Page 46 of The Scholar's Improper Wife

When he finally pulled back, his breath came uneven, his thumb tracing the swollen curve of her mouth. “Now you know how I’ve been sleeping.” The words were a growl, low and dark as the bruise his kiss had left on her soul.

“Confucius is definitely spinning,” Yun-si muttered, flipping the page despite herself.

By the middle of the book, the couple had progressed from kissing to significantly more scandalous territory. Yun-si had to fan herself with her free hand. The prose was elegant and poetic, but thecontent...

... he traced the lines of her face softly with a finger, then slowly, down her throat to where her lapels touched, and down, and down. Her breath became shallow and her hands forgot what they were supposed to be doing. His fingers found the ribbon’s end and drew it loose with the patience of a man savoring a feast. The fabric whispered apart, baring the slope of her shoulder to the candlelight. Her ivory skin wasdusted with the faintest blush, as if the peach blossoms outside had been crushed into her very flesh.

“Do you know,” he murmured, his breath a sinful caress against the shell of her ear, “how many nights I’ve dreamed of this?” His lips followed the words, pressing to the delicate hollow at her throat. She shuddered, her nails digging into the bed, but he only chuckled, low and dark.

His tongue flicked out, tasting the pulse that fluttered wildly beneath her skin. “Salt and honey,” he groaned. “You’re sweeter than the lychees of Lingnan.” His teeth grazed her shoulder next, just sharp enough to make her gasp, before soothing the sting with the flat of his tongue. “Tell me, my shy little recluse, did you ever imagine it would feel like this?” His hand slid inside the loosened robe, palms skimming upward until his thumb brushed the underside of her breast. “Like you’re one spark away from turning to ash?”

A breathless sound escaped her, and he took it as permission. His palms cradled her, fingers splaying possessively as his mouth trailed along her collarbone. “Perfect,” he murmured against her skin with a smile. “Let me be the one to set you aflame.”

She should stop reading.

She turned another page.

Dawn light crept through her window lattices before Yun-si registered she’d finished the huaben. Yun-si realized with horror that not only had she been holding her breath, but she also felt uncomfortably wet in places she shouldn’t even know existed.

But beyond the shocking intimacy, the writing itself sang. Each sentence flowed seamlessly into the next. The emotions of the characters felt soreal. Moonlit Brush had woven romance and scandal into something undeniably brilliant.

No wonder Golden House Books had queues wrapping around the block.

She hated him. And desperately wanted to meet him.

Chapter 20

The shop was eerily silent when Yun-si pushed the door open. The air hung stale, thick with the ghost of incense long burned out.

Old Wang stood in his usual spot behind the counter, but something was wrong. The brazier sat cold. The shelves—once overflowing with scrolls and stitched volumes—now held gaps like missing teeth. His faded robes looked crumpled, and she could see where the cuffs frayed.

Yun-si clutched the manuscript to her chest. “Old Wang?”

He didn’t look up from the ledger. “Mistress Recluse.”

She stepped closer. The countertop, usually neatly arranged with his inkstone, brushes and abacus, was dull with dust. “The shop...?”

“Closing.” He coughed—a raspy cough like dry brush on rice paper. “Physician says my health needs rest. And Golden House—” Old Wang laughed bitterly. “They’ve been cutting deals with the book printers and distributors to go exclusive. That means no books to sell for smaller bookshops like Autumn Leaf.”

Yun-si’s fingers tightened around the manuscript. Through the window, she could see Golden House Books across the street. Moonlit Brush’s latest volume sat prominently in their front window, the colored covers catching every scrap of sunlight.

Old Wang finally met her eyes. “I’m sorry, child.” The familiar spark in his eyes had dimmed to something resembling resignation.

The words landed like a blade between her ribs.He knew.Knew what this meant for her—no more anonymous submissions, no more slipping manuscripts into his hands like secrets. No moreRecluse in Clouds.

She swallowed. “When?”

“End of the month.” He tapped the ledger. “Just finishing the accounts.”

Yun-si set the manuscript on the counter.Thunder Blade’s Revenge, the revised version, the one she’d stayed up night after night to finish.

Old Wang didn’t reach for it. “Golden House will take you. With your talent—”

“I don’t want them.” The words slipped out, sharper than she meant.

He sighed. “Then burn it.”

She flinched.