Chapter 4
It was a few days before Yun-si gathered up her courage to go to the library again.
She opened the door carefully and hovered on the threshold, clutching her notebook, the memory of the mortifying “dragon rod” incident still prickling her skin.
Ting-zhi sat behind his usual table, a mountain of scrolls and annotated exam primers already dwarfing him.
He glanced up, the corner of his lips curving almost imperceptibly, brush poised mid-air.
“Si-er. To what do I owe the pleasure? More... anatomical inquiries?” His voice was a low murmur, barely disturbing the library’s sacred silence.
She stiffened, her cheeks warming. “No!” The word came out sharper than intended. She took a breath, fingers nervously smoothing the front of her silk dress, and gingerly walked in. “I came about our... arrangement. The research partnership.”
“Of course.” Ting-zhi said agreeably.
“These are the ideas I’ve been thinking about,” Yun-si mumbled as she shoved a folded piece of paper toward him. “We can discuss them. You don’t have to agree to all of them—I mean, your examinations are more important, and I shouldn’t distract you too much. It’s just... if... if you have time.”
Ting-zhi set his brush down in the little mountain valley of his brush rest and leaned back in his chair, the wooden legs creaking softly beneath him.
“Mm,” he hummed, low and considering, before gesturing vaguely at the towering stacks of books surrounding him.
“Don’t worry about it. These”—he waved a hand, elegant fingers skimming the air—“are already in my head. I only need to revise them. And besides,” he tapped his temples, “even brilliant scholars need rest.”
Yun-si held her breath as Ting-zhi unfolded the paper fully.
His eyes flicked over the list, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards almost imperceptibly.
He read aloud with deliberate care: “A pleasure boat excursion on the Lake of Fallen Stars... an afternoon sampling new teas at Pear Blossom Teahouse... a hero-rescue scenario...” His fingertip tapped the paper once.
“...an evening visit to the House of Jade Butterflies under disguises?” One sleek eyebrow arched, and Yun-si suddenly found the grain of the wooden table fascinating.
Then his voice lowered into a slow drawl as he reached the final item: “A kiss.”
“A kiss,” he repeated, drawing out the word like he was tasting it. He blinked and his normally hooded eyes flickered upward, locking on her with such intensity that her hands and legs felt tangled together. “Si-er. You wish to kiss me?”
“No!” The denial burst from her lips instinctively, her face burning as if she’d stood too close to a brazier.
She swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry.
“I mean, yes, but not, not—” She bit her lips, her voice dropping to a whisper so soft he had to lean in to hear.
“The huabens always describe it as something... magical. Like the heavens parting or stars colliding. I just... I want to know what it actually feels like. For... for... research.”
Ting-zhi’s lips curved, just a little, as if he were fighting a smile. The light from the lattice windows caught the little dimple at his cheek, and she found herself staring at it, just so that she don’t have to meet his eyes.
“Mm,” he murmured again, this time slower, as if considering the weight of her request. “I don’t know about that.
A kiss is... a rather precarious endeavor.
It’ll ruin both our reputations if caught.
” His fingers drummed once more against the desk, the sound maddeningly casual.
“Though I suppose, if it’s purely academic... ”
“Yes, of course!” Yun-si rushed to agree, her words tumbling over one another. “We don’t have to do everything on the list, we should—”
“We should set some rules,” Ting-zhi interrupted smoothly, already reaching for a fresh sheet of paper. His brush moved gracefully across the page and Yun-si craned her neck to read.
The Principles of Scholarly Inquiry, he wrote at the top.
His voice was low, methodical, as he spoke aloud while writing.
“We swear solemnly to secrecy.” He glanced up at her, his gaze suddenly serious, the playfulness from moments ago vanished.
“No one can know. Not a soul.” The brush paused, hovering over the paper as if emphasizing the weight of the words.
“Either party can stop the research at any time, for any reason.” Another stroke of the brush.
“Research topics must be mutually agreed upon.” His eyes flicked to hers again, holding her gaze just a heartbeat too long. “No surprises.”
Yun-si stared at the list, her fingers clutching at her dress.
The rules were reasonable—logical, even.
But the way he’d written them, the way his voice had dropped into that low, firm tone, made her stomach flutter as if she’d just stepped onto a boat for the first time, unsteady and exhilarated.
She wet her lips, her pulse thrumming in her throat.
“Al...right,” she said, nodding slowly. “That... that makes sense.”
