Chapter 55
Gray light seeped through the trees before the sun fully rose, brushing the clearing in a muted hush. Frost glimmered faintly on the pine needles, and the air tasted sharper, cleaner, as if the night itself had been distilled.
Poppy blinked awake with a soft start.
Her back ached from sleeping against the tree root; one hand had fallen to her side, the other on the hidden dagger beneath her cloak. She sat up straighter, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. Then she froze.
Mingxi was already looking at her. Not intensely. Not invasively. Just… quietly. As one might watch the sunrise.
“You’re awake,” she whispered, voice rough.
“I never slept.”
“Of course you didn’t.” She rubbed her eyes. “Because you’re impossible.”
His lips curved faintly. “And you snore.”
Her head snapped up. “I do not—”
“You do.” A beat. “Only a little.”
Heat raced up her neck. “You should have woken me.”
“You needed the rest,” he said simply.
“So did you.”
“I cannot sleep,” he replied, voice soft, truthful. “Not deeply. Not safely.”
She frowned. “Even with me here?”
His gaze flickered—just once. Not an answer. Not denial. A truth he clearly wasn’t ready to voice.
She pushed to her feet with a tired groan. “How’s your shoulder?”
Mingxi shifted, and she could tell he was testing the joint. He winced, but only slightly. “It is… better.”
“Because of last night?”
He nodded, slow and reverent. “Because of you.”
Her chest tightened. “Then we should keep moving.”
He rose, unsteady but determined. Poppy stepped toward him out of instinct; his body leaned, just enough to show how much he needed the support. But she could feel him pull back away, as if trying to gather himself before she could catch him. Still proud. Still afraid to burden.
“Let’s go,” he said.
They left the clearing and followed a narrow deer trail that sloped downward, winding into a valley where the air cooled sharply.
The pines thinned gradually, giving way to faint vertical lines in the distance.
Bamboo. At first scattered, but then thick.
Then a wall of green that swallowed the morning in velvet silence.
The forest rose around them like a living cathedral, tall jade stalks reaching endlessly skyward. Mist drifted through the trunks, soft and glowing. The ground beneath their feet was padded with fallen leaves that muffled each step.
Poppy slowed, staring upward. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”
“It is common in the South,” Mingxi said, voice gentle in the stillness. “My clan keeps several groves for meditation and warding rituals.”
“It feels… ancient.”
“It is.”
She watched him carefully as they walked. His injury might have eased, but exhaustion clung to him—shoulders too tight, breaths too shallow, blink slow and heavy. The bamboo forest’s filtered light washed over him in pale gold, making the shadows under his eyes stark.
“You need to rest more,” she said.
“We rested.”
“You rested as much as a fox spirit who refuses to sleep can.”
He huffed a breath—not quite a laugh. “It is not refusal.”
“What is it, then?”
He hesitated, and then he quietly continued, “When I sleep deeply… the shadows find me first.”
Her breath caught.
He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t have to.
“Mingxi,” she said softly.
She saw how his hand trembled, just faintly, as he brushed it against a bamboo stalk for balance. The night’s wound. The death-magic fatigue. The sleeplessness. And the weight he never let anyone see.
“You’re shaking.” Poppy stepped closer—not touching, but near enough that if he faltered, she would be there. “You don’t have to walk alone.”
He swallowed. “You should not say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because,” he said, voice low, “I will believe you.”
A shiver spiraled through her.
They walked together in silence for a long stretch, moving between massive pillars of bamboo. Every so often, the wind brushed the canopy, sending a soft rolling whisper through the stalks—a voice-like sound, ancient and tender.
Mingxi leaned once, barely, but Poppy caught the movement, placing a hand at his elbow before he could right himself. He exhaled, defeated.
“You see too much.”
“Only because you let me.”
Through the mist, she saw his profile soften.
“I trust you,” he said simply.
It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even confident.
It was honest, startlingly so.
The bamboo swayed, a long sigh of green and light, as if the forest recognized the moment for what it was. A breeze whispered through the bamboo, stirring a shiver of pale-green light. Poppy kept close to Mingxi, ready to catch him if he stumbled again.
Then something brushed her ankle, very soft, very smooth, very wrong.
Poppy froze.
Mingxi seemed to notice instantly. “Poppy?”
“Mm-hmm,” she whispered without moving. “Something touched me.”
“What kind of something?”
“The slithery kind,” she hissed.
Mingxi blinked and then peered down. “I see nothing.”
“That’s because it’s planning my murder.”
He opened his mouth—probably to say something sensible—when a low, amused voice drifted from the undergrowth.
