Chapter 19
One week had barely passed since the moonlit confession, and already the household was preparing for the fourth of the six marital rites.
The speed of it all made Yun-si’s head spin.
She had hardly any time to catch her breath between the proposal gifts, the divination consultations, and now—now came the fourth rite: the sending of betrothal gifts.
After today, after the Gu family formally presented their betrothal gifts and her family accepted them, she would be considered officially betrothed to the Gu family.
To Gu Ting-zhi.
She felt difficulty breathing just at the thought.
Yun-si sat ramrod straight on an embroidered cushion in the screened sanctum adjacent to the main receiving hall, her hands folded so tightly in her lap that her knuckles had gone white.
Despite her best efforts at composure, her palms were slicked with nervous perspiration, dampening the silk of her sleeves.
Beside her, Yun-jia craned her neck to peek through the decorative screen’s carved openings, trying to catch glimpses of the ceremony beyond.
“Stop fidgeting,” Yun-si whispered.
“I’m not fidgeting, I’m observing,” Yun-jia whispered back, eyes bright with mischief. “Someone has to report back to you what’s happening since you’re too proper to look.”
It was true—Yun-si had barely raised her eyes from her lap since they’d been sequestered here.
Propriety demanded that she remain behind the screen.
It didn’t matter that only her parents and Yun-shan occupied the receiving hall, formally accepting the betrothal on behalf of the Shen family.
It didn’t matter that she could hear but not see anything that was transpiring beyond the carved rosewood barrier.
She was so nervous, she was certain her hammering heart could be heard through the screen.
She could hear everything.
The rustle of fine silk bolts. The measured tones of the matchmaker as she announced each item: cloths, jade bangles, gold hairpins set with pearls, lacquered boxes of fragrant tea, jars of honey, preserved fruits, and—
The distinctive, somewhat indignant honking of geese.
“Those geese are big,” commented Yun-jia in awe.
Yun-si’s lips twitched despite her nerves.
The traditional offering of geese symbolized fidelity and devotion.
Most families these days settled for carved wooden geese for convenience.
She was faintly unsure whether Ting-zhi had brought two live ones because he was taking this extremely seriously, or because he found the prospect of presenting her with two honking geese amusing.
After today, after her father formally accepted these gifts, she would be betrothed to Gu Ting-zhi.
Her often-times best friend. Her sometimes most infuriating nemesis.
The boy who had pulled her braids when they were children and then spent his adolescence torturing her with that insufferable smirk and those knowing eyes.
The same person who, just one week ago, had looked at her with such devastating sincerity and said: I’ve loved you every moment and every day.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his expression—no trace of his usual teasing, no hint of that maddening smile. Just raw, honest emotion laid bare before her like an offering more precious than any betrothal gift.
I’ve loved you every moment and every day.
She giggled uncontrollably, bubbles of happiness bursting out of her until there was simply no space left for nerves.
But she managed to sit there till the end of the ceremony, hands folded, the picture of demure propriety, while those words kept repeating in her mind like the best romance huaben in the world.
AFTER THE BETROTHAL ceremony concluded, nothing seemed to have changed yet everything had changed. That evening, Wen-xin arrived at Peach Blossom Courtyard with his usual cheerful energy, carrying a big box of pastries and a small bundle of books wrapped in blue cloth.
“Third Maiden!” he announced proudly, carefully setting his burdens on the stone table in the courtyard. “Young Master sent these for you.”
Yun-si approached, her curiosity piqued by the generous collection.
The pastry box revealed an impressive array—lotus seed paste buns, osmanthus cakes, crystallized fruit confections, red bean pastries—each one a different flavor, as if Ting-zhi had simply ordered one of everything from the most expensive sweet shop in Shangjing.
But it was the bundle of books that truly caught her attention.
When she untied the cloth wrapping, her breath caught.
Every single volume bore the distinctive style of Moonlit Brush’s publications.
She had vindictively never read the books of her greatest rival.
And now here they were, bundled together as a tribute.
