Chapter 46
Poppy woke slowly, drifting up from a sleep deeper than anything she’d managed since crossing into the Shen forests.
Warmth clung to her with soft blankets, the faint scent of foxfire, the muted hush of morning.
When she opened her eyes, pale sunlight filtered through the shoji screens in gentle stripes.
For a moment, she simply breathed, letting herself feel… steady.
The door slid open, and Minghua swept in like a breeze—bright-eyed, breathless, her excitement barely contained.
“Oh! You’re awake,” she said, clasping her hands. “Good. You look much stronger today.”
Poppy blinked away the last traces of sleep. “Good morning, Minghua.”
“Mm! A very good morning.” Minghua circled her once, beaming. “Your color has returned. Your spirit feels lighter. I told Dà gē rest would help—he never listens.”
Poppy managed a soft smile. “Thank you. I… I think I needed it.”
Minghua’s expression gentled, a sweetness beneath her usual energy.
“Of course you did.”
Then her brightness dimmed—just a touch.
“The elders have asked to see you again today.”
Poppy’s breath caught. “Today?”
“It will be brief,” Minghua promised. “They only wish to clarify a few points from yesterday. My mother said they will not press you harshly.”
Poppy exhaled slowly. “I’ll prepare, then.”
“Yes. Wash your face, breathe, and take your time. They can wait a little.” Minghua folded her hands neatly and stepped aside. “I’ll wait here.”
Poppy washed quickly, smoothed her hair, and tied her sash with steady fingers. She drew one long breath, grounding herself. When she stepped out of the sleeping chamber, Minghua brightened again.
“There,” she said warmly. “You look very much yourself.”
Poppy wasn’t sure who that was anymore, but the kindness mattered.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Minghua slid open the pavilion door and gestured for her to step out. Poppy stepped into the cool morning air—and stopped.
Mingxi stood waiting at the foot of the pavilion steps. He wore his formal light-gray traveler’s robe, shoulders squared, posture straight, but his eyes softened the moment they found her. Not pity. Not worry.
Recognition.
“Good morning,” he said quietly.
Her breath fluttered. “Good morning.”
Minghua whispered cheerfully, “He’s been here since dawn.”
“Minghua,” Mingxi said without looking away from Poppy.
“What? Truth is respectful.”
Poppy felt heat rise to her cheeks.
Mingxi descended one step and offered his arm—not assuming, simply making it available.
“If you’d like the company on the walk,” he murmured.
Poppy hesitated only a breath before placing her hand lightly at his elbow. His aura steadied immediately, warm as foxfire.
Minghua clapped once, delighted. “I’ll lead you to the inner hall. The attendants are already waiting.”
They walked through the quiet courtyards, morning mist curling around columns and drifting foxfire lamps. Minghua skipped a few steps ahead, humming softly. Mingxi remained at Poppy’s side, half a pace behind—as if guarding her back without drawing attention.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
“Yes,” Poppy said softly. “Better than I expected.”
“I’m glad.”
They said little more; they didn’t need to. The peace of the morning filled the silence between them like a held hand.
As they neared the Council entrance, Minghua turned, her expression gentling.
“Only a short meeting,” she promised Poppy. “And I will be just outside the door.”
Poppy nodded, throat tightening. “Thank you.”
Mingxi opened the great wooden doors himself. Inside, foxfire brightened in recognition of her presence. The elders stood waiting in a loose half-circle—somber, respectful.
Mingxi bent his head toward her. “I’ll be here when you’re finished.”
Her fingers brushed his hand—a small, grateful touch she didn’t fully realize she’d made until it happened.
Then she stepped inside. The doors slid shut behind her, leaving Mingxi and Minghua alone in the hall.
Minghua leaned toward her brother with a conspiratorial whisper, “She’s brave. You know that, yes?”
Mingxi didn’t answer; he simply watched the closed doors, his jaw set but his eyes warm.
The doors slid shut behind Poppy with a soft thud that felt far louder inside her chest. From the center of the chamber, foxfire hovered in slow, steady pulses, illuminating the elders’ faces in shifting blue gold.
Elder Lan stepped forward first, her expression composed but gentle.
“Lady Penelope,” she said in greeting. “Thank you for coming so promptly.”
Poppy dipped her head. “I am ready.”
Elder Huailin gestured toward the central moon-seal. “Please stand where you feel most comfortable.”
She stepped to the edge of the seal—close enough to be respectful, far enough not to stand in the exact center.
Lan exchanged a look with the others and then spoke with careful clarity.
“We will not revisit the trauma of the ritual itself today,” she assured. “There are… other angles we must examine before we attempt a full reconstruction.”
Poppy exhaled, relieved and tense all at once.