“Oh, hardly. I was merely passing through.”
Poppy shrieked. She knew it wasn’t a dignified gasp or a startled noise.
She followed that sound with a full, high-pitched, startled, “Ah… No!” as she leapt backward—straight into Mingxi.
He inhaled sharply as she crashed into his chest, arms flinging around his midsection entirely on instinct. He staggered, shoulder flaring with fresh pain, but caught her anyway.
“Poppy—”
“No,” she whispered into his robes. “No, no, no… What is talking?”
From the bamboo thicket slithered a very large serpent with black scales glistening like ink washed in moonlight. A moment later, its body twisted, shimmered—and a tall, elegant man stepped out, dark hair braided over one shoulder, gold rings in his ears, a half-smirk tugging at his lips.
A snake shifter.
Oh, good. Perfect, she thought. Exactly what Poppy needed today.
“Forgive me,” he said, bowing with dramatic flourish. “I didn’t mean to startle your… ah… fiercely courageous companion.”
Poppy, still clinging to Mingxi, peeked out. “I am extremely brave,” she announced from the safety of Mingxi’s arms.
Mingxi’s shoulders shook. Not from weakness, but from his clear attempt not to laugh.
“Indeed,” the serpent-man said, lips twitching. “Your war cry echoed most valiantly.”
“It was a warning scream,” Poppy corrected with grave dignity. “Very tactical.”
Mingxi’s hand settled on her hip—and she sensed he was trying to steady her—and his voice was gentle as he said, “He is not an enemy.”
The snake shifter tilted his head. “Not unless you step on my tail again.”
“I stepped on you!” Poppy yelped.
“Only a little.” He held his fingers a hair apart. “A very small crunch.”
She felt mortified. Horrified. Personally victimized.
Mingxi nearly lost control of his composure entirely, and she shot him a glare.
“We mean no harm,” Mingxi said smoothly, though his lips twitched with amusement. “We are passing through to the valley.”
The snake-man’s eyes flicked to Mingxi’s bandaged shoulder. “You are injured.”
“It is manageable.”
“It smells like shadow magic,” the serpent said. “Unpleasant stuff.” Then his gaze slid to Poppy. “And you purged it?”
Poppy stiffened. “I… helped.”
The snake-man’s smile sharpened. “Moon-touched. Rare. Dangerous.”
Poppy wasn’t sure she appreciated being called dangerous while she was still trying to pretend she hadn’t just climbed Mingxi like a tree.
“I’m perfectly normal,” she said primly.
Mingxi choked. Actually choked.
He recovered quickly, clearing his throat with supreme dignity. “She is—exceptional.”
Poppy blinked up at him, startled.
The serpent hissed with laughter. “And protective. Foxes. Always sentimental.”
Mingxi bristled. “I am not—”
“Ah-ha,” the snake-man waved a finger. “No need for pride. I’ll leave you both. But be careful. Something unnatural moves in the bamboo today.”
He bowed once more, turned…and melted into smoke and scales, disappearing into the grove. Silence fell. Poppy slowly slid away from Mingxi, straightening her cloak as if she hadn’t just wrapped herself around him like a terrified squirrel.
“That,” she declared, “never happened.”
Mingxi stared at her—eyes warm, lips fighting a smile. “As you wish.”
“You’re laughing at me,” she accused.
“I would not dare.”
“You absolutely would.”
His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Only a little.”
She huffed and stormed ahead down the path.
Mingxi followed, still smiling—still aching—but somehow lighter than he’d felt in years.
Poppy marched ahead with the rigid dignity of a woman who absolutely, definitely had not shrieked and climbed a man like a frightened cat.
Mingxi followed at a careful distance—careful only because his shoulder still ached, not because he feared her wrath.
He finally broke the silence. “You handled that very bravely.”
She spun around. “Do not.”
His lips twitched. “I mean it. Truly.”
“You’re smirking.”
“I am admiring,” he corrected.
“That is not the same thing.”
“Oh, but it is.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare make this the moment where you tell me I impressed you.”
He tilted his head, thoughtful. “That would not be a lie.”
Her jaw dropped. “Mingxi—”
“But,” he added gently, “you also emitted a rather impressive sound.”
“I did not scream.”
“You startled the bamboo.”
“I startled nothing.”
“The serpent seemed quite moved.”
“Mingxi.”
He smiled, and then he stepped beside her, matching her pace along the narrow trail. He lowered his voice, less teasing now, more intent.
“Did you know,” he said, “that meeting a serpent shifter on the road is an omen of protection.”
Poppy blinked. “Protection?”