, “Senior Lady is the most proper among the female officials, she wouldn’t mention such things.” After speaking, she returned to sit at the desk, took out her notebook, turned to a new page and smoothed it, dipped her brush in ink, raised her head, and continued, “I’m wondering if it’s because of the corruption case at the Liuli Factory.”
Deng Ying originally didn’t want to mention this matter, but seeing Yang Wan’s manner as she held her brush, he couldn’t bring himself to respond coldly.