Page 60 of The Scholar's Improper Wife

She snatched a hairpin from the vanity and stabbed it into the messy twist of her hair, securing the strands with more force than necessary. The sharp prick of pain grounded her, just barely.

She took a steadying breath, smoothing her expression into something resembling composure.

She did not know whether she was more annoyed with herself for dreaming of him that way when she was still angry at him.

Or more annoyed that the dream had ended too soon.

THE BOOKSHOP WAS EXACTLYwhere Yun-si needed to be—somewhere to pour all the restless energy that was inside her.

The renovation had begun in earnest, and the old shop, usually so quiet and still, felt alive in a way it hadn’t been in years.

The wall between the two shop spaces was gone.

Yun-si ran her fingers along the newly exposed beam, the wood rough under her fingertips. Sunlight spilled through the open doorway, illuminating stacks of unsorted books, rolls of new fabric and half-assembled furniture.

Old Wang hovered near the counter, his arms folded so tightly over his chest that his sleeves threatened to unravel. His usual air of quiet omniscience had been replaced by something far more volatile. “Disaster,” he muttered, his long eyebrows twitching like caterpillars in a storm. “Absolute disaster.”

Yun-si almost smiled. Almost.

A contractor shuffled in, bowing. “Maiden Shen, should the shelves be left or right of the window?”

Yun-si turned, squinting at the space. Left would mean the shelves would catch the morning light, soft and diffused. Right would leave them in the afternoon’s harsher glow. “Left,” she decided. “More light for reading.”

The man straightened, nodding once before disappearing back into the fray of workers.”

Old Wang cleared his throat, pulling Yun-si from her thoughts. “So? How goes your grand plan to steal Moonlit Brush from Golden House?”

Yun-si blinked, the question hitting her like a bucket of cold water. Her fingers twitched against her skirt, the fabric suddenly too warm.The spring dream.Ting-zhi’s voice, low and amused, his hands—

She swallowed. “I... haven’t heard back yet.”

Old Wang’s bushy eyebrows shot up. “Haven’t heard back? After that letter you showed me? The one where you practically called him the reincarnation of the Star of Literature?” He snorted, shaking his head.

Yun-si’s chest tightened. She could still see the way Ting-zhi had looked at her in the library, his dark eyes burning with something she hadn’t understood.Don’t look so sad for another man.His voice had been rough, almost angry, but she had sensed the unhappiness beneath. And then his mouth on hers, warm and gentle, stealing her breath—

She pressed her palms against her knees, grounding herself. “It’s fine. I’ll—I’ll think of something else.”

Old Wang waved a dismissive hand. “Forget him. You don’tneedMoonlit Brush. We’ll find other authors. New ones. Hungry ones.” He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble. “There’s a poet in the southern quarter, writes under the nameDrunken Plum. Scandalous stuff, but the ladies eat it up. And that old historian, the one who keeps sending me those dry-as-dust history chronicles? I’ll tell him if he wants to sellanything, he’d better add a love story.”

Yun-si tried her best to smile and almost succeeded.

Old Wang’s expression softened. “Listen to me, Third Maiden. You’ve got the Shen Clan behind you, a sharp mind, and a bookshop that’s about to be the talk of Scholar’s Lane. You don’t need some famous author’s name to make this work.” He tapped the counter with a gnarled finger. “We’ll make our own luck.”

Yun-si nodded, but her gaze drifted to the window, where the late afternoon light gilded the edges of the bookshelves. Outside, a street vendor’s cart rattled past, the scent of freshly griddled sweet flatbreads curling through the air.

She could still taste the ghost of Ting-zhi’s kiss. Still hear the way his voice had cracked when he said,I can’t bear it.

Why? Why did he deceive her?

She needed to know why.

Later, when the delivery of cushions for said reading corner arrived in a garish shade of vermillion instead of the serene celadon green she had ordered, Old Wang’s grumbling reached a new peak.

“Blind as a bat, that supplier,” he muttered, snatching the invoice. “This color would frighten the scholars away. They would think they’ve stumbled into an opera house.”

Yun-si ran a hand over the brightly colored fabric. It was wrong. All wrong. But it was a problem with a solution. “Send them back,” she said, her voice firm.

Old Wang sniffed.