Page 47 of The Scholar's Improper Wife

“Not literally,” he said. “But if you can’t publish, what’s the point? Better to let it go than let them have it.” Old Wang’s voice softened. “Or find another shop. But they’re all...watchingnow.”

A draft whispered through the cracks in the walls. Somewhere outside, the bell above Golden House’s doors jingled, too cheerful.

Yun-si tucked the manuscript under her arm. “I’ll be back.”

Old Wang didn’t answer. Instead, he turned away, his shoulders slightly hunched, as if the weight of the news had settled into his bones. The familiar shuffle of his steps was slower now, each movement deliberate, like he was testing his knees before trusting it with his weight.

Yun-si watched as his gnarled fingers, the ones that had once flipped through her manuscripts with such care, trembled just a little as he straightened the few volumes of poetry on the shelves. The sight of it twisted something in her chest. Old Wang hadseemed like forever, as permanent as the bookshop that was now closing. Seeing him like this made the loss of her own secret world feel even sharper.

The streets of Shangjing blurred past as she walked home, her steps slow, dragging through the slush of fallen petals. She clutchedThunder Blade’s Revengeagainst her chest tightly, as if to assure herself it’s still there. Shangjing’s bustling streets felt hollow—the vendors’ cries muffled, the clatter of carriages like stones dropped into deep water. She moved through it all, a ghost in pale pink silk.

In Peach Blossom Courtyard, she closed her chamber door and leaned against it. Her fingers traced the title on the book—Thunder Blade’s Revenge. Old Wang’s raspy voice echoed:Better to let it go than let them have it.

She stared at the neat columns of characters. This wasn’t just paper and ink. It was every hushed midnight hour spent hunched over her desk, the thrill of knowing her stories were being read by many. Old Wang had been the first to take her seriously. He’d looked at her first finished story and said, “Fix the pacing, tighten the story. But the voice? That’s something special.”

A dry sob caught in her throat. Golden House Books glittered like gilded chains. She had heard of them—they demanded exclusivity, once a story entered their halls it could no longer be carried elsewhere. They spoke of expanding the literary world, yet the small street bookshops were already beginning to empty, their shelves thinning as more and more titles were drawn into Golden House’s vast, quiet monopoly.

She buried her head into the manuscript. Old Wang was retiring. The shop—that dim, incense-scented sanctuary where her stories lived—was vanishing. And with it, would Recluse in Clouds disappear too?

Chapter 21

Morning light crept through the latticed windows in pale gold, warming the edges of the room where books and inkstones rested in careful order. A branch of late apricot flowers tilted at the perfect angle in the celadon vase chosen for the season. The air was fragranced with the light scent her mother preferred—slightly woody with a faintly herbal undertone.

Yun-si sat with her hands folded, her spine so straight it ached, thoughts wandering to the flower thief she had justrereada few hours ago. Across from her, Lady Shen sat behind a table laden with more scrolls and ledgers than usual. Beside Yun-si, Yun-jia sat in a modicum of grace, trying to discreetly eat the lychee she had swiped off the bowl on her mother’s side-table.

“Yun-si, we’re reviewing your dowry today.” Lady Shen unrolled a particularly impressive-looking scroll. As always, her tone was perfectly modulated. “You will have thirty-two chests of dowry.”

Yun-jia looked up, lychee juice glistening on her fingers. “Thirty-two? Didn’t eldest sister get sixty-four chests?”

Lady Shen took a measured sip of tea, gathering the patience required for the explanation. “The number of chests must be appropriate to station, rank, and the betrothal gifts received. Too little or too much can both be perceived as an affront.”

“Yun-yao married the Great General by imperial decree. Her dowry procession was watched by the entire capital.” Lady Shensuppressed a sigh. “And she had the whole General’s Residence to house her dowry. Where would your third sister find room for sixty-four chests of dowry in Master Gu’s residence?”

“Instead, we will be giving you more banknotes and shops.” She looked at Yun-si.

“Shops.” Yun-jia chirped in excitedly. “Do we get to choose the shops?”

“No.” Lady Shen’s voice was flat. “These are already selected for practicality.”

“Boring,” Yun-jia muttered.

Lady Shen ignored her. “Six shops in the capital.”

Six shops. Yun-si heard the words like distant thunder. That sounds like a lot of work.

“One cloth shop on Brocade Street,” Lady Shen continued, tapping the scroll. “Profitable. Steady income. One cosmetics shop by Lotus Bridge. And two provisions stores near the East Market. Unglamorous, but essential.”

“Additionally, you’ll receive two farms with tenants. They generate annual income and already have trusted overseers, requiring minimal oversight.”

Yun-si nodded dutifully. Her mind was already drifting again—now to the bookshop, to Old Wang’s weary face two days ago, to the way he’d said end of the month like a death sentence.

Lady Shen was still talking. “A woman’s dowry is her foundation. Your dowry must sustain you and let you hold your head high in your husband’s family. It is yours by law and cannot be taken away. It must provide for you and your children.” Her gaze swept over both daughters—Yun-si’s glazed expression, Yun-jia’s sticky fingers. “Yun-yao was trained from age ten to manage an entire clan’s finances with me. Lands, shops and grain stores across provinces. You two—” A pause, weighted with resignation. “—you only have to manage one household, six shops and two farms. But you must do it well.”

Yun-jia leaned forward, eyes bright. “But what if I want different shops? Like a jewelry shop? Or a toy trinkets shop? Or one of those little stalls selling sweet plum drinks by the river?”

Lady Shen’s patience frayed visibly. “Yun-jia, this is not a game. A dowry isn’t trinkets and pretty thing. These shops must be profitable, or—”

Lady Shen unrolled the scroll further and took a deep breath.