The Scholar’s Improper Wife (Ballad of the Five Seasons #2)

Chapter 1

Gu Ting-zhi wasn’t drunk enough for this to be working.

Three flasks of wine, two hours of listening to the courtesans’ cacophony of zithers and pipas paired with cloying perfumes and too much of his friends’ bawdy jokes had culminated in a headache that refused to go away and a dinner that was intent on being transmuting into something less dignified.

He slipped outside, desperate for air and a moment’s peace, letting his mind drift.

The corridor was quieter, offering a view of the stage on the first floor where dancers in celadon blue were performing to lively music.

Gauzy curtains in pale colors fell from the ceiling beams and doorways, softening the lamplight and making things just slightly harder to see clearly, so that everything and everyone looked more beautiful in the dream-like haze.

Behind him, he could hear the laughter of the scholars who were supposed to be studying for the upcoming Imperial Examinations in spring but were instead quoting poetry with the flirting courtesans.

Relationships, he reminded himself, are as important as literary prowess in the world of politics. Especially, when you are neither a noble nor from a prestigious lineage of esteemed officials.

Normally, he could navigate this effortlessly.

But tonight, his thoughts were filled with a girl in pale pink, the one who had nearly stumbled into a pond that afternoon, lost in her own world as always.

This was the first time he’d seen her since returning from his two-year scholar’s journey in the southern provinces.

Heavens knew how many detours he’d taken over the past two weeks, meandering through the Shen Residence’s gardens every time he visited Yun-shan at Clear Mountain Lodge.

How many times a week, he asked himself, can I reasonably go to Yun-shan’s place before he finds me a nuisance? Why does adulthood make everything so complicated?

He was still thinking of Yun-si when he saw a furtive young scholar moved toward the stairs where a courtesan was leading a patron. The scholar accepted a cup of wine from a passing courtesan stiffly and slowly climbed the stairs, eyes darting around, clearly trying to observe.

That posture. That nervous way of holding the cup. The familiar tilt of the head even under the scholar’s cap.

No. She wouldn’t. I must be drunk and thinking about her—

Then he raised his head and Ting-zhi stared straight into the face of the girl in his thoughts.

He moved without thinking, dashing down the stairs in a few quick steps, gripping her wrist and pulling her up and into a corner of the corridor. She gasped, and he pressed her against the wall, one hand beside her head, the other still gripping her wrist.

“Shen Yun-si,” he hissed. “Do you still want your reputation?”

Her eyes went wide, recognition and fear warring in their depths. “Ting-zhi, I—”

“Are you mad?” He was shaking. When had he started shaking? “If anyone saw—”

“Ting-zhi!” His friend Xu Cheng-yi’s voice, too close. “Where did you go?”

Yun-si made a small sound of panic. He shifted, pressing closer, shielding her completely with his body. To anyone looking, they’d see only him, standing oddly close to the wall.

“Ah, there you are!” Cheng-yi appeared around the corner, grinning. “What are you—oh. OH.” Ting-zhi could literally feel him trying to crane his neck around so that he could see who he had against the wall. The grin widened. “I see. Didn’t know you had someone waiting.”

“An old friend.” The lie came with an easy smile that he directed at his friend smoothly despite his thundering heart. “I hadn’t realized he would be here. I’m going to leave early.”

“Of course, of course.” His friend was already backing away, winking and swaying slightly on his feet. “Don’t let us keep you.”

The moment he was gone, Yun-si tried to pull away. Ting-zhi held her still.

“Don’t.” The word was low with a hint of warning. Nothing like the charming scholar who’d been smiling moments ago. “Don’t run. Don’t make a scene. Just come with me.”

“Ting-zhi—”

“Not here.” His fingers tightened fractionally. “Smile. Like we’re old friends meeting unexpectedly. Can you do that?”

She managed something that probably looked more like a grimace.

“Good enough.” He turned, keeping his hand on her elbow, steering her toward the entrance with smooth confidence. To anyone watching, it looked natural. Friendly.

His grip was iron.

They were almost at the door when another man moved into their path. Tall, bulky build, slightly drunk.

“Gu Ting-zhi! Already leaving? You just got here!”

“Old friend,” Ting-zhi said smoothly. “This is my—cousin. From the provinces. Just arrived tonight.”

The man’s eyes narrowed, looking at Yun-si’s face. Looking too closely.

Ting-zhi shifted. Nothing obvious. Just a subtle step that put his body between them, blocking the man’s view.

“We really should be going,” he continued, that lazy charm never faltering. “My father will be expecting us.”

“Cousin, huh?” The man swayed slightly. “Funny, you never mentioned—”

“Distant cousin.” Ting-zhi interrupted, already moving them around him. “Very distant. Good to see you, Zhang. Enjoy your evening.”

They were through the door before the man could respond.

THE CHILLY NIGHT AIR hit Yun-si like a slap.

Ting-zhi had let go of her elbow the moment they were out from the House of Fragrant Peony.

But he didn’t slow down. He just kept walking faster and faster, trusting her to follow, daring her not to follow.

She hurried to follow his quick pace, the bindings around her chest making it hard to breathe, the scholar’s cap on her head threatening to topple with every step.

Yun-si had never heard Gu Ting-zhi this quiet.

In all their years of friendship, through childhood squabbles and adolescent arguments, he’d always had words.

