Chapter 16
Two months later
Yun-si tried to glide gracefully in the extravagant excess of silk that threatened to trip her every step.
Her dress was fashioned from layers upon layers of the palest celadon silk, discreetly stitched with tiny silver flowers that caught the light like stars.
Beneath the outer robes lay shades of pink from the deepest rose to the lightest blush, and color bloomed with every step she took.
The dress had cost her entire savings for the year, but she had wanted to look beautiful, not disappear into the background like usual.
Right now, every tael of that silver was conspiring against her.
She’d made it down the long palace path to the imperial gardens. Through the garden gate. Past the ornamental rocks. Even navigated the winding bridge without incident. But now, her hem had caught on something—probably that decorative pine branch she’d thought looked so artistic two seconds ago.
Of course, she thought, yanking discreetly at the fabric. Of course this happens when he’s looking.
Gu Ting-zhi’s eyes were fixed on her, she could feel that heated intensity even from this distance.
But it was the scholar standing beside him who called out, “Maiden Shen,” his voice carrying that particular tone educated men used when they were trying very hard not to laugh.
“The lanterns are quite beautiful here, are they not?”
He was giving her a convenient excuse. Pretending her awkward pause by the pine tree was simply aesthetic appreciation.
Right, that was nice of him, “Yes, they are beautiful.” She smiled gently, her head tilted in that demure position with eyes looking down as usual, while her hands continued to yank at her dress.
Who was he again? Xu family... ahh yes, Xu Cheng-yi, the second son of the Xu family, the pastry devourer.
Finally, her skirt was free, she tilted her head in farewell and walked towards the garden where the ladies’ gathering was.
“Third Maiden Shen is so demure and shy,” Cheng-yi enthused, his chubby face still tilted in the direction Yun-si had disappeared, watching her blossoming skirts vanish into the lantern-lit garden with the sort of admiration usually reserved for a particularly exquisite pastry.
“Look at that quiet gentleness, that proper demeanor. A home with her as the main wife would be a sweet haven indeed. I wonder if her family has already arranged a betrothal for her?”
Ting-zhi’s expression turned thunder-black.
He turned the look slowly onto the man he called his friend and stared coldly at him.
“Xu Cheng-yi.” he said, very, very quietly.
“You must be eating too recklessly at your family’s restaurants again.
A man who does not pick what is suitable for his constitution risks injuring his—” a pause, loaded and deliberate, “—health. Perhaps a damaged brain that’s prone to ridiculous delusions. ”
Xu Cheng-yi blinked at him. Then blinked again. Then had the good sense to look slightly alarmed.
“No, no, you misunderstand me entirely.” He waved a hand in frantic clarification.
“I am not asking for my sake.” A strangled hiccup escaped him, then his face brightened up with an expression that suggested he was rather proud of himself for being clever.
“I was asking for you, our newly-minted Flower Scholar.”
The title landed with all the ceremony of a formal proclamation.
Gu Ting-zhi’s face went still. Then, slowly, like ice thawing in spring, the dark expression dissolved entirely. The edges of his eyes and the corner of his mouth curved upward in a slight smile.
The Jade Grove Banquet was held under an evening sky, in the imperial gardens lit from end to end with silk lanterns.
Lacquered tables stretched in two great formations across the garden, seating the ladies to the east and the gentlemen to the west. A broad path of raked gravel ran between them.
Behind a latticed screen, musicians played softly, the melody threading through the low murmur of voices.
At the far end, a vermillion dais had been raised where the Emperor’s table commanded a view of both sides, with a smaller seat arranged beside it for the Princess.
Curtains hung to shield the ladies’ dining area for propriety. But the translucent white silk curtains, fine as morning mist, did absolutely nothing to obscure vision. Yun-si could see perfectly through them.
She could see him.
Two months. Sixty days. She devoured the sight of him greedily. Did he seem thinner? Paler? Tired?
Her fingers twisted in her lap, crushing the embroidered silks. The other ladies around her were chattering, their voices pitched to carry through the curtains in that particularly calculated way young women used when they wanted to be overheard but maintain deniability.
The Jade Grove Banquet honored those ranked in the top three hundred during the triennial Imperial examinations. But there was an unspoken understanding: this was an opportunity to observe potential matches. Young ladies from distinguished families received invitations precisely for this reason.
