Chapter 14
The soft shuffle of footsteps and polite greetings of “Good Morning!” in that adorable voice announced Wen-xin’s arrival before the boy even knocked. Yun-si stood up from where she’d been staring at the same blank sheet of paper for the past hour, and opened the door.
“Third Maiden.” Wen-xin bowed and gifted her with a bright smile that showed off his dimples perfectly. He passed her a note with both hands. “Young Master asked me to deliver this.”
Yun-si’s fingers closed around the paper. Still warm from being tucked inside Wen-xin’s jacket. “Thank you.”
The boy lingered, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
“Is there something else?”
“Young Master said...” Wen-xin’s face scrunched up as he tried to remember the exact words. “He said if you look upset, I should tell you it’s temporary.”
Yun-si bit her lips. “I’m not upset.”
“You’re not smiling either.” He said seriously.
She opened her mouth, closed it in defeat and handed Wen-xin a candied date from the dish on her writing desk instead. “Go on, then.”
The note unfolded in her hands after the door clicked shut.
Si-er,
Examinations will begin in spring. Let us pause the research first and resume after.
Please do not scale the garden wall and demand I explain the finer points of dramatic fainting.
Don’t.
I’ll find you when this is over.
—Zhi
Yun-si read it twice. Then a third time.
Temporary, Wen-xin had said.
She folded the note along its original creases and tucked it between the pages of her current manuscript shakily.
She floated to her mother’s receiving rooms without really knowing how she got there.
The morning passed in a blur of “Yes, Mother,” though she had absolutely no idea what the questions were.
Yun-si sat on the chair beside Yun-jia, spine straight, hands folded in her lap as Lady Shen reviewed the household accounts with measured precision.
“The kitchen expenditure has increased.” Her mother’s voice carried no inflection, just statement of fact. “Yun-si, you will review the ledgers this afternoon.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Lady Shen set down the account book. Her gaze swept over her daughters—past Yun-jia’s barely concealed yawn, past the empty chair where Yun-yao would have sat before her marriage, and landed on Yun-si.
“Yun-si. Stay.”
Yun-jia shot her a look—good luck—and fled with indecent haste.
The servants withdrew. The door closed with a soft click.
Yun-si’s heart stuttered with panic and her hands shook slightly. Does she know? Does her mother suspect anything?
Lady Shen poured tea with movements so practiced they bordered on ritual. Steam curled between them, fragrant with jasmine. “You will be eighteen come spring.”
Yun-si’s fingers tightened in her lap. “Yes, Mother.”
“The family’s marriage arrangements had all been delayed by our period of mourning.
But it is time we look into it. Your father has a few candidates in mind.
” Lady Shen raised her eyes to look at Yun-si, observing her.
“The Xu Clan has expressed interest. Although the second son has yet to place in the Imperial examinations, the Clan is well-connected and powerful. The match would be advantageous.”
The Xu Clan’s second son. Yun-si dredged up a memory—a chubby but pleasant young man who kept eating the pastries at last summer’s lotus viewing garden party.
“I see.”
“There is also the Minister of Rites’s youngest. He placed fourth in last round’s examinations.” Lady Shen sipped her tea. “Your father believes him promising.”
Fourth place. Respectable. Safe. The kind of match that would secure her future and raise no eyebrows.
Yun-si swallowed.
“The Han Clan has also made inquiries,” her mother continued, voice still that same careful neutral. “Their eldest son of the Second House is a Hanlin scholar. He is twenty-three, and well-regarded at court.”
Three prospects. Laid out like items on a menu.
“Mother, I...” The words stuck in her throat.
Lady Shen set down her cup. Something shifted in her expression—not quite softness, but perhaps the ghost of it. “I have been... perhaps too lenient. Too willing to let you spend your days with your books and your quiet pursuits.”
You were too worried about Eldest Sister and her Wu abilities, Yun-si’s mind supplied helplessly. I was content to be invisible.
“But you cannot remain a daughter forever,” her mother said softly. “Yun-si. The imperial examinations are held only once every three years. The scholars can wait three upon threes if they fail, and try again. But maidens cannot afford to wait. Do you understand?”
“I, I understand, Mother.”
Lady Shen studied her for a long moment. The unspoken hung heavy between them.
“The Jade Grove Banquet will be a good time to discreetly observe the potential suitors.” Lady Shen nodded meaningfully while looking straight at her, “We will see which gentlemen are available for you to entrust your future with.”
“Yes, Mother.”
The garden path blurred beneath Yun-si’s embroidered slippers. Xu Clan’s second son. Minister of Rites’ youngest. Han Clan’s scholar.
Her feet took her on the familiar path to the library before she halted so suddenly she nearly tripped.
Temporary, Wen-xin had said.
She turned and resolved to find her other research partner instead.
The walk to Yun-shan’s courtyard took her through the plum grove, where buds clung to dark branches. Snow covered the ground and her breath misted in the cold air.
Music drifted to her before she reached Clear Mountain Lodge.
It was the thoughtful music of the qin—the seven-stringed zither that scholars favored over the showy twenty-one-stringed zheng zither.
She tiptoed to where she knew a bush covered a hole in the wall and peeped in.
Yun-shan sat with his side to her, fingers moving across the strings with the same precision he applied to everything.
Calligraphy. Conversation. The careful way he’d been sneaking food to the girl currently dancing her blade in the courtyard beyond.
Qing-he’s blade cut through the air in a silver arc. She pivoted, weight shifting seamlessly from one leg to the other, her form controlled. The qin’s melody quickened, and she saw Qing-he leaped like an eagle, swinging her blade and bringing it down like lightning.
The zither’s melody shifted. Soft, deliberate notes that seemed to pull the morning light into something slower, quieter. Qing-he’s movements adjusted to match, her breathing evening out as the tempo steadied her.
Yun-si pressed herself against the wall.
They hadn’t noticed her.
Yun-shan’s head tilted slightly, watching Qing-he without breaking his rhythm. Not his usual cool detached look. Something... gentle. The way his gaze followed her as she moved through the forms, the subtle adjustment of tempo when her balance wavered.
Qing-he completed the sequence and lowered her sword, chest rising and falling. “Again?”
“Rest first.” Yun-shan’s voice carried quiet authority. “You’re favoring your left side.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re injured.” He plucked a final note, let it hang in the air. “Pushing too hard won’t heal you faster.”
Qing-he’s jaw set—visible even from this distance. Then she exhaled and sat, cross-legged, the sword laid carefully across her knees.
Yun-shan resumed playing.
Yun-si backed away. Carefully. One step, then another, until the music faded and she stood alone in the plum grove once more. Tears she hadn’t known she was holding back slipped down her cheeks.
The soft rustle of snow falling down enveloped her, muting all sounds and leaving her in her own cocoon.
Her notebook stayed closed in her sleeve.
Some scenes weren’t meant to be recorded.