Chapter 16 #2
His mouth curved into a slow smile, eyes slightly crinkled. Not the public smile. This one was private, meant only for her, carrying the weight of every moment they’d stolen in gardens and studies and moonlit nights.
Then he raised his wine cup slightly—barely a movement, nothing anyone else would notice—in silent salute.
Yun-si’s fingers tightened on her own cup so hard she was surprised it didn’t shatter.
“I knew it,” Maiden Chen breathed beside her. “Oh, Maiden Shen, you are watching him.”
“Research,” Yun-si managed, voice strangled. “It’s purely for research purposes.”
Maiden Chen laughed, bright and delighted. “What kind of research requires staring at a man like he’s your last breath of air?”
The kind where I might be in love with him, Yun-si thought wildly.
THE IMPERIAL ATTENDANTS announced the imperial family’s arrival before they were seen.
Yun-si felt the shift in the atmosphere before she saw it. The conversations had died mid-sentence even before the announcement. Then there was a rustle of silk as everyone sank to their knees. She dropped with them, forehead low, hands pressed to the cold stone slabs.
The Emperor entered. Princess Ming-Yue followed three steps behind.
Even with her eyes down, Yun-si could track their progress by the hush that followed them across the hall. The Emperor’s footsteps, measured and unhurried. The Princess’s lighter tread. The faint whisper of gold-threaded robes.
“Rise.”
They rose.
Yun-si kept her gaze carefully lowered as she returned to her seat, but she couldn’t help stealing a glance at the dais.
The Princess sat to the Emperor’s left, posture perfect, expression serene.
Beautiful in the way imperial women were beautiful—untouchable, composed, like a painting come to life.
Her eyes, though, were moving.
Yun-si watched them sweep across the huge garden with the methodical precision of someone taking inventory. They lingered on the scholars’ tables—the top three seated closest to the dais in positions of honor.
And stopped.
On Ting-zhi.
Something cold settled in Yun-si’s stomach.
The Emperor rose to make his toast. Yun-si barely heard the words. She was too busy watching the Princess watch Ting-zhi.
It wasn’t obvious. Nothing about the Princess was obvious. But there was something in the way her gaze rested on him—not curious, not admiring. Calculating.
No, Yun-si thought, fingers tightening around her cup. No, please no.
The toast concluded. Cups were raised, wine was drunk, and attention fragmented back into smaller conversations. Yun-si tried to look away from the dais. Failed.
The Princess leaned slightly toward her lady-in-waiting and seemed to murmur something.
The lady-in-waiting’s expression didn’t change. She bowed. Took up a tray from somewhere and crossed the hall.
Yun-si’s heart began to hammer.
The lady-in-waiting moved with the practiced grace of someone who belonged in palaces, her steps measured, her tray held at the perfect height.
She stopped at the scholars’ table. Offered congratulations on behalf of the princess.
Presented cups—one to the first place, one to the second place, the third to—
Ting-zhi.
He accepted it with a slight bow and that easy smile he always wore in public. The lady-in-waiting murmured something. He laughed. Raised the cup.
Drank.
Yun-si’s hands went cold.
It’s nothing, she told herself. Just palace hospitality. Standard ceremony. There’s no reason to suspect anything.
But she couldn’t stop watching.
Twenty minutes passed.
Maybe fifteen.
Yun-si had lost count. She was too busy pretending not to stare at Ting-zhi while absolutely staring at Ting-zhi.
Something was wrong.
It started subtle, the kind of subtle she only noticed because she’d years learning to read his expressions. The careful straightness of his spine softened. His shoulders dropped. He tilted his head slightly, as if the noise of the hall had become difficult to parse.
Then color rose along his neck and cheekbones.
Not the flush of wine. Something else. Something that made his brows draw together and his hand press briefly to his temple.
No.
She set down her cup before she could drop it.
Across the wide expanse of garden separating them, Ting-zhi shifted in his seat. Reached for his cup—found it empty—set it down again. The scholars beside him were laughing over some joke, oblivious.
