Chapter 6
Ting-zhi had barely arranged his books on the library table when Yun-si burst in. He’d been claiming the space daily under the pretense of needing “essential reference texts”. His father Master Gu had only granted him a weighted “Mmm...” when he’d told him that excuse again this morning.
“Ting-zhi, it worked! The boat, the sunset, and everything! I wrote three new scenes last night and it feels alive!” She reached into her sleeve and passed a folded stack of papers to him. “Read this if you have time? Tell me what you think,” she said shyly.
Ting-zhi unfolded the pages, scanning the neat, hurried characters. “You wrote all this overnight?” he said, impressed.
“Real experiences do make better stories,” she said, light dancing in her eyes. “Which is why I need your help again. There’s a rescue scene I can’t quite—” She waved her hands around the air, then winced. “I need to feel it.”
“Feel it,” he repeated, one brow quirked in question. “How do you propose to feel it?”
He loved these moments—when Yun-si’s eyes lit up with stars, talking about what she loved. When she was present with him, and not in some nook of her imagination. When she looked so alive, unlike the demure Third Maiden Shen who drifted through banquets like a puppet offering polite smiles.
“The boat ride yesterday gave me the most wonderful inspiration! You know those scenes where the lady falls into the water, and the hero swoops in to save her? It always happen! All the time! But what is she thinking? What is it like being in the water?” She leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.
“Could we... try it? Just once? You could rescue me?”
Ting-zhi choked and set down the papers in his hands with exaggerated care. “Try it,” he echoed, voice dangerously smooth. “You want me to throw you into the water so you can experience drowning?”
She blinked, all wide-eyed innocence. “Not throw. Just... let me fall. Somewhere shallow. Like yesterday’s lake?”
“Absolutely not.” His tone left no room for argument. “That water’s deep enough to swallow you whole.”
Her shoulders sagged like a wilted lotus. “Oh.” A pause. “Oh.”
The way she bit her lower lip should be banned. He turned his eyes away.
She turned toward the door, her turtle steps even slower than usual, her hem catching on the leg of a chair. “I’ll... leave you to your studies.”
Ting-zhi pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to convince himself it was the best thing to do. But he couldn’t stop the words coming out of his mouth. “Wait.”
She spun back, hope flickering like a candle in her gaze. He was doomed.
“Fine,” he muttered. “But not the lake. I’ll find a safer spot and tell you when.”
Her smile bloomed, bright and sudden as sunlight through rain. A whispered “Thank you,” and then she was gone, slipping out like a shadow—leaving him to wonder, not for the first time, why he was completely helpless to her unhappiness.
THEIR RENTED CARRIAGE rattled to a stop near a quiet stretch of the Lake of Fallen Stars, far from the boisterous main docks. Here, the shore was ringed with willows and wild grasses, and the water was shallow enough to see the bottom.
Sneaking away from Scholar’s Lane into Ting-zhi’s waiting carriage had been heart-poundingly guilty.
Her mother had given her permission to visit the bookshops on Scholar’s Lane twice a week.
But this...she tried not to think about the betrayal of trust. If she returned home in time, no one would find out, right?
The ride had been blissfully uneventful despite her reservations.
Ting-zhi drove the little rickety carriage himself, somehow managing both not to get lost, and not to overturn them.
She sat alone inside the carriage while it roiled left and right, wondering about her life choices.
But somehow, despite it all—here they were.
Ting-zhi stepped down first, then turned to help her.
“This way,” he said, leading her along the shoreline.
A small boat waited, tied to a weathered mooring stake half-hidden in the reeds. He pulled it in with easy efficiency, tested the rope, then held it steady against the bank.
“Come,” he waved her over.
She stared at the boat. Then at the lake. Then at him.
“We’re going further out?”
“Not far.” He gestured toward the water. Yun-si followed his hand and noticed, for the first time, the little islands dotting the lake’s surface overgrown with wild grasses and trees.
“Those islands,” Ting-zhi continued, helping her step into the boat, “should offer complete privacy.” He pushed off from shore and took up the oars with smooth, practiced strokes.
Yun-si settled onto the wooden seat, gripping the edge as the boat rocked gently. The shoreline receded behind them. Ahead, the nearest island grew closer—a wild tangle of trees and overgrown shrubs, completely isolated in the middle of the water.
She watched him row. The steady pull and release, the flex of his shoulders beneath his robes, the focused expression on his face.
