Chapter 5
Yun-si had spent the whole day trying on gowns. Not the blue one, not the teal colored one, not the orange one that might make her disappear into the autumn foliage.
At last, she settled on a pale pink silk gown layered over a cream underdress, its peach blossom embroidery peeping out.
Purely because it was her most comfortable choice, of course—not because it would mirror the soft hues of the lake at dusk, and certainly not because it flatters her pale complexion.
Her hands betrayed her, trembling just enough to fumble with the jade hairpin as she secured it, its floral charms swaying with each unsteady breath.
Just research, she reminded herself firmly, as she stepped into the waiting carriage in the front courtyard.
“Third Sister! You’re FINALLY here!”
“Let’s go! Let’s go let’s GO LET’S GO!!!”
Instead of the gentlemanly scholar she was expecting, a wall of wide, excited eyes met hers.
Yun-jia, her younger sister who was already thirteen but still behaved like a restless eight-year-old was bouncing on her heels, not trying to conceal her excitement.
Yun-hai, the youngest of her siblings at eleven was playing with his new set of bow and arrows with—was that a bird on his head?
! And Wen-xin—tiny, solemn Wen-xin—was clutching his pastry basket to his chest protectively, like a guard at a palace gate.
Yun-si’s smile froze on her face, her carefully constructed vision of a romantic boat ride shattering like dropped porcelain. Her gaze snapped past the children to Ting-zhi, lounging elegantly in the far corner, looking utterly unperturbed.
“Good afternoon,” he said, meeting her gaze with perfect pleasantness.
The corner of his mouth quirked. Just a little. Just enough to make her want to strangle him.
Yun-si’s fingers curled into her sleeves. “You said boating,” she hissed as she took her seat.
“Mmm.” He stretched the syllable, lazy and unrepentant. “I did. And we are going to the lake now. What’s the issue?”
“The issue—” Her voice climbed. Yun-jia’s head snapped toward them, eyes alight with the thrill of listening when she is not supposed to. Yun-si swallowed hard and lowered her voice. “The issue is the audience.”
“This,” he said, tilting his head toward the children with absolute calm, “is a family outing. I mentioned to Yun-shan that I missed the autumn scenery here in Shangjing.”
“My big brother is coming?” Yun-si asked in horror.
“No. His duties in the Ministry of Rites keep him away. But he suggested I bring the younger ones out for some fresh air instead.” He winked at her. “I assumed that would include the not-so-young-but-still-younger you.”
Ting-zhi’s smile turned fond as he looked at Yun-jia and Yun-hai, who were trying to beg pastries from an unbudgeable Wen-xin. He spread his hands. “Si-er, if I’d suggested a private boat ride, what would Lady Shen have said?” His voice dipped. “But this way? Perfectly respectable.”
Yun-si glared at him, all the more because she knew he was right. Respectable. Yes. Because nothing said respectable like a boat full of children while she and Ting-zhi were supposed to—
“Research,” Ting-zhi murmured, reading her mind as usual. His eyes gleamed, “Trust me. It’ll work.”
The carriage ride passed by in a blur of excitement and endless chatter while Yun-si stared outside the windows and escaped into her imagination for solace.
The boat glided across the moonlit lake, lanterns swaying gently in the evening breeze. The scholar led the lady aboard with careful hands, his fingers lingering a moment longer than propriety allowed. She blushed, settling gracefully onto the silk cushions as he took up the oar.
“The moon is beautiful tonight,” she murmured, though her eyes were not on the sky but on the way his sleeves fell back as he moved, revealing—
Wait. What did sleeves reveal? Arms? Was that romantic? She’d never really looked at anyone’s arms before. Were arms attractive? Maybe they were. The romance novels seemed to think so. She should pay more attention to them.
—revealing the strong line of his forearms as he guided the boat deeper into the lotus blossoms. The water lapped softly against the hull. He set down the oar and turned to her, moonlight catching in his dark eyes.
“I have waited long for this moment,” he said, voice low and fervent. “To have you here, alone at last, with only the stars as witnesses—”
“THIRD SISTER, WEN-XIN WON’T SHARE HIS PASTRIES!”
She blinked. The carriage. Right. She was in a carriage. With three children, a dastardly scholar and a barrage of noise.
She turned back to the window, determinedly ignoring Yun-jia’s protests.
The scholar moved closer, the boat rocking gently beneath them. “May I?” he asked, reaching for her hands.
The lady’s breath caught. His hand was warm, his touch sending shivers—
But what happened then? In the novels they always just said “shivers” or “her heart raced” but what did people actually DO on romantic boat rides? Just... sit there? Hold hands? Surely there was more. There had to be more. The novels never actually explained the mechanics of—
“HOW much LONGER?”
