Chapter 12
Yun-si banged her head against the table. Once. Twice. The third time, Ting-zhi’s hand was there protecting her head.
“What is it this time?” he asked with amused resignation.
“I need... that feeling. See?” She said, pointing at her manuscript, “This is where the maiden and the swordsman meets secretly in the garden. I need that breathless, heart-pounding, moonlit feeling that will make my heroine sigh and my readers swoon.”
A few hours later, Yun-si found herself crouching behind a potted ornamental pine, her breath fogging in the frigid night air.
The garden was a graveyard of shadows, the moon a sickle of pale light barely piercing the cloud cover.
This moonlight rendezvous thing was romantic in theory but freezing in practice.
A twig snapped.
She whipped around, skirts rustling like a startled hare.
Ting-zhi stepped from behind the rockery, his usual scholar’s robes replaced by a plain dark tunic that fit close to his frame.
Yun-si stared. Since when had he grown such broad shoulders?
The tall, lean man who bore little resemblance to the gangly boy she remembered moved soundlessly across the frost-stiffened grass, as if he’d done this a hundred times before.
“You’re late,” she hissed.
“You’re loud.” He crouched beside her, his warmth radiating like a furnace. “The entire household probably heard you sneeze from the east wing.”
“I did not—”
“You did.” His breath curled between them, visible in the cold. “Twice.”
She scowled. “This is your idea of romance? A moonlight stroll in winter? My hands and toes are already numb.”
Ting-zhi’s teeth flashed white in the dark. “Si-er, if you wanted a heated chamber and silk blankets, you should’ve just asked. I’d be happy to oblige.”
Her face burned. “That’s not what I meant! I meant the setting! The atmosphere! The—” She gestured wildly at the skeletal trees, the frozen pond, the moon doing its best impression of a disinterested spectator. “This is supposed to be poetic!”
“Mmm.” He stood, offering a hand. “And yet, here you are, shivering like a plucked goose, about to sacrifice your fingers to frostbite for the sake of literature.”
She ignored his hand. “I need to feel it. The anticipation. The stolen moment. The—” Another gesture. “The sighing.”
Ting-zhi tilted his head. “You want me to sigh?”
“No!” She groaned, pressing her forehead against the cold ceramic pot. “I want to understand why heroines in stories would risk everything for a midnight meeting. Right now, I’d risk everything for a cup of hot ginger tea.”
Silence. Then—
A low chuckle. The sound wrapped around her, richer than the brocade cushions in her chamber. “Come here.”
She lifted her head. “Where?”
“Come. Here.” He crooked a finger.
Yun-si hesitated, but stood anyway. The cold bit at her exposed wrists, her ankles, her nose—but when she finally stepped forward, the space between them vanished.
Ting-zhi’s arms enclosed her.
And she felt—
Warmth.
The warmth seeped into her, dispelling the cold that had settled into her bones.
His chest was solid against her cheek, his chin resting atop her head as if she were something precious.
The warm spicy scent of him filled her lungs, chasing away the icy bite of the night.
His hands settled at the small of her back, fingers splayed just enough to press her closer.
Yun-si stiffened. “What are you doing! We’re supposed to be—!”
“Researching?” His voice rumbled against her temple. “I am researching.”
“By manhandling me?” She squeaked.
“By holding you.” A pause. His breath stirred her hair and his voice was huskier than usual. “Tell me, Si-er... does this feel like something worth sneaking out for?”
She swallowed. Here, in the circle of his arms, her skin prickled with something she did not entirely understand.
The moon, previously stingy with its light, now spilled silver across the pond, turning the frozen surface into a mirror of stars.
The garden’s sharp edges softened. Even the wind quieted, as if holding its breath.
Her fingers curled into the fabric of his tunic. “It’s...”
“Mmm?”
“It’s not the garden,” she admitted, voice small. “It’s the... the not being alone in it.”
Ting-zhi’s hold tightened, just for a heartbeat. Then his lips brushed the shell of her ear, his words a whisper meant only for her. “Now you understand.”
And under the cover of darkness, she held on just a bit tighter.
Did they feel this way too? Lost, and scared. But warm, and safe.