Then he stood.
Unsteadily.
Just barely, but unsteadily.
Yun-si’s breath caught. She watched him excuse himself from the table with that same pleasant smile, watched him walk toward the side with steps that were almost steady, would have been steady to anyone not paying attention.
But she was paying attention.
Her gaze snapped back to the dais.
The Princess’s expression hadn’t changed. Still serene. Still perfect. But her fingers tapped twice ever so lightly against her sleeve.
Her lady-in-waiting, standing three paces behind her, dipped her chin.
And followed Ting-zhi out.
Yun-si couldn’t breathe. The tiny gasps of air she managed were not enough. There were a hundred reasons a Chancellor’s daughter should not follow a man out of a banquet. But the one reason she should was enough for her.
She rose as gracefully as she could manage, murmured something to Maiden Chen about needing air, and slipped toward the same exit. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Her hands were shaking.
Please let me be wrong. Please let this be nothing. Please.
She walked down the garden path leading out.
Empty.
No—not empty. Voices, faint, coming from a quiet side path further down. A woman’s voice, solicitous and helpful. A man’s voice, confused.
Ting-zhi’s voice.
Yun-si gathered her skirts and ran.
She found him being guided—gently, insistently—toward a side wing by the Princess’s lady-in-waiting.
“Scholar Gu, this way. You said you needed to rest. There’s a quiet room just—”
“I should—” His voice was thick, confused. “I should go home.”
“Of course, of course. Just rest first. Just for a moment.”
She followed them quietly, following behind like a shadow, darting behind trees, until the lady-in-waiting showed Ting-zhi into a room and left.
Yun-si quickly sneaked into the room. “Ting-zhi!” she hissed. Then she saw him, swaying on his feet with a dazed expression.
She moved without thinking. Her hand caught his elbow, steadying him, and his weight leaned into her—too much weight, too unsteady.
“Ting-zhi,” she said quietly. “Can you walk?”
He looked down at her. Recognition finally flickered across his face, followed immediately by confusion. “Yun-si? What are you—you shouldn’t—”
“I’m taking you home.” She shifted her grip, supporting more of his weight. “Can you walk?”
“Yes. I—” He pressed his free hand to his temple again. “I don’t understand. I only had a few cups.”
“I know.” Her jaw tightened. “Come on.”
She turned and guided him back out of the room, down the corridor, toward the main entrance, her heart hammering the entire time. Expecting at any moment to hear footsteps behind them, to be stopped, to have palace guards appear and demand explanations she couldn’t give.
But no one stopped them.
The banquet hall was still loud with celebration when they passed it. No one noticed two figures slipping toward the entrance. No one saw the Chancellor’s daughter supporting a scholar who could barely walk straight.
Ting-zhi walked with his eyes half-closed, his grip on her arm tightening. “Si-er—Can’t—”
“Just a little further.” She spotted her family’s carriage outside the palace and steered him toward it. “Almost there. Stay with me.”
“Si-er,” he continued under his breath deliriously, “Si-er—I’m sorry—I’m sorry—I didn’t kiss her—she came at me and I pushed her away—Si-er—I didn’t—didn’t do anything that night—”
“Shut up,” she said, with more feeling than grace.
He made a sound that might have been a wince.
They reached the carriage. Yun-si’s driver jumped down, eyes widening at the sight of them.
“Scholar Gu is unwell,” she said, before he could ask. “Bring us back to the residence.”
The driver didn’t hesitate. He pulled open the door and helped her maneuver Ting-zhi inside. Ting-zhi collapsed onto the seat with a groan, head falling back against the cushions.
Yun-si climbed in after him. The door closed. The carriage lurched into motion.
And suddenly they were alone in the dim interior, and she had absolutely no idea what to do next.
Ting-zhi’s eyes were closed. His breathing was too fast, too shallow and color burned high on his cheekbones. She reached out hesitantly to press her hand against his forehead and felt his skin burning.
He was still murmuring something about flower courtesans and kissing.
The idiot. I should have just left him there.