Page 29 of The Scholar's Improper Wife

And she felt—

Warmth.

The warmth seeped into her, dispelling the cold that had settled into her bones. His chest was solid against her cheek, his chin resting atop her head as if she were something precious. The warm spicy scent of him filled her lungs, chasing away the icy bite of the night. His hands settled at the small of her back, fingers splayed just enough to press her closer.

Yun-si stiffened. “What are you doing! We’re supposed to be—!”

“Researching?” His voice rumbled against her temple. “Iamresearching.”

“Bymanhandlingme?” She squeaked.

“Byholdingyou.” A pause. His breath stirred her hair and his voice was huskier than usual. “Tell me, Si-er... does this feel like something worth sneaking out for?”

She swallowed. Here, in the circle of his arms, her skin prickled with something she did not entirely understand. The moon, previously stingy with its light, now spilled silver across the pond, turning the frozen surface into a mirror of stars. The garden’s sharp edges softened. Even the wind quieted, as if holding its breath.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic. “It’s...”

“Mmm?”

“It’s not thegarden,” she admitted, voice small. “It’s the... thenot being alonein it.”

Ting-zhi’s hold tightened, just for a heartbeat. Then his lips brushed the shell of her ear, his words a whisper meant only for her. “Now you understand.”

And under the cover of darkness, she held on just a bit tighter.

Did they feel this way too? Lost, and scared. But warm, and safe.

Chapter 13

The plum grove lay hushed beneath a fresh dusting of snow. Inside the pavilion, heavy embroidered curtains had been hung between the pillars, shielding the family from the winter wind while allowing glimpses of the delicate plum blossoms beyond. Bronze braziers glowed in each corner, their warmth chasing away the chill. Beneath the glow of lanterns, a round table had been set in the centre of the pavilion, laden with steaming dishes and bowls of freshly made glutinous rice balls in sweet ginger broth. The Shen family gathered around it as they did every Winter Solstice, their voices mingling with the crackle of charcoal and the soft rustle of plum branches outside.

Yun-si picked at her bowl of glutinous rice dumpling balls, watching as Ting-zhi—flawless in his dark green robes—inclined his head at something her father said. The Gu family had always been invited to the Shen family’s annual Winter Solstice dinner, a tradition that began after Ting-zhi’s mother passed away when he was ten.

“Mm..” her elder sister Yun-yao murmured behind her sleeves. “Ting-zhi’s manners grow more refined each year.”

Yun-si’s spoon clinked against porcelain.Refined.The same hands that had caught her mid-swoon last week now lifted his teacup with affected delicacy. The same mouth that had whispered“Heroic enough?”against her hair now formed polite platitudes for her mother.

“Third Sister.” Yun-jia nudged her elbow and whispered. “You’re staring.”

She blinked. The white glutenous ball in her bowl had split open under the constant attack of her spoon, dark sesame paste oozed out from the pristine white ball.

Him.

An innocent smooth and pristine white exterior hiding black wickedness inside. And she’s the only one who gets to see past the perfectly proper scholar to the shameless tease beneath. Yun-si’s teeth sank into the ball. The burst of dark sweetness flooded her tongue, tasting nothing like what the black goo had suggested.

Just like him again.

Ting-zhi chose that moment to glance up. His gaze flickered over her spoon, then her face. One brow quirked in silent question before he turned back to Chancellor Shen with flawless decorum.

“—all prepared to take the imperial examinations next spring,” he was saying, voice smooth as polished jade.

Yun-si stabbed another dumpling ball.

“Careful.” Yun-yao hid a smile. “You’ll poke through the bowl.”

Across the room, Ting-zhi’s sleeve brushed a wine cup. He caught it before it could topple—quick as he’d caught her wrist yesterday when she’d tripped on the door-step—then smiled apologetically at the servant.

Liar.The boy who’d once hidden crickets in her writing box was still in there, grinning behind that impeccable facade. The scholar who’d held her so carefully in the moonlight now sat straight-backed and proper, all while his foot tapped an idle rhythm against the floor—three quick beats, a pause, then another three quick beats. Their childhood signal formeet me later.