Page 30 of The Scholar's Improper Wife

Her spoon froze mid-air.

Ting-zhi sipped his tea, eyes downturned. The candlelight caught the curve of his lashes, the smile hiding at the corner of his mouth.

Yun-si’s ears burned. She focused very hard on not crushing the remaining dumpling balls.

Outside, the first winter winds rattled the blossoms. Inside, Gu Ting-zhi—scholar, gentleman, absolute menace—lifted his cup in a toast to the family, the picture of a perfect gentleman.

Yun-si exhaled through her nose.

Black sesame dumpling ball.

TING-ZHI SLIPPED AWAYwhen Chancellor Shen and Master Gu descended into their cups, their voices growing louder with each toast to the winter solstice.

His feet carried him through the familiar paths without conscious thought. Past the moon gate, around the artificial hill, toward the secluded corner where the potted pines were.

His pulse thrummed in his throat as he rounded the corner, nervous with what he has been planning for tonight.

She would be there. Their unspoken understanding had developed its own rhythm over these months of “research.”

And there she was.

Yun-si stood between the ceramic planters, her breath forming small clouds in the crisp air. The camellia pink of her winter cloak made her look like a delicate flower herself, though he knew better—knew the sharp mind beneath all that ethereal beauty.

His heart hammered against his ribs, he forced his voice to remain steady, but it came out huskier than usual. “Do you still want to do the kiss research?”

She turned, and even in the dim lantern light, he caught the flush spreading across her cheeks. “The kissing research?”

“Mmm.” He stepped closer, close enough to catch her familiar peach blossom scent. “Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“No.” Her voice was barely a whisper. She tilted her head up, and bit her lips again. “I... want to. For the sake of... research.”

The sound of approaching footsteps—servants clearing the outdoor braziers—cut through the moment like a blade. Without thinking, Ting-zhi caught her hand and pulled her deeper into the shadows, past the ornamental rocks to where the garden wall created a hidden alcove.

They pressed against the cold stone, hearts racing from more than just the sudden movement. The servants’ voices drifted past, discussing tomorrow’s cleaning duties, then faded toward the kitchens.

Silence settled around them like silk.

“Here?” she breathed.

The moonlight caught in her eyes, and Ting-zhi felt a blooming warmth in his chest. This was Yun-si. His Si-er. The girl who’d shared stolen pastries and midnight conversations, who trusted him with her dreams and her reputation, who comforted him when his mother died.

Who was looking at him now like he held all the answers to questions she didn’t know how to ask.

“Here,” he confirmed, his voice rougher than intended.

And leaned down to close the space between them.

Light. Barely there. Like moonlight given weight—cool and bright and gone too soon. His heart stumbled, then raced. The kiss lasted three heartbeats, maybe four, before he pulled back just enough to breathe.

The rational part of his mind screamed warnings—Chancellor’s garden, servants nearby, her reputation—but the rest of him had stopped listening the moment their lips touched.

Ting-zhi cupped her face, thumbs brushing the delicate line of her jaw, and kissed her again. Not the careful press of a scholar demonstrating technique. This was the kiss he’d imagined in a hundred sleepless nights—the one that tasted of confession and stolen futures.

Her gasp became his as he deepened it, pulse roaring in his ears. The cold garden wall at her back, the scent of frost on leaves, none of it mattered beyond the way she melted against him, pliant and warm despite the winter air.

Si-er.

The endearment burned in his chest, unspoken. His hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them, no pretense of research or friendship. Just this—her breath mingling with his, her heartbeat answering the frantic rhythm of his own.