Ting-zhi set the brush down with a soft click on the inkstone, carefully lifting the paper by its corners to air the wet ink “Good. Then we are agreed,” he said, his voice warming back into that familiar, lazy drawl, the earlier seriousness melting away like morning mist. He pushed back his chair and stood, the movement fluid and unhurried.
Then he leaned across the polished table, planting his hands firmly on either side of her, caging her in without quite touching.
Yun-si found herself suddenly enveloped by a subtle, distracting scent of warm spice that clung to him beneath the scholarly notes of ink and paper—he didn’t used to smell like that!
”Mm, Si-er...” he hummed, a low sound vibrating in his throat that always preceded mischief.
“Shall we begin with the least scandalous item on the list?” he murmured, his voice dropping to an intimate timbre that seemed to resonate in the quiet library.
His gaze flicked deliberately down to the paper, then to her lips.
“Or,” he continued, a teasing smile curving up, “do you want to dive straight into the deep end?”
”Boating!” The word burst out from her in panic, louder than intended in the hushed space. She stumbled back a step, almost tripping over her own skirts, her cheeks burning. “I-I want to go boating! On the lake!”
A rich, genuine laugh escaped Ting-zhi, the sound echoing softly against the high shelves.
Amusement danced openly in his eyes. “Boating it is, then,” he conceded, his grin widening into that captivating, slightly sideways smile that revealed his dimples again.
He straightened, and Yun-si breathed a sigh of relief.
Reaching out, he tapped her gently, almost fondly, on the forehead.
“Consider it done. I’ll instruct my new book boy, Wen-xin, to find you tomorrow with the date and time.
He’s surprisingly efficient for someone who barely clears the table height.
” He gave her a final, lingering look before turning back to his books.
Yun-si left the library stiffly, barely aware of her own steps, her heart still hammering against her ribs.
THE BLACK SESAME PASTRY crumbled between Yun-si’s fingers, its delicate layers flaking onto the half-finished manuscript before her.
She popped the last bite into her mouth, savoring the black grainy sweetness.
Ting-zhi used to sneak out to buy her these very same pastries when they were children, pressing them into her palm with a conspiratorial grin before they went to the library to read together.
He remembered.
The realization settled in her chest like a warm jade, heavy and comforting. Of course he did. He always remembered the little things—the teas she liked, the kind of inkstones she preferred, the fact that she’d rather eat pastries than proper meals when she was deep in reading or writing.
The scholar presented the paper package of pastries with careful hands. The young lady’s cheeks bloomed pink as spring plums. “Young Master is too kind.” She made to set it aside, proper and composed. But her fingers lingered on the paper, tracing where his hands had touched.
He caught that small hesitation. His hand covered hers, warm and steady, and she gasped as he leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her ears. “Do you know,” he murmured, thumb brushing across her knuckles in a way that made her heart—
A knock at the door jolted her from her thoughts.
“Third Maiden?” her maid Chun-xi’s voice filtered through the wood, hesitant. “There is a... messenger for you.”
Yun-si barely had time to set down her brush before another voice—brighter, younger—chimed in.
“Third Maiden Shen!”
Yun-si gasped when the door opened to reveal a tiny replica of Gu Ting-zhi smiling brightly up at her.
“Young Master Gu sends his regards with this box of pastries,” the boy announced with a bow so solemn it was almost comical.
He straightened, then added in a little whisper cupped by two cute hands, “And says to tell you the boat is ready for tomorrow. Hour of the Monkey. Front gate of the Shen Residence.”
Yun-si’s breath hitched. The boat. The one Ting-zhi had promised yesterday, the one that would take them beyond the city’s constraints, beyond the watchful eyes of matchmakers and matrons. A real adventure, just like in her stories.
She crouched down to his level, unable to resist the way his grin mirrored Ting-zhi’s so perfectly. “And who might you be?”
“I’m Wen-xin!” he declared proudly, puffing out his chest. “Young Master Gu’s book boy!”
She reached out on impulse, ruffling the boy’s hair the way she used to do to Ting-zhi when he’d brought especially nice pastries for her again.
Wen-xin giggled, ducking away, and for a moment it was like staring at a sunlit version of the boy Ting-zhi had been, in a time that seemed barely a glance away but lay years behind them.
“Tell him,” she said softly, “that I’ll be there.”
Wen-xin beamed, then turned and dashed down the corridor, feet pattering against the tiles.
Yun-si pressed a hand to her chest, where her heart was beating just a little too fast.
Again.