Too many words, usually—teasing observations that made her face heat, infuriating comments delivered with that innocent expression, verbal traps she walked into without realizing until too late.

She’d often wished, in moments of particular vexation, that he would just shut up for once.

Now that he had, she discovered she hated it.

The silence felt like a wall between them, and with each step she could feel it building higher. His anger was a living thing, radiating from the set of his shoulders and the measured precision of his stride. This wasn’t the playful antagonism she knew. This was something else entirely.

Something that made her chest tight and stuffy.

“Ting-zhi—” she tried.

He didn’t respond. Didn’t even turn his head.

They turned onto a quieter street, further from the courtesan district. She could remove her disguise soon, return to being Shen Yun-si, third daughter of Chancellor Shen, instead of this awkward boy-scholar. But first, she needed him to say something. Anything.

Her hand shot out, catching his sleeve. “Zhi-zhi.”

He stopped. The use of his childhood name—the one only she used, remnant of the days when she couldn’t pronounce his full name properly—finally broke through. He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t turn around either.

“Zhi-zhi,” she said again, tugging at his sleeve.

“Please,” she whispered. “Say something. Yell at me if you want, just—don’t be silent.”

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then his head bowed slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was low and strained.

“If I yell, someone might hear. And if someone hears, they might investigate. And if they investigate...” He finally turned, and the look in his eyes made her breath catch.

Not anger, though that was there too. It was fear.

Raw, undisguised fear. “Do you understand what would have happened if anyone had recognized you?”

“I was careful—”

“Careful.” He laughed, but there was no humor in it. “You were in a courtesan house, dressed as a man, alone. That’s not careful, Shen Yun-si. That’s—” He stopped, jaw tight. “Why?”

She pulled her hand back, defensive. “It’s for... research.”

“Research for what?”

The question hung between them. She could lie. Should lie. But something about the way he was looking at her, the fear still lingering in his eyes, made the truth spill out.

“I...” she darted a glance at him then looked away quickly.

“I write huabens,” she stammered out. “My sword-fighting stories and, and my adventure stories. But there’s this rival author who writes romance so well that I’m losing readers, and I thought, I thought if I could just understand how those scenes work, how people really act when they’re—when they’re courting or being intimate, I could write it better.

But I’ve never...” Her cheeks burned as she forced herself to admit it.

“I don’t have experience with any of it. ”

“You want to write romance huabens.”

“Yes.”

“And you need reference material.”

“Yes.”

“So you decided to sneak into a courtesan house. Alone. In disguise.”

When he put it like that, it did sound more foolish than it had felt. “I know it was reckless, but I didn’t know what else to do! It’s not as if I can just ask someone to—to—” She stumbled over the words. “—to demonstrate courtship for me!”

Silence fell again, but this time it felt different.

Charged with something she didn’t understand.

He stared intently at her with his eyes, those lidded peach blossom eyes that fooled you into thinking he was harmless until you felt the full lethal force of it on you.

Then, unexpectedly, his expression shifted from anger to something she couldn’t quite read.

“You could,” he said finally.

She blinked. “What?”

“You could ask someone.” His eyes locked onto hers, making her squirm slightly. That familiar glint—part scheming, part playful— simmered beneath the surface of his anger. “You could ask me.”

Her heart did something complicated in her chest. “Ask you to...?”

“Research with you.” He said it so calmly, as if he were suggesting they study classical texts instead of—of whatever this was.

“You need to understand romance, courtship, intimate scenarios. You need a partner for that. And who better than an old friend? Someone you trust. Someone who understands discretion.”

“You’re not serious.”

“I’m completely serious.” He stepped closer, and she instinctively took a step back to look up at him. “Because if I don’t help you, you’ll do something like this again. You’ll take another reckless risk. And next time I might not be there to stop disaster.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“You would.” It wasn’t a question. He knew her too well. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to write your huabens and compete with your rival. And I’m going to help you research whatever scenes you need. Properly. Safely.”

She stared at him, shocked into speechlessness. Gu Ting-zhi, son of the Shen Clan School’s headmaster, her childhood snot-sharing friend since she was a baby, was offering to help her research romance novels. It was absurd. Impossible. Completely inappropriate.

It was also, she realized with a sinking feeling, exactly what she needed.

“Why would you help me with this?” she asked suspiciously. “Are you going to blackmail me about it?”

“Because you’re going to be reckless whether I help or not. At least this way I can limit the damage.” His lips curved slightly—not quite a smile, but close. The first break in his anger. “I’d rather be your research partner than watch you destroy your reputation trying to gather materials alone.”

“This is... this is absurd.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “But so is your sneaking into courtesan houses in ludicrous male disguises. At least my version of absurdity keeps you safe.”

She wanted to argue, wanted to refuse on principle—accepting help from Gu Ting-zhi meant owing him, meant more ammunition for his endless teasing. But he was right, infuriatingly right, as he always was. She did need help. And she did trust him, even when he was being insufferable.

“So you’re really going to help me?”

“I’m going to regret this,” he flicked his finger on her forehead softly. “But yes. I’m going to help you.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence, but it was different now. Less suffocating. Almost comfortable.

As she walked behind him, watching the set of his shoulders gradually relax now that the immediate crisis had passed, Yun-si wondered what exactly she’d just agreed to.

And why, despite her better judgment, her heart was racing just a little too fast.