Chapter 40
A soft chime of fox bells woke her, delicate as dew on glass.
Morning light filtered through the shoji screen, pale gold on the polished floor.
Poppy blinked sleep from her eyes, unsure for a moment where she was—until the scent of sweet ginger porridge drifted under her door and soft footsteps paused outside.
A gentle knock.
“Lady Penelope? May I enter?”
Poppy straightened. “Yes, please.”
The door slid open to reveal Xu Yunlian, serene as morning mist, carrying a lacquered tray laden with steaming bowls. She wasn’t dressed in ceremonial robes but in lavender morning garments, her dark hair loosely pinned, a few strands softening her usually composed face.
“I thought a quieter breakfast might suit you,” she said warmly. “Minghua means well, but she tends to arrive like a small, cheerful typhoon.”
As if summoned, a loud thump sounded from just beyond the door.
“Ow, Mǔqīn! I’m fine!”
Xu Yunlian sighed with affectionate resignation. “Yes. Exactly like that.”
She settled the tray beside Poppy and poured tea with practiced grace. “Eat. Today should be gentle. Minghua insisted on showing you some of our customs.”
Another muffled crash. “Mother, can I come in now? I promise I’m ready!”
“Before she breaks the door,” Xu Yunlian murmured, moving to open it.
Minghua burst in—hair half braided, arms full of supplies, cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Poppy! You’re awake—good! We have so much to do. Mother, did you feed her?” Xu Yunilan acknowledged with a quick nod. “Yes? Good! People faint if they’re not fed. I read that.”
“Minghua,” Xu Yunlian said, voice barely louder than the whisper of steam from the tea. “Gentleness.”
“I am gentle,” Minghua said sincerely. “Watch. Poppy, may I take your hand?”
Poppy tilted her head. “Yes.”
“See?” She beamed. “Perfect gentleness.”
Xu Yunlian hid a laugh behind her sleeve as Minghua practically floated out of the pavilion, tugging Poppy after her with exaggerated care.
The courtyard was still quiet with early light. Thin beams of sunlight slipped between the plum branches, catching on drifting foxfire motes. Kits wrestled in a pile near a stone lantern—tiny fox forms tumbling over one another in a flurry of fur and little squeals.
“This,” Minghua announced proudly, sweeping an arm wide, “is the family courtyard. Step wrong and Elder Shenwu will lecture you for twelve days, but don’t worry, I will teach you everything.”
Poppy stiffened. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to offend anyone.”
Minghua patted her shoulder. “You won’t. Lesson one. Greeting an elder.” She bowed gracefully, hands folded. “Like this.”
Then she abruptly bent so low she nearly toppled forward. “And this is what you don’t do. That means you’re challenging them to a duel.”
Poppy pressed her lips together, trying not to laugh. “So… polite, but not too deep.”
“Yes! Don’t bow like you’re offering them your spine.”
They moved to the center of the courtyard, where the stone path warmed under the rising sun. A fox kit darted toward them, tripped, rolled, and smacked directly into Poppy’s ankle.
Poppy gasped. “Is he… Did I…?”
“He loves you,” Minghua announced. “Lesson two. Kits show affection by collision.”
The tiny fox squeaked and head-butted Poppy again.
“Oh,” Poppy whispered, kneeling. “May I…?”
“Pet him! He’ll be offended if you don’t.”
Poppy reached out and gently stroked behind his ear. The fox melted into a warm, fuzzy puddle beneath her hand. Something in her chest loosened—slow, warm, almost painful in its sweetness.
Minghua clapped. “See? You’re perfect at this!”
She whisked Poppy to a stone bench beneath a juniper tree. Two cups waited there already.
“Lesson three! Tea.” Minghua pointed to the cups with solemn reverence. “If someone pours jasmine, you accept. If they pour chrysanthemum, be careful—they’re annoyed at you.”
Poppy blinked. “And lotus?”
“Oh.” Minghua’s smile softened, her voice dropping as though sharing a secret. “Lotus means they see you. Truly see you.”
Poppy looked down at the delicate cup, her throat tightening. “I… don’t think anyone has ever done that.”
“You have us to do that for you now,” Minghua said simply, squeezing her hand.
A warm breeze rustled the leaves overhead.
“Poppy.” Mingxi’s voice came from the archway.
Calm. Even. Yet the sound of it fluttered low in Poppy’s stomach. He stepped into the courtyard with that unhurried elegance he always carried, hands clasped behind his back.
Minghua puffed up proudly. “She’s learning so fast, Dà gē.”
Poppy felt heat rise in her cheeks. “She’s very patient.”
Mingxi’s gaze shifted, softening almost imperceptibly. “She always is.”
Minghua gasped. “Did you just compliment me?”
“No.”
“You did!”
“No.”
“You absolutely did.”
“Minghua.”
She cackled and scampered away, leaving Poppy with Mingxi beneath the juniper’s shade.
Mingxi sat beside her, folding the sleeves of his robe.