Yun-si attended alone as Lady Shen had fallen ill.
Yun-yao would have been an impeccable chaperone, but the fearless Great General had quailed at the mere thought of his pregnant wife navigating a crowded banquet and firmly declined the invitation for her.
Lady Shen had her reservations about this arrangement, naturally.
But Yun-si had argued that the Chancellor and Yun-shan would be there, making her perfectly respectable.
And besides, she’d added shyly, didn’t Mother want her to observe potential matches?
Her mother had relented, though not without a warning about maintaining decorum.
“The Flower Scholar is quite handsome this year,” someone tittered behind her fan.
“Remember the Orchid Gentleman?” Someone giggled. “Surely no scholar has ever been more beautiful.”
“Sigh, Scholar Shen set an impossible standard. He was ranked first for his treatises, and yet he is certainly the most beautiful scholar ever to live. The Flower Scholar that year had a beard! Tsk.”
More titters and giggles.
Yun-si’s mouth twitched despite herself.
Yun-shan, the much-admired Orchid Gentleman, had been mortified by the deluge of flowers thrown on him by the ladies during the formal procession through the capital.
He’d come home with petals in his hair, his robes, even somehow tucked into his boots, looking like he’d survived a particularly aggressive spring storm.
Their mother had been proud. Yun-shan had locked himself in his rooms for three days.
But Ting-zhi—
Her breath caught as he turned slightly, laughing at something Xu Cheng-yi said.
The lantern light caught the sharp line of his jaw and the formal silver guan holding his dark hair neatly in a topknot.
He looked different, different from the well-groomed scholar who usually tied his hair with an embroidered cloth ribbon or the rather improper one who lounged at home with his hair loose.
He was wearing deep indigo tonight, embroidered with silver clouds along the sleeves.
The color made his eyes look darker, more intense.
Third place. Flower Scholar.
She’d written him a congratulatory note the day the results were announced.
Had spent an entire morning on the calligraphy, rewriting it seven times until the characters looked effortless and elegant rather than desperately careful.
Then she’d stared at it for another hour before finally, finally sending it to him.
His reply had arrived the same evening.
Si-er
Your words honor me. When the dust settles, we should discuss new research parameters.
—Zhi
That was it. fourteen words that had sent her heart into absolute chaos.
New research parameters.
What did that mean? More kissing? Different kissing? No kissing? Had the exam stress made him incoherent? Was he being polite? Dismissive? Interested?
She’d analyzed those fourteen characters more thoroughly than any book she’d ever read.
“Maiden Shen,” a voice interrupted her spiraling thoughts. “You’ve barely touched your wine.”
Yun-si blinked, focusing on the young woman beside her. Maiden Chen, daughter of the Minister of Rites, a pretty girl with plum-blossom hairpins and rosy cheeks.
“Ah.” Yun-si picked up her cup and took the smallest sip possible. “Thank you for your concern.”
Maiden Chen leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Are you watching someone in particular? You keep looking through the curtain.”
Heat flooded Yun-si’s face. “I—no. Simply observing. For... general interest.”
“Hmm.” Maiden Chen’s smile turned knowing. “General interest in one particular scholar, perhaps? The Flower Scholar has been glancing this direction quite often.”
Yun-si’s heart stopped. Then restarted at triple speed. “You’re mistaken.”
“Am I?” Maiden Chen sipped her wine, eyes dancing with undisguised interest. “He’s looking again. Right now.”
She was lying. Had to be lying. Yun-si kept her gaze fixed firmly on her wine cup, willing herself not to look, absolutely not to—
She looked.
Their eyes met through the translucent silk.
The garden noise—laughter, conversation, the melodies of the small group of musicians playing in the garden—faded into distant hum.
Ting-zhi had gone completely still, his wine cup frozen halfway to his mouth.
Even from this distance, even through the cursed curtain, she could see the way his expression shifted.
Something dark and hungry flickered across his face before smoothing back into that careful scholar’s mask.
But she’d seen it.
Her pulse hammered in her throat. Two months of silence. Two months of wondering if those kisses had meant anything at all, if the research had been real or just another story she’d invented in her head.