In the Library Pavilion where the rain beat the bells, Su Yanqing, a new scholar from a poor family, met Xie Wanning, the daughter of a famous imperial tutor in Beijing. Just as he stretched out his hand to steady the rickety wooden ladder, Miss Xie, who was five years older, asked him directly: "Would you like to join my Xie family?"
Su Yanqing blushed and refused, saying that she had a distinguished status, that he was still young, and that men and women were not close to each other. But Xie Wanning didn't play by the rules - she remembered his crying face when he won the championship in autumn, the tips of his ears that secretly turned red while he was guessing riddles in men's clothing during the Lantern Festival, and the plain paper she hid under the inkstone where she wrote "Su Yanqing" countless times.
"Identity is given by others, but your will is your own." Xie Wanning's fingertips traced his hot chin, "The person I want to lock is never yours, but the starlight on the bottom of the inkstone that you can't hide when you look at me."
A confession that started abruptly involved a surprising glimpse that was unspoken three years ago. When the rules of etiquette collided with blatant preference, Su Yanqing's grip on the book gradually loosened - perhaps he had already willingly let her hold the key to this heart lock.