The swordsman guided the small boat across the moonlit water, toward the secret isle. Mist curled at the water’s edge like dragon’s breath. His blade lay wrapped beside him, and his jaw was set with quiet determination. This was the fated duel from which only one man would return—
The boat bumped against shore. She blinked. Ting-zhi secured it to a tree, stepped out and held out his hand for her.
Wild grasses grew waist-high here, and the trees provided cover from prying eyes. It was completely overgrown, utterly abandoned, and—she had to admit—perfectly private.
“Here,” Ting-zhi said, gesturing to the small stretch of clear shoreline on the island’s far side. “The water’s shallow enough to stand. Deep enough to be convincing for your scene.”
She walked to the edge and peered in. The waterweeds in the sand danced merrily in the water, waving their fronds around. She gulped. the water was not deep, but it wasn’t as shallow as she had hoped.
Behind her, she heard him sigh.
She turned. “What?”
“Nothing.” But he was looking at the boat, the island, the elaborate lengths he’d gone to. His expression was resigned. Almost rueful. “Just thinking about everything I do for your research.”
“You say that like it’s a burden.”
“I must have owed you a debt in my previous life.” he muttered, “Now, shall we attempt this terrible idea?”
“It’s not terrible—”
“You’re going to fall into a lake on purpose to test whether what being rescued underwater feels like. That’s not exactly a smart idea.”
“For accuracy!”
“Mm.” His mouth twitched. “Of course. For accuracy.”
“So,” she said, trying to sound professional. “The heroine falls in. The hero dives after her in a heroic rescue.”
“Theoretically.”
“You sound skeptical.”
“I am skeptical.” He finally looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “The huabens make it sound romantic. The reality is likely to involve a great deal of choking and panic.”
“That’s why we’re testing it,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. Yun-si stepped closer to the water’s edge, her toes reached the very rim where water met sand. But that was as far as she got.
She stood there. Staring. Not moving.
“Problem?” Ting-zhi asked in a dry tone.
“No.”
“You’re not going in.”
“I am. I’m just... preparing.”
A pause. She could feel him watching her.
She took a deep breath. “Could you, could you give me a push?”
“You want me to push you into the water?” he asked, perfectly pleasant.
She turned to look at him over her shoulder. He stood there, hands still clasped behind his back, expression mild and helpful.
“...Yes,” she admitted.
And with a long-suffering sigh, his hand pressed firmly against her back between her shoulder blades—and shoved.
“Arghhhhh!!!!!!” Yun-si screamed as she crashed into the water, the cold shock stealing her breath. Her feet touched bottom—much deeper than expected—and she pushed upward, breaking the surface with a desperate gasp.
“Ting-zhi!” she spluttered, wiping water from her eyes.
Above her on the bank, Ting-zhi was doubled over laughing, shaking with mirth, his usual composed mask completely shattered.
“This isn’t—” She bobbed under briefly, came up spitting water.
She tried to glare, but a wave splashed over her, then another, and she had to bounce on her toes to keep her head above water. Then suddenly, an underwater current pushed her away from the shore and she couldn’t touch the sandy bottom anymore.
Panic flared in her chest as she tried to bounce again but realized she was in too deep. Water closed over her head and she thrashed.
No. No, no, no—
A water ghost was pulling at her ankles, she was going to die, young, unmarried, and not even knowing what a kiss was like.
The surface shimmered tantalizingly above her, but she couldn’t reach it. Her lungs burned. The water pressed against her ears, muffling everything.
Then a large splash, and Ting-zhi was there, plunging toward her. His hands gripped her waist, trying to haul her upward, but the water ghost held tight. Her chest squeezed painfully, desperate for air.
She hit his chest with frantic hands—Help, I can’t breathe—and he understood immediately. His hand cupped the back of her head and with an intent look on his face, he pulled her close and pressed his mouth to hers.
Air filled her lungs. Warm and steady and utterly unexpected.
Her hands, which had been pushing frantically at his chest, stilled. Curled into his robes instead.
He pulled back, drew a breath above, then returned. Another seal of lips. Another breath shared between them.
Her heart was hammering—from lack of air or something else entirely, she couldn’t tell.
He dove down, body pressed close to hers, chest sliding against her legs, his hands following her calves down to where the water ghost gripped her. And she realized they were only weeds.
Weeds that Ting-zhi’s fingers were busy untangling while he was tangled up with her. While she could still feel his air in her lungs.
Just as the world began to dim, her ankles came free. Ting-zhi shot up beside her, his arm wrapping tightly around her waist, legs kicking powerfully as he propelled them both to the surface.
