Page 51 of The Scholar's Improper Wife

It’s me.

Moonlit Brush is me.

She doesn’t know.

She was writing to an author she liked, someone whose books he had gifted her.

And he—her betrothed, her childhood friend, her beloved who wasnota nicer brother—was holding her words in his hands, uninvited.

He should tell her.

The rational part of his mind—the part that had guided him through years of careful social navigation and strategic thinking—insisted on it with crystalline clarity. He should end this now, cleanly, before it went any further.

The honorable thing would be to reveal himself immediately. To confess that Moonlit Brush, the author whose words had stirred something in her heart, was simply Gu Ting-zhi wearing another mask.

But then again... he could reply just once, he told himself. Purely to understand her intentions, of course. To know how she sees his work. It was perfectly reasonable research, really.

He reached for a fresh sheet of paper, his pulse already quickening with the familiar thrill of a well-orchestrated scheme, squashing the doubts that whispered at the back of his mind.

One letter, he promised himself, as he deliberately wrote with his left hand. Just one, to see what secrets his Si-er might reveal when she thought she was writing to a stranger.

To Mistress Shen,

Should the honored lady find merit in further discourse regarding the humble writings of this author, I would be pleased—

Too formal. He crumpled it.

Mistress Shen,

Forgive my delay in replying. Your words were... unexpected—

No. Still not right.

This was madness.

He tried one last time.

To the Reader Who Stole My Sleep,

You write with the precision of a scholar and the passion of a dreamer. A dangerous combination.

I would be honored to correspond with one who appreciates my stories so deeply. Tell me, which of my works has left the deepest impression upon you?

Moonlit Brush

He sealed it before he could stop himself.

Chapter 23

Afresh breeze carried peach blossom petals through her windows and unto her study table, but Yun-si barely noticed. Her fingers trembled as she broke the seal on Moonlit Brush’s reply.

She read it once. Twice. A third time, her lips curling into a smile she couldn’t suppress.

Yun-si pressed the letter to her chest, her heart pounding against her ribs.He replied.Heactuallyreplied. The words were elegant, teasing, exactly like the voice in his stories—the one that made her stay up late, ruining her eyes page by page in candlelight.

—which of my works has left the deepest impression upon you?

Moonlit Brush was asking for her opinions! This was going to be a true exchange between writers! This deserved a proper reply. Yun-si pulled down the collection of Moonlit Brush huabens gifted to her by Ting-zhi and flipped through them. The margins were already jotted with notes, her favorite scenes marked.