Page 37 of The Scholar's Improper Wife

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 silverguanholding his dark hair neatly in a topknot. He lookeddifferent, 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,finallysending 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 thatmean? 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, absolutelynotto—

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.

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.