Page 2 of The Scholar's Improper Wife

The man’s eyes narrowed, looking at Yun-si’s face. Looking too closely.

Ting-zhi shifted. Nothing obvious. Just a subtle step that put his body between them, blocking the man’s view.

“We really should be going,” he continued, that lazy charm never faltering. “My father will be expecting us.”

“Cousin, huh?” The man swayed slightly. “Funny, you never mentioned—”

“Distant cousin.” Ting-zhi interrupted, already moving them around him. “Very distant. Good to see you, Zhang. Enjoy your evening.”

They were through the door before the man could respond.

THE CHILLY NIGHT AIRhit Yun-si like a slap.

Ting-zhi had let go of her elbow the moment they were out from the House of Fragrant Peony. But he didn’t slow down. He just kept walking faster and faster, trusting her to follow, daring hernotto follow. She hurried to follow his quick pace, the bindings around her chest making it hard to breathe, the scholar’s cap on her head threatening to topple with every step.

Yun-si had never heard Gu Ting-zhi this quiet.

In all their years of friendship, through childhood squabbles and adolescent arguments, he’d always had words. Too many words, usually—teasing observations that made her face heat, infuriating comments delivered with that innocent expression, verbal traps she walked into without realizing until too late. She’d often wished, in moments of particular vexation, that he would just shut up for once.

Now that he had, she discovered she hated it.

The silence felt like a wall between them, and with each step she could feel it building higher. His anger was a living thing, radiating from the set of his shoulders and the measuredprecision of his stride. This wasn’t the playful antagonism she knew. This was something else entirely.

Something that made her chest tight and stuffy.

“Ting-zhi—” she tried.

He didn’t respond. Didn’t even turn his head.

They turned onto a quieter street, further from the courtesan district. She could remove her disguise soon, return to being Shen Yun-si, third daughter of Chancellor Shen, instead of this awkward boy-scholar. But first, she needed him to say something. Anything.

Her hand shot out, catching his sleeve. “Zhi-zhi.”

He stopped. The use of his childhood name—the one only she used, remnant of the days when she couldn’t pronounce his full name properly—finally broke through. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t turn around either.

“Zhi-zhi,” she said again, tugging at his sleeve.

“Please,” she whispered. “Say something. Yell at me if you want, just—don’t be silent.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then his head bowed slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was low and strained. “If I yell, someone might hear. And if someone hears, they might investigate. And if they investigate...” He finally turned, and the look in his eyes made her breath catch. Not anger, though that was there too. It was fear. Raw, undisguised fear. “Do you understand what would have happened if anyone had recognized you?”

“I was careful—”

“Careful.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You were in a courtesan house, dressed as a man, alone. That’s not careful, Shen Yun-si. That’s—” He stopped, jaw tight. “Why?”

She pulled her hand back, defensive. “It’s for... research.”

“Research for what?”

The question hung between them. She could lie. Should lie. But something about the way he was looking at her, the fear still lingering in his eyes, made the truth spill out.

“I...” she darted a glance at him then looked away quickly. “I writehuabens,” she stammered out. “My sword-fighting stories and, and my adventure stories. But there’s this rival author who writes romance so well that I’m losing readers, and I thought, I thought if I could just understand how those scenes work, how people really act when they’re—when they’re courting or being intimate, I could write it better. But I’ve never...” Her cheeks burned as she forced herself to admit it. “I don’t have experience with any of it.”

“You want to write romance huabens.”

“Yes.”

“And you need reference material.”