Chapter 37
Poppy sat very still beside him, the porcelain cup warm between her palms. Her eyes remained fixed on the floor, afraid to meet whatever truth might be looking back.
“Poppy,” Mingxi said.
She looked up.
“There was much spoken today,” he said quietly. “And revealed. If anything confused you, you may ask me.”
Her lips parted. Instead of fear, she tried to show care. “Your mother is very kind,” she said softly.
Mingxi blinked once. A subtle, restrained flinch she almost missed.
“She is not my mother,” he said gently.
Poppy froze. “Oh, Mingxi, I’m so sorr—”
He lifted a hand, the motion small but steady. “No apology. Merely truth.”
Poppy swallowed, uncertain. “Then your mother,” she tried again, choosing her words with more care, “was she like Xu Yunlian? Fox clan?”
His expression softened in a way that ached.
“No,” he murmured. “She was human.” The lantern light warmed his features, brushing the grief there like fingertips tracing an old scar. “She was gentle,” he said. “Warm. She laughed easily. She trusted too quickly. And she loved fiercely.”
A breath before he continued, “She loved me.”
Poppy’s chest tightened. “What happened?”
“I lost her when I was twelve,” he said simply. “And my father did not marry Xu Yunlian until centuries later.”
Poppy’s fingers curled around her cup. “Mingxi, I didn’t know.”
“You could not have,” he said quietly. “But it is why I am as I am. Why I guard. Why I stay close. Why certain titles do not sit well on my tongue.” His gaze lowered just a fraction. “And why I do not call Xu Yunlian mother.”
Poppy nodded slowly, understanding, not just hearing. “It must have been very lonely,” she said softly.
A faint breath escaped him, not quite agreement, but not denial either. “And you? Was there anything tonight that frightened you?”
She opened her mouth—
“Are you still being sad?” Minghua yelled across the garden.
Mingxi flinched.
Poppy jolted so hard she nearly dropped her tea, wondering how this whirlwind had been able to sneak up on them.
Minghua burst through the plum trees like she’d been fired from a catapult, arms full of steamed buns, hair a windblown disaster, expression painfully earnest.
“I brought food! And more food! And… oh! I embroidered this sachet. It has foxes on it!”
Mingxi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Minghua…”
“What? You both looked like you needed sweets!” She shoved a warm bun into Poppy’s hand before Poppy could protest. “It’s apricot,” she said proudly. “It fixes emotional trauma!”
Poppy blinked and then couldn’t help the laugh that erupted. A small, startled, beautiful sound. Mingxi stared at her, stunned.
Minghua puffed up like a triumphant sparrow. “See? I told you sweets help!”
“Minghua,” Mingxi said, voice strained. “Perhaps—”
“Not a chance,” Minghua declared. “Sadness has been defeated. You’re welcome.” She plopped onto the bench between them, swinging her legs and shoving another bun at Mingxi. “You too, Dà gē. You look like you’re about to brood a hole into the garden.”
Mingxi took the bun. He did not smile, but his eyes warmed.
Poppy watched them, brother and sister bickering gently, and her heart ached with a soft, suffocating envy and a flicker of hope. Before the warmth could settle too deeply, a serene voice floated across the garden.
“Minghua.”
Xu Yunlian stood at the edge of the path, hands folded, expression gentle but unmistakably deliberate.
Minghua froze mid-ramble, buns still clutched in her arms. “Yes, Mother?” she chirped.
“I need your help preparing the offerings,” Xu Yunlian said. Her voice never rose, but it carried a quiet, elegant authority that made even foxfire pause.
Minghua blinked. She glanced at Poppy and then at Mingxi. Then back at her mother. A flash of understanding crossed her face, dramatically obvious, comically unsubtle.
“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh.”
“Minghua,” Mingxi warned under his breath.
“I’m going!” she hissed back. “I’m going.” She thrust the last bun into Poppy’s hands with the solemnity of a sacred duty. “This one has extra filling. Eat it. It cures emotional devastation.”
“Minghua,” Mingxi repeated, clearly exasperated.
“Zaijian!”
She dashed off toward her mother, who hid her satisfaction with the grace of an empress used to orchestrating delicate emotional logistics.
And then… they were alone. The garden fell into a softer quiet. Not empty. Not cold. Just… still.
Poppy stared down at the bun in her hands, suddenly overwhelmed by the sweetness of the moment and the heaviness in her chest. Mingxi stepped closer, not pressing, not imposing, simply anchoring himself within her reach.
“Poppy,” he said gently, “you don’t have to return inside yet.”
She looked up, fragile and uncertain.
“There is a path behind the gardens,” he continued. “Quiet. Sheltered. Good for air. And for… steadiness.”
Her breath trembled. “Are you offering distraction?” she whispered.
“No.” A pause, soft as breath. “I am offering peace.”
Something in her loosened. Just a fraction. Enough.
“Yes,” she murmured. “I’d like that.”
Mingxi didn’t offer his arm. He merely turned toward the path, an invitation, not an expectation. Poppy stepped beside him, and the moment she matched his stride, the last of her tension unwound.
They walked under sweeping branches, foxfire drifting like pale fireflies. The air smelled of moss and river-sweet incense. Each step pulled her farther from the weight of the Council chamber and into something gentler, something she could breathe in.