“Are we there YET?”
She sighed and gave up entirely. Instead, she turned and asked the question that had been itching at the back of her mind since morning. “Yun-hai, WHY is there a bird on your head?”
“Yun-hai’s lodge is a mini menagerie now!” Yun-jia interrupted.
“They come to me when wounded,” Yun-hai said, giving the bird on his head a friendly pet. “And leave when they are well.”
Yun-si lifted an eyebrow, and like permission had been granted, the duo filled her in on the small wounded creatures that had turned Yun-hai’s lodge into a veritable menagerie recently.
“How do they know to come to you?” Ting-zhi asked curiously.
Yun-hai considered this with great seriousness. “I don’t know. They just do.” He thought about it a moment longer. “Eldest Sister says they can feel that I am safe.”
Ting-zhi looked at the bird, which had gone to sleep on Yun-hai’s head like it was home and said nothing more. But Yun-si noticed he watched Yun-hai a little differently for the rest of the afternoon.
They finally reached the docks an hour later, just as her head was starting to pound from the incessant chatter. Yun-si stepped down from the carriage and—
Oh.
Pleasure boats clustered and vendors called out their wares to passersby. Willows grew thick along the lake and the water lapped against the boats.
The light here was different. Softer. It came through the willow branches in long, golden shafts, dappling the water in patterns that shifted and reformed with every breath of wind. Like warm honey. Like something alive.
The lake breathed beneath its veil of willows, each ripple a whispered secret.
A hand waved in front of her face.
She startled. Ting-zhi stood before her, one eyebrow raised, the ghost of amusement playing at the corner of his mouth.
“The boat,” he said mildly, “is this way.”
“I know where the boat is,” she said, with dignity.
“You were staring at the water,” he observed. “For a full minute.”
“I was not.” She glanced at the water. The light was still doing that extraordinary thing with the willows. She forced herself to look away. “The light was interesting.”
“Mm.” He didn’t look convinced. But he didn’t tease further, just gestured toward the dock with an open hand. She walked past him in that measured, deliberate glide ingrained in her since childhood—not looking at him definitely meant he couldn’t see her burning cheeks either.
Yun-jia grabbed her arm, dragging her toward the boat. “Come on, the light’s perfect! Brother Ting-zhi promised to tell us stories about his travels!”
Ting-zhi fell into step behind them with Yun-hai. “Did I promise that?” he asked Yun-hai.
“You did,” Yun-hai said firmly. “You said you’d tell us about the swordfights and the bandits and the mysterious temples!”
Ting-zhi laughed, rich and warm, and Yun-si’s traitorous pulse did that flip again. He leaned in, voice dropping to a conspirator’s hush. “Relax, Si-er. We’ll get to do your research. Patience is a virtue.”
Her ears burned. “I don’t—”
The boatman cleared his throat. “Young masters, young ladies. The tide waits for no one.”
Ting-zhi offered Yun-si his hand to with a flourish. “After you.”
She glared at his outstretched sleeve and knowing smile. Then, because she had no choice, she took it—
—and immediately regretted it when his fingers curled around hers, warm and big, beneath the cover of his robe.
The boat pushed off from the dock and the lake swallowed the sounds of the shore. Water lapped gently against the hull. Somewhere in the distance, a bird called out. The autumn air was crisp and clean, carrying the faint sweetness of fallen leaves.
Yun-si settled near the middle, tucking her skirts around her. Ting-zhi sat across from her, not too close, not too far. The children arranged themselves around them: Yun-hai at the bow, Yun-jia on the blanket beside her, Wen-xin in his corner with his pastry fortress.
For a while, it was simply... pleasant. The gentle rocking, the golden light, the children chattering. Yun-hai peppered Ting-zhi with questions almost immediately.
“Brother Ting-zhi, why is the water blue?”
“It reflects the sky.”
“But it’s not the same blue as the sky.”
“No. The water has its own color too. They mix.”
“Oh.” Yun-hai considered this with great seriousness. “What about at night? Is it black?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s silver, if the moon is full.”
“Have you ever seen a dragon?”
Ting-zhi paused. Tilted his head, as if genuinely considering the question. “I’ve seen something in the water that moved, too large to be a fish.”
Yun-hai’s eyes went enormous. “REALLY?”
“Mm.” Ting-zhi’s expression was perfectly straight. “In a river up north. Very dark. Very deep.”
“Third Sister, did you hear that? Dragons are real!”
But Yun-si had drifted off again, mesmerized by the light flickering on the lapping water.
“Si-er.”