Air hit her lungs like fire. She coughed, choked, clung to him as he hauled them both toward shallower water. His arm was tight around her waist, holding her up, and she was vaguely aware that she was clutching him like a drowning kitten, that every inch of her body was pressed against his.
“I’m sorry.” said Ting-zhi as he let her down gently on the sand when they reached the shore. “ I’m sorry, Si-er. Are you hurt?”
Yun-si stared at him, mind blank. She was soaked and freezing and her ankle hurt and she’d nearly drowned but it was her own brilliant idea.
Stupid romance huabens.
“I’’m... fine.” she managed through chattering teeth.
“Here, I prepared clothes for you.” He handed her a basket she hadn’t noticed before. “Change first, then we’ll get you warm.”
“You change there,” he pointed to an area covered by trees and shrubs. “I’ll be over the other side.”
She moved to her side of the clearing, hidden by the thick foliage. Her fingers fumbled with peeling off the soaked layers. The inner robes clung stubbornly, cold and uncomfortable.
This was acceptable. Perfectly proper. They were separated by enough distance and vegetation. A model of scholarly research recovery.
She had just stripped down to her thinnest underlayer, reaching for the dry robe, when she saw it.
Coiled near the basket. Green patterned. Small head raised. Staring straight at her.
A snake.
SNAKE.
She didn’t think. Didn’t grab her clothes.
She ran.
She crashed into Ting-zhi at full speed and launched herself at him like he was the only safe place in the world. Arms around his neck, legs wrapping around his waist, face buried against his shoulder, clinging tighter than a vine around a tree.
He staggered, catching her instinctively. “Si-er? What—”
“SNAKE!” The word came out muffled and panicked against his bare skin. “Snake snake snake!”
“Where?”
“By the basket. Green. Don’t let go of me!”
He didn’t point out that she was the one holding onto him. Instead, he grabbed the long branch he’d been using to hang wet clothes.
“I’ll go and catch it,” he said, voice strained. “Stay here.”
Here? No, she wasn’t going anywhere where she needed to touch the ground. She wrapped her legs even tighter around his waist and buried her head in his chest, refusing to budge.
He winced but moved carefully to the area where she had been, sweeping the branch through the grass as he went.
There was no snake in the basket, but he checked the surrounding shrubbery as well.
Anything to avoid thinking about the fact that Shen Yun-si was wrapped around him, in only a thin wet innermost robe, pressed against his bare chest, her thighs—
He jabbed at a suspicious-looking rock with the branch.
Just a rock.
He checked behind the willow tree. Nothing.
Under the basket. Empty.
“All safe,” he managed.
She didn’t move.
“Si-er. It’s gone. You can—”
“Are you sure?” Her grip tightened. “What if there are more? What if it comes back?”
“It won’t come back. They avoid humans. It’s—” He stopped. Tried to breathe normally. Failed. “You can get down now.”
“Fine.” But she didn’t move immediately. “Just. Don’t poke me with your branch again while I’m climbing down.”
He looked at the branch in his hand in confusion.
Then realization hit.
“That’s not the branch,” he said. The words came out grim. Agonized.
Her brain caught up approximately three heartbeats later.
The hard thing pressing against her inner thigh. That wasn’t wooden. That was—
“That’s your—” She couldn’t say it. “Your. Err. Dragon rod?”
The callback to their mortifying medical text conversation somehow made it infinitely worse.
“Yes.” The word sounded like it cost him his soul.
She scrambled down so fast she nearly fell. Landed on her feet, stumbled backward, arms crossed over her chest.
They stared at each other in absolute horror.
His face had achieved a color she’d never seen on a human being. Dark red bordering on purple.
Her own face felt like it was on fire.
“I’m going to—” She pointed at the basket.
“Yes. Good. You should—” He turned away so fast he nearly dropped the actual branch. “I’ll just. Go there. Very far there.”
He fled.
Yun-si grabbed the dry robes with shaking hands and pulled them on so fast she nearly put them on backward.
She’d felt his dragon rod.
She’d FELT it. Pressed against her. While wrapped around him. And she’d ASKED HIM about it.
She pressed her burning face into her hands and made a sound like a dying animal.
This was worse than the courtesan house.
This was worse than the dragon rod incident.
This was worse than EVERYTHING IN HER ENTIRE LIFE.
And she’d asked him not to poke her with his branch.
ASKED.
OUT LOUD.
She was never leaving her room again. Ever. She’d become a nun. She’d write under a pen name forever and never show her face in society.
Actually, she was already writing under a pen name. Good. She’d just. Never see Gu Ting-zhi again.