Elder Zhenhai folded his hands. “We must understand your parents. Their intent. Their knowledge. Their preparations.”
Poppy nodded once, her throat tight. “What do you need to know?”
“Whatever you can recall,” Huailin said softly. “Not what happened in the ritual, but what led to it. Their beliefs. Their behavior. Their fears.”
“My parents were proud,” Poppy began slowly. “Always worried about appearances. Standing. Control.”
Lan nodded, noting every word.
“They were strict,” Poppy continued, “but… different with me than with Lysandra.”
Elder Yaojin’s brow furrowed. “Different how?”
“They adored her,” Poppy whispered. “She was everything they wanted. Beautiful. Composed. Gifted. I think they expected me to be the same, but I wasn’t.” She hesitated. “I was… difficult. At least, that’s what they called it. Too emotional. Too curious. Too loud. Too much.”
Lan’s eyes softened. “You were a child.”
Poppy’s breath shivered, and she nodded. “My father believed magic was a tool,” she continued. “Something to shape. To command. He studied old texts, but only for advantage. Not reverence.”
“And your mother?” Huailin asked gently.
Poppy blinked down at her hands, remembering the soft perfume of her mother’s hair, the cold way she smoothed Poppy’s sleeves.
“She wanted perfection,” she whispered. “Lysandra had it. I didn’t.”
The elders didn’t interrupt.
“They trained us in rituals,” Poppy said. “Small ones at first. Candle focus. Breath control. Sigil reading. Lysandra excelled. I… didn’t.”
She forced herself to continue, “On the night of the ritual, my father said the words ‘fulfill your purpose.’ My mother then said… ‘This is what you were born for.’”
The elders exchanged a grave look.
Zhenhai murmured, “A child forced into a vessel rite—little wonder with the Traveler’s intervention.”
Poppy’s breath hitched at the name.
Elder Shenwu stepped forward then, his voice harsh but not unkind. “Lady Penelope. When your sister entered the ritual circle… did your parents attempt to stop her?”
Poppy closed her eyes. “No,” she whispered. “They… they hesitated. But they didn’t reach for her. They didn’t shout. They didn’t move.”
Lan’s lips tightened. “Which means they did not expect interference.”
“Or…” Huailin added darkly, “they did not believe it would matter.”
Elder Yaojin approached the stone table and lifted a cloth. Beneath it lay the portrait drawn shortly after their arrival—the split face of Lysandra, one side whole, the other crawling with shadowed veins.
Poppy’s breath trembled.
“We show you this only because we must,” Yaojin said gently. “Does the untouched half resemble her as she was?”
Poppy stepped closer, heart pounding. Her vision blurred for a moment and then sharpened.
“Yes,” she whispered. “That’s her. That’s my Lysandra.”
“And the corruption?” Zhenhai asked softly. “Does any part remind you of rituals your parents studied? Symbols? Books?”
“No,” she said immediately. Too quickly. She paused. “At least… not anything they ever showed me.”
Shenwu tapped his staff once. “That is enough for today.”
Poppy blinked, startled. “But… I can tell you more. I want to help.”
“You already have,” Lan said warmly. “Your honesty is more valuable than any forced recollection.”
Huailin added, “We will study what you’ve given us. But you must rest before we ask more.”
Belatedly, Poppy realized her hands were shaking. She folded them quietly.
Elder Lan stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Lady Penelope… we may call upon you again tomorrow or the day after. There are threads we must trace carefully. But you have done more than enough for one morning.”
Poppy nodded faintly.
A soft knock sounded on the door.
“Enter,” Shenwu commanded.
The door slid open, and Mingxi stood waiting—calm, composed, eyes finding Poppy immediately.
She exhaled—quiet relief loosening her shoulders.
“Lady Penelope,” Lan said gently, “you are dismissed. Shen Mingxi will escort you.”
Poppy bowed to the elders and stepped back.
Mingxi offered only a nod to the Council before turning to her.
“Walk?” he asked softly.
She nodded.
They stepped out of the chamber together, the door sliding shut behind them. For a long moment, Poppy simply stood in the quiet hall, breathing slowly, grounding herself.
Mingxi waited—silent, steady.
“Would you like the garden,” he asked, “or a walk somewhere quieter?”
“Somewhere quieter,” she said faintly.
He inclined his head, offering his arm. “There is a place,” he murmured. “If you’ll trust me.”
She placed her hand gently on his elbow. “I do.”
Together they stepped into the winding path leading away from the Council halls, toward the quiet wilderness of the clan’s hidden forest.
The moment she chose stillness, the moment she chose him, the air seemed to lighten and allowed her to breathe easier.
And they walked on.