Chapter 55 #2
He nodded. “In the southern provinces, snakes are considered guardians of thresholds and changes. They shed skins, cross realms, and sense shifting fates. To encounter one at dawn, especially one who speaks without hostility…” He paused, eyes drifting toward the bamboo canopy.
“Well, it’s said to mean your path is watched. And blessed.”
Poppy stared at him, her earlier embarrassment melting into what he perceived as cautious interest. “Blessed how?”
He looked at her. “In your case?” A heartbeat. “Survival. Strength. A turning point toward what you are meant to become.”
She swallowed. Softly. “Just because a snake slithered over my foot?”
“It did more than that,” Mingxi said, amusement flickering again. “It spoke to you.”
She winced. “Don’t remind me.”
He let out a quiet laugh, careful not to jostle his shoulder. “And it recognized your power. That is not common. Serpent spirits rarely acknowledge Moonborn magic. They’re… competitive.”
“Competitive,” she echoed dryly. “Wonderful.”
“They respect what they consider dangerous.” He paused. “And they found you very dangerous.”
“Because I screamed?”
“Because you purified death-magic with your magic,” he corrected gently and waited a beat. “Though the scream may have contributed.”
She groaned.
He continued, his manner gentler still, “In fox lore, snakes are also messengers. They appear to those whose fates are beginning to unfold.”
Poppy went still and then whispered, “Beginning?”
He nodded once, truth resonating through him like a struck bell. “You are stepping onto your true path,” he said softly. “Even the spirits can feel the shift.”
Poppy looked away, flustered—but she no longer appeared embarrassed.
She chewed her lip and then said, “That’s actually kind of beautiful.”
Mingxi’s smile softened. “It is,” he murmured. “And so are you, Meihua.”
She froze. He knew she was reacting to the fact that he hadn’t used the pet name since the first time. Not since he realized what it meant.
Her throat went dry. “Don’t call me that.”
He stepped just a little closer. “So you admit the serpent was right.”
“About what?”
“That you shine,” he said simply.
She stared at him—hurt shoulder, exhausted eyes, still-warm smile—and her chest tightened in a way she definitely did not want to examine.
“I still hate snakes,” she muttered.
“I know.”
“But I appreciate the omen part.”
He dipped his head. “Then the spirits are satisfied.”
She huffed. “I’m not.”
“Oh?” His brow lifted. “What would satisfy you?”
“An omen that doesn’t slither.”
He laughed—quiet, low, beautiful—and she let the bamboo swallow the sound as they walked deeper into the valley.
The bamboo thinned as the path curved downhill, green fading gradually into deeper hues of cedar and cypress.
Mist rolled low across the roots, glowing faintly in the last scraps of sunlight.
For a while, they walked in silence—Poppy still recovering from the serpent encounter, Mingxi still fighting the exhaustion tightening visibly around his eyes.
Eventually Poppy exhaled, brushing hair from her cheek.
“How long until nightfall?” she asked. “When… when will we stop?”
Mingxi glanced up at the dimming sky and then ahead into the narrowing valley.
“Soon. We’ll make camp before the cliffs.”
She nodded, though her shoulders slumped with the tired relief she tried to hide. The forest deepened to a dusky blue as they continued on, shadows stretching long and soft across the ground.
Poppy tripped once on a root; Mingxi steadied her with a hand at her elbow, his touch warm despite the chill settling in.
“You’re tired,” he murmured.
She scowled. “So are you.”
A faint smile touched his mouth. “We agree on something.”
They walked a little farther until the trail opened onto a rocky shelf overlooking a narrow stream. The light was nearly gone—sky bruised violet, stars just beginning to pierce through.
Mingxi swept the area with a quick, assessing gaze. “Here.”
Poppy looked around. “This is… what? A campsite?”
“Yes.”
“It’s just rocks and dirt.”
“That is what campsites are.”
She made a face and ignored his reaction.
The air grew colder quickly. Their breaths fogged faintly as they moved farther into the clearing. Mingxi stepped toward a fallen branch, testing its dryness with practiced efficiency.
“We’ll need wood,” he said.
“We?” she echoed.
He arched a brow at her. “Yes. We. You are not exempt.”
“Hmph. I’ve never camped before.”
“I know.” A small smile. “Tonight, you will learn.”
She tried to look unimpressed but failed, following him to collect branches and cedar bark. Mingxi moved steadily but not effortlessly. Poppy noticed the way his breath tightened each time he bent or lifted with his injured shoulder.
By the time they returned to the clearing, the last strips of daylight had vanished behind the ridge. Night settled fully, the bamboo only a memory behind them, replaced by towering cedars and the sharp scent of cold water.
Mingxi knelt to stack wood, movements steady and competent.
Poppy watched him for a moment and then realized it truly was just the two of them.
No chaperones. Last night had been different; she hadn’t thought of them being truly alone.
His wound and fever made it impossible to do anything more than keep watch and worry.
A strange flutter tightened her chest.
She shook it off—sat near the circle of stones, pulling the nine-tailed fox pouch into her lap. She traced one of the embroidered tails as Mingxi coaxed flame to life, sparks catching, embers blooming.
When the fire finally flared, gold light spilled across his face—sharp jaw, high cheekbones, warm amber eyes reflecting the flames. For a moment, he looked almost… ethereal.
He glanced up at her.
“You’re quiet,” he observed.
“So are you.”
He huffed a soft breath—almost a laugh. “We can be quiet together.”
She didn’t know why that made something inside her loosen, but it did. They sat in silence for a while—companionship without pressure, warmth without weight—until Poppy became aware of how still the world had become.
The night held its breath around them.
Suddenly, she felt the heat of the fire and the colder heat of Mingxi’s gaze as he clearly checked her posture, her breathing, the faint tremor in her fingers. Protective. Watchful. A little too aware.
Her pulse stumbled, so she looked away first.
“You’re staring,” she murmured.
Mingxi didn’t deny it. “Making sure you’re all right.”
“I am.”
He hummed, clearly unconvinced, but he let it go. The fire crackled. A gust of wind swept through the clearing, catching Poppy’s hair and curling it into her face. Mingxi leaned forward, and for a heartbeat, she thought he meant to brush it away.
He did not.
He pulled back, as if he’d caught himself, and then cleared his throat before poking at the fire instead.
“Do foxborn always guard people this… closely?” she asked lightly.
His voice, when it came, was low. “No.” He paused. “Only the ones who matter.”
The words were simple. Unadorned. Dangerously sincere.
Poppy felt her heart stutter painfully, so she stared into the flames for distraction.
“Do I matter?”
Silence. Long enough to feel like a touch. Then…
“Yes,” he said quietly. “More than you realize.”
Her breath hitched.
The fire crackled louder.
Somewhere deep in the trees, a night bird called, startling them both back into safer thoughts. Poppy reached for her bedroll, breaking the moment.
“I should rest,” she murmured.
Mingxi nodded, shifting his gaze to the perimeter. “I’ll keep watch.”
“You always do,” she whispered as she lay down.
He didn’t answer, but she felt him looking at her. Not with possession, lust, or protectiveness alone. It was something else. Something warm and restrained and aching at the edges.
As her eyes drifted closed, Poppy realized for the first time in years that she was falling asleep unafraid. Because Mingxi was there. And because Mingxi being there meant something she wasn’t ready to name.
Not yet.