Chapter 36
Only when she was out of sight did Mingxi’s breath leave him, quiet, tight, frayed.
A voice drawled behind him. “You’re in trouble.”
Mingxi did not flinch. He simply exhaled. “Mingjun.”
His brother stepped out from behind a pillar like he’d been summoned by drama itself, arms folded, eyebrow arched.
“That girl just shattered in front of the elders,” Mingjun said. “And you looked like you wanted to burn the entire mountain down for her.”
Mingxi stared at his brother. Silent. Unamused.
Mingjun smirked. “Oh, come on,” he said. “At least deny it with style.”
“I am her protector,” Mingxi said evenly.
“No,” Mingjun countered, stepping closer. “You’re her anchor.”
Mingxi’s jaw tightened.
Mingjun circled once, examining his brother like a puzzle he had already solved.
“I’ve seen you protect diplomats, nobles, shrine visitors, council members, hell, even a chicken once.”
“That rooster was unusually aggressive.”
“And yet,” Mingjun continued, ignoring that, “not once have you ever looked at someone like you did in that chamber.”
Mingxi didn’t respond.
Mingjun’s grin softened, not mocking but knowing. “You like her.”
“No.”
“You care.”
“No.”
“Your aura spiked when she cried.”
“That is irrelevant.”
“There was murder in your eyes when the elders pressed her too hard.”
Mingxi went still.
Mingjun stepped closer, tilting his head, voice dropping to something unusually serious. “She needs someone steady, Mingxi. And you—” He tapped Mingxi’s chest with two fingers.
Mingxi’s breath hitched. Just barely.
Mingjun continued with a smirk “You have already chosen her.”
Mingjun smiled like a fox who had successfully dug straight into his brother’s ribcage. “Don’t worry,” he added lightly. “I won’t tell Minghua.”
Mingxi dragged a hand down his face. “Go away.”
“Nope,” Mingjun said cheerfully. “Not when you’re this much fun.”
“Mingjun.”
“I’m just saying, if you plan on pretending you don’t care, you should work on your expression. And your eyes. And your aura. And your—”
“Mingjun.”
“Breathing.”
Mingxi glared, but Mingjun only laughed under his breath.
“Good luck, Dà gē,” he said as he walked away. “She might not want company right now, but she already trusts you. And that,” he glanced back with a knowing smile, “is the beginning of something.”
Mingxi didn’t answer. He just watched the garden path where Poppy had gone and wondered why his heart felt like it belonged there too.
Poppy found a quiet corner of the inner garden, sinking onto a stone bench beneath a plum tree heavy with blossoms. Her hands shook.
Her breath felt thin. Her thoughts were a blurred tangle of grief and memory and that impossible portrait.
She hadn’t realized she was crying again until a soft rustle of silk announced someone approaching.
Xu Yunlian.
She moved like a breeze, barely disturbing the air, but impossible to ignore.
“May I join you?” she asked gently.
Poppy swallowed and nodded, wiping her eyes quickly. Xu Yunlian sat beside Poppy, not too close, not too far, and set a small tray down between them, holding still-steaming tea and warm sweet buns shaped like tiny foxes.
Poppy blinked at them.
Xu Yunlian smiled faintly. “When Minghua was small, these were the only things that could soothe her after nightmares.”
“I’m sorry,” Poppy said softly. “I didn’t mean to worry anyone.”
“You didn’t,” Xu Yunlian assured Poppy, voice a warm balm. “You spoke truth in the Council chamber. That alone takes courage.”
She poured tea into a delicate cup and respectfully handed it to Poppy with both hands. “Drink, child.”
Poppy obeyed before thinking, and her hands steadied around the warm porcelain. They sat in silence for a moment. Not heavy silence. Gentle silence.
Xu Yunlian watched the blossoms drifting in the breeze, and then said quietly, “You love your sister very much.”
Poppy’s throat tightened. “She was everything good in my life.”
Xu Yunlian nodded as if she understood more deeply than she let on. “I cannot imagine what it feels like to have her returned in such a form,” she continued softly, “but I can tell you this. You are not alone in carrying the weight of that grief.”
Poppy’s breath hitched.
Xu Yunlian reached out slowly and brushed a tear from Poppy’s cheek with her thumb. Maternal. Tender. Steady.
“Child, you have been brave for far too long. Let someone else be brave for you now.”
Poppy blinked hard, voice barely a breath. “I don’t know how.”
“You don’t need to,” Xu Yunlian said. “Just allow us to stand with you.”
Silence again. Soft. Healing.
Then Xu Yunlian added, her voice gentle and curious but absolutely deliberate, “My son worries for you.”
Poppy’s head jerked up. “Mingxi?”
Xu Yunlian hid a small, knowing smile in her teacup. “He is not easily shaken,” she said. “He is quiet, disciplined, dutiful, and most days stubborn as stone.”
Poppy looked back at the blossoms, cheeks warming.
“I didn’t want him to think I was rejecting him,” she whispered. “I just needed space.”
Xu Yunlian nodded. “That is understandable. And he understands you.” Her eyes softened. “But he is unused to caring. Deeply. It frightens him.”
Poppy’s breath stuttered. “I don’t want to be a burden.”
Xu Yunlian turned to Poppy sharply, gentle but firm, and said, “You could never be a burden. Not to him.”
Poppy stared, unsure, overwhelmed.
Xu Yunlian reached out again, this time placing a warm hand over Poppy’s. “Let me tell you something about my son,” she said softly. “When he chooses someone to protect, his entire spirit aligns with that choice. He does not bend away from it. He does not waver.”
Poppy’s lips parted slightly. She remembered the steady way he had caught her. The calm way he held her upright. The fierce, quiet promise in his voice: You protected her. Now we protect her.
“I didn’t ask him to watch me,” Poppy whispered.
“And yet he stayed,” Xu Yunlian said with a knowing smile. “Because he wanted to.”
Poppy felt something loosen inside her chest, a knot of fear and loneliness she’d carried for years.
Xu Yunlian squeezed Poppy’s hand. “Drink your tea, child. And breathe.”
Poppy did, marveling at how Yunlian’s generous spirit had reached places Poppy thought still closed.
Across the garden, Mingxi slowed. He stopped several paces away, watching Poppy as she breathed through the weight of it, as her shoulders gradually loosened.
When she steadied, he moved again, crossing the remaining distance and settling beside her.
Only then did he lean slightly toward her as he spoke, his posture angled protectively without eclipsing her.
Poppy’s shoulders eased as she listened, as if her grief was no longer carved in stone but trembling, human, allowed.
Xu Yunlian stood at the edge of the garden, half hidden behind a flowering arch of wisteria. She watched in silence, hands folded, expression soft, eyes warm with something deeply maternal.
Xu Yunlian exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.
He is opening himself, she thought. Good. He has been alone long enough.
For the first time in years, she saw her quiet, disciplined eldest son reaching toward someone.
And the girl? Hurt, hunted by fate, full of resilience she didn’t even recognize.
Xu Yunlian’s heart settled on its answer.
These two will either save each other… or tear the mountain apart trying.
She smiled softly.
Either way, she would help them.