Chapter 34
It was the day of the opening of the new Autumn Leaf Literary Treasures.
The once-cramped, dimly lit space had been utterly transformed.
Walls had been removed to open up the space, while new windows flooded the shop with natural light.
The main room now sprawled open and airy, its polished wooden floors gleaming honey-gold in the filtered sunlight.
There were reading nooks carefully arranged by the windows, each one outfitted with cushions that were finally delivered with the correct shades.
A small tea corner occupied the back left section, complete with a small brazier, an array of clay and porcelain teapots in various sizes, and shelves lined with tin canisters of tea leaves. Customers could order different kinds of teas and sit at the low tables to chat, read, or simply think.
And there were books. So many books. Mountains of them, really, more than Yun-si had ever imagined they’d be able to stock. The huabens, once relegated to a dusty back corner where only the bravest customers dared to venture, now occupied an entire prominent section of shelves in the center.
There were romance huabens with their delicate floral motif covers, martial arts stories featuring sword-wielding heroes, adventure tales of treasures and far-off lands, supernatural stories of spirits and immortals, and even—this was Old Wang’s proudest achievement—history huabens.
Old Wang had finally convinced the crusty old historian who frequented their shop to try writing history in the form of stories rather than dry chronological records.
Yun-si had read them with great curiosity and found them surprisingly good.
The stories were so vivid and immediate that she felt as though she were standing in the imperial court three dynasties ago.
Some of the events were so incredulous, so outrageously dramatic, she had to admit history was oftentimes a lot stranger than make-believe stories.
The whole place was welcoming, awash with light that poured through the new windows and made the dust motes dance like golden snow. The smell of fresh wood, new paper, and brewing tea mingled together into something warm and promising.
“Little Wang!” Old Wang barked at the new shop attendant; his weathered face creased with alarm. “Carefully! Those teacups are not firewood! They’re porcelain, good porcelain!”
Yun-si had to press her sleeve to her mouth to stifle a laugh at the absurdity of it all.
Little Wang—so named to differentiate him from Old Wang—was a burly, strong young man with shoulders like a draft horse, a wife, and three young children.
He handled the box of delicate teacups and pots as though they were made of spun sugar, his large hands surprisingly gentle.
Old Wang, unimpressed, turned his attention to another stack of boxes. “And take those books to the storeroom before the guests arrive! We can’t have the place looking like a warehouse!”
Yun-si drifted away from the chaos, running her fingers along the huabens stacked neatly on the shelves with quiet pride.
Her own works were here, tucked amongst the others, anonymously.
She paused at the romance section, thinking unexpectedly of Princess Ming-yue.
The girl who had only read the proper books within the confines of the palace walls.
The journey to the North is far, Yun-si thought, her fingers trailing across the book spines. And the winters there are long and cold. Perhaps Ming-yue would appreciate having something more interesting to read.
I should send her a box of huabens for her journey north. The good ones, the ones that made you happy, or made you weep. And the ones that made you want to lift a sword and see the world.
Before she could dwell on it further, the shop door burst open, and Yun-jia and Yun-hai tumbled in.
“We’re here to help!” Yun-jia declared, her cheeks flushed with excitement.
Old Wang groaned. “More chaos, you mean.”
Yun-si smiled and handed them a stack of flyers. “You two can help me give these out.”
Then finally, it was time.
A crowd of neighbors, regular customers and curious passersby gathered outside, waiting for the opening. Yun-si and Old Wang stood before the entrance, where a large piece of red silk cloth covered the new signage.
“One, two, three. Pull!” Old Wang shouted, and together they pulled the cloth down. The silk fell away smoothly, revealing the sign: Autumn Leaf Literary Treasures. It was a new sign, freshly carved and painted, but it bore the old shop name—the name that had been a harbor for her dreams.
Yun-si had thought, at first, of asking her father the Chancellor to write the calligraphy for the sign. It would have been a tremendous honor, one that would have drawn customers and prestige in equal measure. But she had not dared to ask.
She had gathered her courage and asked Yun-shan, hoping her elder brother might do it.
But Yun-shan, ever proper and politically astute, had gently shaken his head.
“Third Sister, you should not ask someone with a court position to write a commercial sign,” he’d explained.
“It would be... inappropriate. But Master Gu is a good choice. His calligraphy is famous throughout the capital, he has no political position to complicate matters, and he is your future father-in-law.”
So she had asked Master Gu instead, and he had agreed immediately, his eyes lighting up with genuine pleasure at being asked. The calligraphy was beautiful—strong yet graceful, scholarly yet warm. It was perfect.
Firecrackers exploded in a deafening crackle of sound and sparks, filling the air with smoke and fluttering red paper scraps. Laughter, chatter, congratulations, and the continuous pop-pop-pop of firecrackers blended into an overwhelming cacophony.
Then, through all of that chaos and color and noise, their eyes met.
Gu Ting-zhi stood across the crowd, taller than most, elegant in his grey robes.
The noise of the world faded for a single, suspended heartbeat. She could feel his eyes on her, pleading and questioning at the same time.
Yun-si exhaled.
She gave him the smallest of nods.
And he nodded back, eyes on her, lips tentatively curving into a smile.