Mingxi walked a half-step behind her, sensing her pace, matching it without a word.
After a quiet stretch, Poppy exhaled softly. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For not pushing. For staying near.”
His voice was low, steady. “I will always remain within reach.”
A warmth spread through her chest, small, blooming, real. They walked on. The quiet shifted as they went, soft at first and then threaded with distant sound. A faint rise of laughter. A vendor’s call echoing like a musical lilt. The bright ring of chimes stirred by wind.
Poppy slowed, brow furrowing. “Mingxi… what is that?”
He paused beside her, listening with the ease of someone who knew every contour of this mountain. “The heart of the clan city,” he said. “Shops. Stalls. Morning bustle.”
She blinked, startled. “It sounds… lively.”
“It is,” he admitted.
His gaze shifted to her face, reading her tension, her uncertainty, her exhaustion still lingering beneath the surface.
“We don’t have to go farther,” he said softly. “If you’d prefer quiet, I can take you back another way.”
Poppy inhaled, expecting panic, crowds, noise, brightness, but instead…
Surprise flickered. Curiosity. A strange, fragile wanting.
“No,” she said, shaking her head gently. “I don’t want to go back yet.” Her voice steadied. “I want to see.”
A subtle warmth touched Mingxi’s expression, approval, and something softer beneath it.
“Then we continue,” he murmured.
She nodded. They stepped forward together.
The stone path widened unexpectedly, opening into a sprawling street bustling with color and sound.
Lanterns hung from curved wooden beams, amber light reflecting off lacquered stalls and shimmering silk banners.
The air was thick with the scents of roasted chestnut, plum wine, and river herbs.
Poppy slowed, breath catching—overwhelmed and entranced all at once.
“This,” Mingxi said quietly beside her, “is the Lower Marketplace.”
It was nothing like the quiet, clipped halls of English society.
This place was alive. Fox shifters moved between the stalls in human form and half-shifted forms, ears, tails, flickers of magic gleaming in the morning sun.
Kits darted under tables. Merchants haggled loudly.
Musicians played pipes carved from moonwood.
A pair of elders argued passionately over the price of mushrooms.
It was chaotic. Warm. Beautiful.
A small kit, the size of a house cat, shot out from under a stall and crashed directly into Mingxi’s boots.
Poppy gasped. Mingxi did not. He simply bent and scooped the kit up with practiced ease. The little creature squeaked and immediately burrowed into the front of his robe like it had done it a thousand times.
Mingxi sighed. “Auntie Li’s youngest,” he explained.
From behind a stall draped in dyed silks, a matronly fox-woman called out, “If that kit is bothering you again, Mingxi, just give him a tap on the ear! Teaches them respect!”
Mingxi’s ears twitched in horror. “No.”
Poppy pressed a hand to her mouth to hide her laugh—a real laugh, warm and startled. The sound surprised even her.
Auntie Li waved him off. “Spoiling them gets you nowhere! You were the worst of the lot when you were small.”
Mingxi closed his eyes, and Poppy sensed a long-suffering resignation.
“I was… adequate.”
Auntie Li barked a laugh. “Adequate! Little ice-tail, you set my shop on fire!”
Poppy’s gaze snapped to him. “You… set something on fire?”
Mingxi did not look at her. “I was nine.”
“And it was three stalls,” Auntie Li added cheerfully. “But he apologized so prettily we let him off.”
Another merchant called from across the walkway, “Mingxi! Come eat something! Too thin for a clan lord!”
“I am not—” Mingxi began.
But three more merchants chimed in at once.
“Too pale!”
“Too tense!”
“He works too much!”
Mingxi looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.
Poppy smiled, really smiled, for the first time since they’d arrived.
Auntie Li leaned across her counter. “Who’s this with you? Does your father know you brought someone home?”
Mingxi stiffened. “Auntie—”
Poppy dipped a polite curtsy. “Penelope Sinclair.”
Auntie Li squinted. “Pretty. Too thin. Needs better broth.”
“She eats perfectly well,” Mingxi said sharply.
“So defensive,” Auntie Li teased. “You bring home one girl and suddenly you’re territorial!”
Mingxi made a strangled noise.
Poppy blinked. Is he… blushing?
Auntie Li clucked and shoved a small wrapped bundle at Poppy.
“Moon-pastry. Eat it before you faint from his moodiness.”
“Thank you.” Poppy accepted it awkwardly, warmth blooming in her chest.
Mingxi exhaled through his nose. “We should continue.”
“Yes,” Auntie Li said, winking. “Wouldn’t want to keep the girl from seeing what a proper fox clan looks like.”
They walked on, the kit still cradled in his arm.
Poppy glanced at him sidelong. “You’re different here.”
Mingxi did not meet her eyes. “This is home.”
She let herself absorb the warmth, the laughter, the teasing, the chaos, the easy affection he had no defense against. He looked less like a fox lord and more like… a man. A man who had once been a boy running through these very stalls, setting fires and stealing sweets.
“I like it,” Poppy said softly.
His ears twitched.
He looked away quickly, but his voice was gentler than she’d ever heard it. “I am glad.”