Chapter 48
The dining hall hummed with life long before they reached it.
Laughter, overlapping conversation, the soft clatter of porcelain bowls, and the fragrant perfume of simmering ginger broth drifted into the corridor. Poppy hesitated at the threshold, and then Mingxi stepped slightly ahead, a subtle reassurance.
The moment she entered, the lively noise softened into expectant warmth, and Xu Yunlian rose with gentle grace.
“Lady Penelope,” she said, voice kind. “Come. Join us.”
Poppy bowed. “Thank you, madam—”
Before she could finish, Minghua hurried forward, eyes bright but posture still respectful.
“Poppy, please, sit with us,” she said, cheeks flushed with eagerness. And then, slightly softer, glancing at her brother: “Sit beside Dà gē. He saved a place for you.”
Mingxi, who was clearly taken aback, as if he had not meant to look like he had saved a place, went still.
Poppy took the offered seat, their knees brushing under the table. Mingxi shifted an imperceptible fraction, attempting dignity. Mingjun hid a smile behind his teacup.
The meal before them looked like a celebration. Steamed fish with ginger and scallions, braised pork in a glossy sauce, bowls of white rice, garlicky greens… and one dish of noodles in a vivid scarlet broth.
Poppy tried to be brave. She reached for the scarlet noodles.
Minghua inhaled sharply—but politely.
Mingjun set down his chopsticks as if bracing for impact.
Mingxi opened his mouth, too late.
Poppy took a bite. At once, her eyes widened. Her spine straightened. Her breath caught.
Minghua’s hands flew to her lips. “Oh, dear,” she whispered. “That one has… considerable strength.”
Mingjun coughed into his sleeve. “A terrifying amount.”
Mingxi, already reaching for a pitcher, poured her a cool, milky drink with swift precision.
“This will help,” he murmured, offering it with both hands.
She drank gratefully. Relief eased the fire beginning to riot across her tongue.
Poppy pressed a hand to her chest. “That was… fervent.”
Minghua brightened. “A very polite description.”
Xu Yunlian smiled kindly and guided a mild dumpling toward Poppy’s bowl.
“Try this one, child. It will not challenge you quite so fiercely.”
Poppy took a careful bite. Comfort bloomed instantly.
She exhaled. “Much safer.”
Mingjun nodded solemnly. “We will introduce you to our hotter dishes slowly. It is a journey.”
Minghua leaned closer, tone earnest. “If you wish to like spicy foods, I will help you practice. But only a little at a time.”
“Minghua,” Mingxi said softly, “your idea of ‘a little’ is questionable.”
The girl gasped. “I am very gentle!”
“You are many things,” Mingjun murmured.
She swatted him lightly.
Xu Yunlian hid a smile behind her sleeve. Mingzhao watched with quiet approval, occasionally offering Poppy dishes while explaining their preparation. For the first time, Poppy felt the rhythm of a family table—warmth overlapping with teasing, affection tucked into every gesture.
Mingxi leaned slightly toward her. “Are you well?”
Poppy nodded, though her cheeks still felt warm. “Yes. The food is wonderful. I simply… chose boldly.”
“A fair word,” Mingjun murmured.
Minghua smiled at Poppy with genuine admiration. “You did not flinch. Most visitors cry.”
“Minghua,” Mingxi said under his breath.
“What? It is true.”
Poppy laughed softly, surprising even herself. “I may have come close.”
Minghua’s eyes sparkled. “You managed it far better than Mingjun did his first time.”
“Minghua!” Mingjun protested.
“It is family history. It must be shared.”
Poppy hid her grin in her teacup as Mingxi looked to the ceiling with a long-suffering exhale.
They continued eating, and slowly the conversation shifted—small stories, memories, gentle humor.
Xu Yunlian made sure Poppy’s bowl was always full.
Mingzhao asked about her travels in the human realm.
Minghua offered to show her the best vantage points to watch the moonrise.
Mingjun recounted a harmless mishap involving foxfire lanterns and a startled Guardian.
By the time the meal ended, Poppy felt warm—not from the spice, but from something deeper. A sense of belonging she had not expected. As they rose from the table, Minghua touched Poppy’s sleeve, voice quiet and sincere.
“I hope you feel welcome,” she said. “Truly.”
Poppy’s throat tightened. “I do.”
Poppy could feel Mingxi watching her closely, something gentle stirring behind his steady gaze.
Deep in the Fox Council’s lower chamber, the elders gathered around a circular stone table. Its surface was carved with lunar sigils and dripping with foxfire. The magical portrait hung above the table, ink shimmering with unstable life.
Elder Shenwu traced a sigil in the air.
The portrait hissed.
Elder Lan frowned. “The blast residue on her corrupted side… it is old magic. Older than the clans.”
“Agreed,” Elder Zhenhai said. “And deliberate.”
Elder Huailin looked grim. “The Traveler tampered with the Sinclair ritual. But why the elder daughter? Why protect the younger? Why return now?”
Elder Yaojin began sketching a runic diagram.
“We will need to reconstruct the exact conditions. The time. The sigils. The intent.”
Elder Shenwu’s voice dropped to a growl. “And we will need Poppy.”
Lan glanced toward the garden above them. “She will not withstand immediate questioning.”
“She will,” Shenwu said flatly. “Because we do not have time. The corrupted sister walks the dragon veins.”
Foxfire flickered violently across the portrait.
“Whether she walks alone,” Zhenhai murmured, “is another matter.”
No one spoke.
The Traveler’s name hovered ghostlike between them.
Night draped itself over the shrine like a velvet curtain.
Mingxi lay on his back, staring at the wooden beams of his ceiling, arms folded behind his head. He had extinguished his lantern an hour ago. Sleep still had not come.
He exhaled. Too sharp. Too tight.
You are losing your composure, he told himself.
He had not lost his composure since he was a boy—since before the shrine, before his mother’s death, before he learned to wrap discipline around his heart like armor.
Yet today… Poppy’s grief had cracked something open in him.
Not because she was fragile. Not because she was wounded. But because she had faced horrors and still stood. Still protected others. Still offered kindness. Still loved.
When she looked at him, her eyes raw, voice trembling, he had felt something ancient tug deep in his chest. Not duty. Not obligation. Something else.
Something he had no name for.
Too soon, he scolded himself. Too much.
He rolled onto his side, arm draped over his eyes.
Quietly, reluctantly, he whispered into the darkness, “I hope she is sleeping.”
He did not expect an answer, but the plum blossoms outside his window stirred—just slightly—as though something old and unseen was listening.