Page 22 of The Scholar's Improper Wife

Pushing the door open, the comforting scent of paper and ink greeted her, mingling with the faint fragrance from the brazier. An old man in neat but faded scholar’s garb perched on a high stool behind the counter, polishing a jade seal. He was scowling, his wispy beard quivering as he glared out the opened window.

“Tch! Look at that rabble!” he grumbled without turning. “Flocking like starved pigeons to spilled grain!”

Yun-si followed his gaze. Directly opposite, beneath bright new yellow banners proclaiming ‘LATEST SENSATION!’, a queue snaked away from the grand entrance of Golden House Books. The excitement was palpable even through the distance.

“Old Wang?” Yun-si ventured, placing her manuscript on the worn countertop. He turned, his scowl softening slightly at the sight of her parcel. “Ah, Recluse in Clouds. Have you got it?The Mystery of Thunder Blade?”

Yun-si nodded, pushing it towards him. “Finished. I think... I think it’s my best.”

Old Wang snatched the bundle, his gnarled fingers working the ribbon with surprising speed. He didn’t sit. He stood there beside the stove, flipping pages, his lips moving silently as he devoured the opening chapters, occasionally pausing to squint at a passage. Yun-si watched, her earlier confidence wilting under his intense scrutiny. The scratch of his nail against a page was deafening. Outside, an endless crowd entered and emerged from Golden House Books clutching packages wrapped in yellow paper.

“Hmph. Gimmicks,” Old Wang muttered, though his eyes never left her pages. He flipped faster now, reaching the climax where her heroine faced down the corrupt magistrate. A flicker of something like approval crossed his face. He snapped the final page shut.

“Well?” Yun-si’s voice was barely above a whisper. The warmth of the brazier suddenly felt stifling.

“Good,” Old Wang conceded, tapping the manuscript. “Solid. Realistic fighting. Intrigue’s tight. Characters have backbone.” He paused, rubbing his chin. “But...”

Yun-si’s stomach lurched. “But?”

He gestured emphatically towards the queue visible through the window. “But that! That’s what pulls the pigeons!” He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Golden House has got a new one from Moonlit Brush.The Besotted Flower Thief. Scandalous, they say! Confucius will turn in his grave! But it’s flying off the shelves faster than autumn leaves in a gale!”

“Your story, Mistress Recluse,” Old Wang continued, oblivious to her inner turmoil, “it’s got bone, it’s got muscle. What it lacks isheart. The fluttering, swooning, breath-stealing kind. The kind that makes readers clutch the book to their chests and sigh.” He tapped the manuscript again. “You needmore. More stolen glances heavy with meaning. More accidental touches that leave sparks. More...romance. Readers crave it! They devour it! Without it, Thunder Blade is just... well, thunder. A bit loud, a bit dusty.”

Yun-si stared at him, aghast. “More romance? But... they’re martial artists!! Fugitives! They’re focused on survival, revenge!”

“And they can’t steal a moment in a hidden grotto? Share body heat against the cold? Have a kiss that’s not just air passing underwater?” Old Wang’s eyes gleamed. “We need to beat that Flower Thief at his own game. We need Thunder Blade to top the Huaben Bestsellers Chart! Make Golden House Books eat their yellow banners!”

Yun-si looked from the earnest, determined bookseller to the bustling queue across the street. Defeating Moonlit Brush... the thrill of it warred with a confusing, terrifying flutter low in her belly when she thought of... research. She took a shaky breath, meeting Old Wang’s gaze. Old Wang mistook her flush for competitive spirit.

“Yes! That fire!” he encouraged. “Channel that! Add the spice. The yearning. Thenearness. Make their loyalties war with their desires! That’s the recipe for a chart-topper.”

“Fine,” she said, her voice firmer than she felt. She reached out and pulled her manuscript back. “I’ll add the romance. We’ll beat him.”

Old Wang grinned, revealing a missing tooth. “That’s the spirit! Next bestseller, right here!”

Yun-si clutched the manuscript tightly, the weight of the new task settling over her like a heavy cloak. Romance. She needed to write romance. She absolutely, resolutely, didnotthink about Gu Ting-zhi.

Chapter 10

Si-er,

I’ve been patient. But even deities have limits.

Meet me tomorrow at the library.

We have research to discuss.

—Zhi

Ting-zhi had instructed Wen-xin to send the note over to Yun-si with a basket of her favorite black sesame pastries.

The boy had skipped off with the enthusiasm of someone who didn’t understand the existential crisis his master was enduring.

Ting-zhi, meanwhile, spent the intervening hours in a state of carefully controlled panic reciting passages from Zhuangzi.

A month. An entire month since the dragon rod incident at the lake. 30 days of self-imposed distance, of resisting the urge to scale the Shen family walls like some lovesick fool from a third-rate huaben. Of havingrestraintand giving herspace—those terrible, virtuous concepts he’d read about in philosophy texts and immediately regretted applying to real life.

She knows now.