Page 6 of The Scholar's Improper Wife

Her eyes went wide.

She slammed it shut. “These—these areillustrations!”

Detailed ones. Very detailed. With labels and arrows and—

Ting-zhi arched an eyebrow, expression perfectly dry. “Or would you rather see mine?”

For one frozen heartbeat, Yun-si’s brain simply stopped working.

Then his words registered.

“What?!” Her voice came out as a strangled squeak.

“For educational purposes.” His face was completely innocent. Completely. But his eyes—his eyes were dancing with unholy amusement. “You seemed confused by the illustrations. A live reference might be more—”

She didn’t let him finish.

Clutching the medical texts to her chest, she fled.

She stumbled over her own skirts in her haste to escape, caught herself on the doorframe, and disappeared into the corridor in a flurry of silk and mortification.

Behind her, she could have sworn she heard him laughing.

Chapter 3

The morning sun slanted through the paper-covered lattice windows as Ting-zhi stretched, the events of yesterday replaying in his mind. A slow grin spread across his face. That expression on Yun-si’s face—horror, realization, then absolute mortification—had been worth every second of his own embarrassment.Dragon rod. The absurdity of it. She’d asked with such earnest confusion, shoving that erotic huaben at his face.

He swung his legs off the bed, still chuckling. No one else ever saw her like that. Flustered, stammering, her usual dreamy composure shattered. Since young, he had loved peeling back that quiet, untouchable exterior and see the stuttering, blustering and delightful girl underneath.

A knock, then a little boy shuffled in, lugging a basin of water with exaggerated care. Ting-zhi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wen-xin,” he groaned, “how many times must I say it? I’m perfectly capable of fetching my own wash water. I don’t need a child who barely reaches my waist to perform thisvitalservice.”

The boy straightened, puffing out his chest with solemn pride. “But it’s my responsibility, Young Master!” His voice wobbled with earnestness, peach-blossom eyes wide, dimples flashing.

Ting-zhi eyed him, suspicion creeping in once again. Those features were too uncannily similar to his. If not for the fact that Wen-xin’s parents were both alive and well, he’d swear the esteemed Headmaster of Shen Clan School had fathered hima sibling in old age. Nonetheless, he had no doubt his father had chosen Wen-xin to be his book boy purely for the sake of tormenting him with a miniature, dimpled reflection.

Ting-zhi splashed his face. Today’s gathering at the teahouse would be dull in comparison, but duty called. He selected a robe of deep indigo, the embroidery subtle but fine, and adjusted his scholar’s cap in the mirror. The reflection smiled cockily back.

PEAR BLOSSOM TEAHOUSEhummed with the low murmur of scholars, the scent of various teas curling through the air.

“Ah, Gu Ting-zhi!” Cheng-yi, his chubby friend whose family owned this teahouse and many more, waved him over. “Come and try these new pastries!”

Ting-zhi stepped inside the large private room, nodding to familiar faces as he slid into a seat.

“The prodigal son returns.” Laughter and greetings rippled around him, voices overlapping as fellow scholars called out.

“Tell us, how does it feel to have your father’s treatises practically written into the examination syllabus?” Scholar Zhang asked with a barbed smile.

Ting-zhi accepted a cup of tea with a lazy smile and glanced at him mildly. “A heavy burden, truly. Imagine the disappointment if I fail. My father’s reputation will crumble, and half the examinees will weep over wasted study time.”

Laughter rippled around the table. “As if you’d fail,” scoffed another. “With your father’s guidance, you’re practically guaranteed a top rank.”

“Ah, but taking the examinations is like swimming upstream,” Ting-zhi mused, brushing his thumb over his teacup. “First, the local exams where you compete with everyone in the province who has learnt the classics and fancies himself a potential official. Then the provincial exams, where the realculling begins. And if you survivethat, you get to freeze in the capital for the imperial exams, praying your ink doesn’t freeze mid-essay.”

“Don’t forget the final hall examination in the Hall of Brightness where the top candidates will be assessed by the Emperor!” Cheng-yi added, leaning in. “They say he can tell a man’s worth in three questions.”

Ting-zhi smirked. “Or in one, if you’re unlucky.”

The scholars chuckled, but their eyes gleamed with the weight of ambition. The imperial exams weren’t just a test—they were a ladder, and every scholar here was determined to climb it. Aiming for the highest ranks was to attempt the carp’s leap through the Dragon Gate at the head of the stream. Succeed, and one might become a dragon. Fail, and one would remain just another fish in the river.