“May I?” he asked, motioning to the parchment she held.
“Yes,” Poppy breathed.
He dipped a brush into ink, his movements controlled, graceful. “Fox calligraphy is breath. Center. Intention.” He guided her hand—not touching, but close enough she felt the warmth of him—and together they formed the first stroke.
Her line wobbled.
“Breathe,” Mingxi murmured.
She did. The next stroke came steadier.
“Good,” he said softly.
Her heart fluttered.
A shadow fell over the parchment.
“My, my,” a familiar voice drawled. “Lessons without me?”
Mingjun strolled in, hands tucked behind his back like a scholar, smirk firmly in place.
“Mingjun.” Mingxi sighed.
“Dà gē,” Mingjun mimicked sweetly. Then he leaned down to Poppy’s level. “You’re doing wonderfully. Here, let me show you a very common greeting.”
He dipped his brush and, with a flourish, wrote: 我爱你
Poppy tilted her head. “What does it mean?”
Mingjun flashed the smile of a man who enjoyed chaos on a spiritual level.
“Wǒ ài nǐ means: ‘You honor me. Good morning.’ A perfect greeting for Mingxi.”
“Mingjun,” he warned, deadly quiet.
But Poppy was already practicing under her breath. “Wǒ ài nǐ…” Then she looked up at Mingxi—straight into his eyes—and said softly, earnestly, “Mingxi… 我爱你.”
His breath seized, his spine snapped straight, and his ears flushed.
Poppy blinked. “Did I say it correctly?”
Mingxi made a noise that did not belong to the language.
Mingjun leaned against a column, arms folded. “Dà gē is having a spiritual crisis. Lovely job.”
“Mingjun!”
Mingjun bolted, and Mingxi went after him with a dignity that lasted exactly three steps.
Poppy covered her mouth, laughter bubbling out despite the confusion tingling beneath it. What on earth did I say to make Mingxi react like that?
A soft rustle brushed the hallway. Xu Yunlian glided past with a basket of neatly folded linens, serenity in motion.
She paused, taking in the scene with a knowing sigh.
“They are exhausting, aren’t they?” she murmured, voice warm with long-honed patience. “But they mean well.”
Poppy dropped her hand from her mouth. “I… hope so. I tried saying the greeting Mingjun taught me, but Mingxi looked like he was about to faint.”
Xu Yunlian’s brows lifted delicately. “Greeting?”
“He said it means ‘you honor me’ or ‘good morning.’” Poppy shrugged. “Wǒ ài nǐ?”
Xu Yunlian took one slow, pitying breath, and then she stepped closer and said gently, “Child… wǒ ài nǐ means ‘I love you.’”
The world stopped.
Poppy’s smile collapsed. Her heart dropped straight through her ribcage. Heat surged up her neck so fast she thought she might combust.
“I-I said… I what?” Her voice cracked.
Xu Yunlian patted her arm with maternal sympathy. “You said it very sweetly. I’m sure it meant a great deal to him.”
Poppy slapped both hands over her face. “Oh no. Oh no.”
Across the courtyard, Mingjun shrieked with laughter as Mingxi tackled him into a snowless bamboo grove.
Xu Yunlian sighed again, serene as a spring breeze. “Welcome to the Shen household, dear.”
The rest of the day unfolded like a warm ribbon.
Poppy practiced tying a yāodài until her fingers finally obeyed the pattern.
She learned how to pour tea without insulting anyone’s ancestors.
She watched Mingzhao spar with a Guardian—silent, precise, terrifyingly graceful—and then bow to her with unexpected respect.
She listened to Xu Yunlian tell stories of ancient fox clans as they peeled fruit side by side.
Everywhere she walked, kits followed her.
Everywhere she turned, she found warmth.
By evening, the Shen family gathered for dinner.
The table was chaotic, but comfortably so, loud in all the right ways.
Minghua insisted on sitting between Poppy and Mingxi until Xu Yunlian made her switch seats.
Mingjun smirked the entire time. Mingzhao asked Poppy questions with a level of sincerity that left her breathless.
Xu Yunlian placed food on her plate with gentle insistence.
When Mingxi quietly slid a bowl of Poppy’s favorite porridge toward her, arranged neatly and thoughtfully, she looked up and caught the faint softening in his eyes. Somewhere inside, something settled.
Something that had been trembling for nineteen years.
The courtyard lanterns glowed softly as evening settled over the Shen estate. The family had drifted off after dinner, leaving the air warm with the scent of jasmine tea and the faint crackle of foxfire somewhere near the gardens.
Poppy lingered beside the low tea table, twisting her fingers nervously in her skirt before finally gathering the courage to approach Minghua, who was folding embroidered cloths.
“Um, Minghua?” Poppy said hesitantly. “May I… ask something of you?”
Minghua’s expression brightened immediately. “Of course, Poppy.”
Poppy took a breath. “I feel terrible that all of you have been speaking English for me. Even your elders. I’d… like to learn a few things. How to introduce myself properly. And how to be respectful.”