A folded note slipped from between the pages, and she recognized Ting-zhi’s elegant calligraphy immediately: Research materials for you.
Yun-si traced her fingers over the titles, reading each one aloud in a whisper: The Besotted Flower Thief, Dreams of the Otherworld, A Scholar’s Wicked Proposal, Beneath the Willow Pavilion. Each promised scandal, yet the fine paper and elegant binding spoke of quality rarely found in huabens.
She selected the infamous Besotted Flower Thief first, carrying it to her desk where a lamp flickered.
... and his voice came low beside her ear.
“You have a petal in your hair.”
His fingers found it before she could protest. Drew it free with the same unhurried care one might give to something precious.
He held it out to her on his open palm, white against the lines of his hand, and looked at her with eyes that had, she realized with a lurch, not moved from her face since she arrived.
Three pages later, her face burned.
His shadow stretched long across the courtyard tiles as he backed her against the peach tree, its blossoms raining petals onto her silk sleeves.
His hand found her waist—not the polite brush of fingers one might expect, but a firm, claiming grip, pulling her flush against him.
The scent of ink and crushed flowers rose between them.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” he murmured, voice rough as sandalwood.
She opened her mouth to protest, but his lips stopped her.
This was no chaste press of mouths; this was hunger, desire, a tempest of longing that shook the heavens and earth.
A flame, that burned hotter than the summer sun.
His teeth grazed her lower lip before his tongue demanded entrance.
She gasped, and he deepened the kiss, one hand tangling in her hair to tilt her head just so, the other branding her waist through the thin silk.
The tree bark dug into her back, but she barely noticed—her fingers had already clenched into the front of his robe, anchoring herself as the world tilted.
When he finally pulled back, his breath came uneven, his thumb tracing the swollen curve of her mouth. “Now you know how I’ve been sleeping.” The words were a growl, low and dark as the bruise his kiss had left on her soul.
“Confucius is definitely spinning,” Yun-si muttered, flipping the page despite herself.
By the middle of the book, the couple had progressed from kissing to significantly more scandalous territory. Yun-si had to fan herself with her free hand. The prose was elegant and poetic, but the content...
... he traced the lines of her face softly with a finger, then slowly, down her throat to where her lapels touched, and down, and down.
Her breath became shallow and her hands forgot what they were supposed to be doing.
His fingers found the ribbon’s end and drew it loose with the patience of a man savoring a feast. The fabric whispered apart, baring the slope of her shoulder to the candlelight.
Her ivory skin was dusted with the faintest blush, as if the peach blossoms outside had been crushed into her very flesh.
“Do you know,” he murmured, his breath a sinful caress against the shell of her ear, “how many nights I’ve dreamed of this?” His lips followed the words, pressing to the delicate hollow at her throat. She shuddered, her nails digging into the bed, but he only chuckled, low and dark.
His tongue flicked out, tasting the pulse that fluttered wildly beneath her skin.
“Salt and honey,” he groaned. “You’re sweeter than the lychees of Lingnan.
” His teeth grazed her shoulder next, just sharp enough to make her gasp, before soothing the sting with the flat of his tongue.
“Tell me, my shy little recluse, did you ever imagine it would feel like this?” His hand slid inside the loosened robe, palms skimming upward until his thumb brushed the underside of her breast. “Like you’re one spark away from turning to ash? ”
A breathless sound escaped her, and he took it as permission. His palms cradled her, fingers splaying possessively as his mouth trailed along her collarbone. “Perfect,” he murmured against her skin with a smile. “Let me be the one to set you aflame.”
She should stop reading.
She turned another page.
Dawn light crept through her window lattices before Yun-si registered she’d finished the huaben. Yun-si realized with horror that not only had she been holding her breath, but she also felt uncomfortably wet in places she shouldn’t even know existed.
But beyond the shocking intimacy, the writing itself sang. Each sentence flowed seamlessly into the next. The emotions of the characters felt so real. Moonlit Brush had woven romance and scandal into something undeniably brilliant.
No wonder Golden House Books had queues wrapping around the block.
She hated him. And desperately wanted to meet him.