Page 66 of The Scholar's Improper Wife

TING-ZHI JOLTED AWAKE, his face burning, heart hammering against his ribs. Warm morning light spilled through the open windows. For a moment, he was still searching for Yun-si. Then the dream receded, and he remembered where he was.

The cold water did nothing to douse the heat still crawling under his skin.

Ting-zhi stood in the bathing chamber, staring at the mirror with fevered eyes, fingers digging into the bronze washbasin. His haunted face looked like he’d spent the night drinking strong wine instead of sleeping.

He hadn’t.

He’d spent it tangled in a dream so vivid he could still feel the weight of her on his lap, the way her breath hitched when his lips brushed her ear and the way she moaned when he stroked her tail.

His stomach twisted.

Guilt first. Sharp and ugly. He shouldn’t have dreamed of her like that. Not when she was still furious with him. Not when he’d deceived her, over and over, in letters she’d never meant for him.

And—

His fingers flexed against the basin.

He had touched herthere.

He could still feel the wet warmth on his fingers. Her hands in his hair, her body arching into his, the way she’d made that little sound—

Ting-zhi groaned, ducking his head under the water again.

The cold bit at his skin, but the memory burned hotter.

He scrubbed at his face, then at the evidence of the dream clinging to his body, his movements rough. The sheets were already bundled in the corner, soaked in the washbasin. He’d have to burn them. Or bury them. Or—

“Young Master?”

Wen-xin’s voice piped from the doorway, small and confused. “Why are you washing clothes?”

Ting-zhi didn’t turn. Water dripped from his hair, down his neck. “Sometimes a man has to handle his own messes.”

Wen-xin considered this. “Oh. Like when I peed in my sleep when I was younger and Mother insisted I clean up the sheets?”

“Exactly like that.”

Wen-xin mulled over that, then looked at him sympathetically. “You are a little old to be dirtying your sheets. Don’t worry. I won’t tell Master Gu.”

Ting-zhi choked and nearly fell over his own feet.

Wen-xin trotted forward and plopped a covered tray onto the table. “Breakfast from the kitchens,” he announced, as proudly as if he had made it himself. “It’s steamed buns today.” He picked one up, hopped up onto the stool next to the table, and started eating.

Ting-zhi grabbed a towel, dried his hands, and took a bun too. Wen-xin watched his face closely as he ate the first one in two bites, then ventured, “Did you have a bad dream last night?”

The bun stuck in his throat. He coughed and took two quick sips of the tea.

Wen-xin tilted his head. “Can I help?”

“How?”

“I could...” He scrunched his nose. “Pretend to be sick? Third Maiden will visit if you’re worried.”

Ting-zhi almost choked again. “Absolutely not.”

“Or!” Wen-xin’s eyes lit up. “I could tell her you are sick.”

Ting-zhi stared at him. “That’s...”Diabolical.“...actually not a terrible idea.”