Page 4 of The Scholar's Improper Wife

Which meant she could finally get answers to the questions that had been plaguing her. She hugged the pile of books she held to her chest. Her publisher Old Wang had flatly denied her request to borrow “reference materials”, so she had dressed in her scholar’s garb and secretly procured these books from a nameless bookshop near Scholar’s Lane.

The books had left her utterly baffled.

The rhythmic drone of young voices chanting Confucian classics drifted from the open windows of the distant classroom hall.

Ahead, the library’s imposing three-storey structure rose, a water channel glinting around its base. Two paths led across: the stepping stones, uneven and treacherous, and the small, sturdy stone bridge.

Her gaze flicked to the stones. A phantom splash echoed in her ears, the shock of cold water soaking her skirts when she was eight, her foot slipping. Ting-zhi’s shout, sharp with a fear she’d never heard before, then his surprisingly strong hands hauling her out, dripping and shivering. He’d fussed, draping his own dry outer robe around her shoulders, his usual smirk replaced by tight-lipped concern. He’d never teased her about it, never suggested she try the stones again.

The bridge it was then, as always. She walked the arched bridge slowly, carefully, the water whispering below.

Pushing open the heavy library door muted the outside world. Cool, dry air, thick with the scent of aged paper and ink, enveloped her. Dust motes danced in sunbeams slicing through lattice windows. Shelves laden with scrolls and bound volumes loomed quietly. Her eyes scanned the quiet space.

He was there. Near a window, bathed in light. Ting-zhi sat at a table, spine straight but with an air of relaxed concentration. An open book lay before him, his elegant fingers resting lightly on the page. Sunlight caught the sharp line of his jaw, the faint smear of ink on his knuckles. He hadn’t noticed her yet, absorbed in his study. He turned a page, the sound crisp in the stillness.

Then, as if sensing her presence, his head lifted slightly. Those dark eyes, usually veiled in lazy amusement, focused on her and a smile touched his lips.

“Si-er?” He called, his low voice carrying a hint of intimacy as it cut through the library’s hush.

Yun-si hid an involuntary shiver. She still could not get used to how his voice sounded now, deep and warm, like a man. Two years had washed away every hint of the squeak that had been there before he left on his scholar’s journey to the south.

“Ting-zhi!” She marched up to his desk with purpose. “I have questions.”

He looked up from his classical texts, expression wary. Probably remembering last night’s promise. Good. He couldn’t back out now.

“Questions,” he repeated carefully.

“Research questions.” She carefully put the pile of books on his desk. “You said you’d help me understand romance. Well, I need help understanding these now.”

His eyes landed on the top book. She watched his expression shift from wary to something approaching horror.

“Si-er. What. What are these?”

“Research materials? The bookshop owner said they were the most authentic depictions of marital relations. Very popular.” She felt proud of her initiative. See? She was taking this research partnership seriously. “But I don’t understand them. That’s why I need your help.”

“Help.” His voice had gone flat. “You want my help. With these.”

“You promised!” She opened the top volume to her marked page. “Look, here: ‘He thrust his dragon rod into her and she moaned in pain.’ What is a dragon rod? I looked through all the martial arts manuals—”

The choking sound he made was concerning.

“—and I couldn’t find any weapon called dragon rod. The closest was dragon staff, but that’s a long staff weapon and it definitely wouldn’t fit—” She gestured vaguely. “—wherever thisis supposed to go. So is it ceremonial? Because the books keep mentioning it. ‘His mighty dragon rod.’ ‘His jade pillar.’ And—”

“Stop talking.” The words came out strangled.

She frowned. “But you said you’d help me research—”

“Not. This.” He pointed at the books like they might bite him. “This is not. I didn’t mean. When I agreed to help you research—” He seemed to be having trouble forming complete sentences.

“These are romance books,” she said, confused by his reaction. “Very popular romance books apparently. Which is what I need to write about. So—”

“Where did you get these?” He picked up the top book with two fingers, like it was contaminated. He flipped the pages and his face underwent a fascinating transformation from pale to pink to something approaching crimson.

He spread her jade petals and plunged his throbbing dragon pillar into her chrysanthemum cave—

He slammed the book shut.

“The seller said they were very educational—”