Chapter 56
An uneventful morning, apart from a spectacular sunrise, made the morning pass quickly, leading Poppy to the conclusion that it was going to be a good day. She quickly discovered she was mistaken.
The land sloped downward into a clearing carved by a roaring river. It wasn’t wide, but it was ferocious, whitewater smashing itself against slick stone as if trying to escape its own path.
Poppy stared at it with mute betrayal.
“That isn’t a river,” she said. “It’s a tantrum.”
Mingxi stepped beside her, hands clasped calmly behind his back. “It is shallow.”
“It is thrashing.”
“Only at the surface.”
“That is exactly the part I have to walk through!”
His lips twitched—so faint she might’ve imagined it—and he stepped forward onto the first stone. He turned back, extending his hand.
“Poppy.”
She eyed his hand, the river, and then him again. “You’re very confident.”
“Yes.”
“That does not comfort me.”
“It should.”
But she placed her hand in his anyway. His grip was warm, steady, firm in a way that steadied the world.
He guided her from one stone to the next, body aligned with hers, every shift of balance anticipated before she realized she might fall.
Halfway across, she slipped. Mingxi’s arm locked around her waist instantly, drawing her in, his breath brushing her cheek.
“I have you,” he murmured.
Which she found absurdly reassuring.
When they reached the far bank, she let go too quickly.
He did not comment, but something softened in his eyes.
They continued downward, through a meadow brushed in sunlight.
Wildflowers she’d never seen shimmered silver blue in the breeze.
Poppy slowed without realizing, her steps absorbing the world with a reverence she didn’t know she had.
“Mingxi…” she whispered. “This place… it feels like it’s breathing.”
“It is,” he said simply.
The air smelled of water, crushed leaves, and something floral she couldn’t name.
“What is that scent?”
“Heron orchids.” He pointed to pale blossoms near a willow. “They bloom only one day each cycle. If the land allows it.”
She knelt beside one, awe spilling across her face. “It’s beautiful.”
He didn’t look at the flower. “Yes,” he murmured. “It is.”
By late afternoon, the forest shifted—older, deeper, humming with energy.
Mingxi lifted a hand. “Stop.”
A shimmer rose beneath their feet, pale silver filaments weaving into a lattice of ancient magic. Poppy stepped closer—and the strands brightened like starlight pulled taut.
“Mingxi… what is this?”
“A ward-line,” he said quietly. “Created long before I was born.”
The threads glowed brighter. No, she realized, they bowed to her.
Mingxi exhaled sharply. “It acknowledges your lineage.”
Poppy crouched, reaching out. The magic brushed her fingertips like a curious animal. “My parents never told me this was possible.”
“They didn’t want you near anything that could recognize what you are.”
Her chest tightened. “And what am I?”
He looked at the glowing line, jaw tense. “Something the valley remembers.”
The ward brightened once more before fading. Poppy stood slowly, heart pounding, the mountains suddenly feeling older and closer than ever.
The shrine emerged at twilight, its stone steps softened by moss and time. Wind chimes of cracked bronze hung from the eaves, ringing a single, ghostly note when they stepped into the clearing.
Poppy stopped at the base of the steps, breath caught in her throat.
“Mingxi… it’s beautiful.”
He watched her—not the shrine—with an unreadable expression. “It is old. Beauty came later.”
Two stone foxes flanked the entrance, their surfaces weathered but dignified. As she climbed, the one on the left flickered, faintly acknowledging her.
Poppy froze. “Did it just…?”
“Yes,” he murmured. “It sees you too.”
Inside, lantern light pooled softly across the floorboards. Poppy settled beside a pillar, exhaustion tugging at her limbs. She drifted into sleep.
What felt like minutes—but was more likely hours—later, she gasped.
Mingxi was at her side instantly. “Poppy.”
Her eyes snapped open. Moon-silver threaded her irises.
“I heard someone,” she whispered. “Not calling Penelope. Something… older.”
He exhaled. “Your moon name.”
“I have one?”
“You will, when the moonwell accepts you.”
She swallowed, throat tight. “Do you… dream?”
“No. Why?” He hesitated and then quietly surrendered the truth. “Because I don’t sleep, I can’t dream.”
Her heart clenched. “Mingxi…”
He looked away, jaw tight. “It is not your concern.”
She reached for his hand without thinking. He flinched—startled, not rejecting.
“You’re not alone,” she whispered.
He stared at her, something raw and vulnerable bleeding into his gaze. “Poppy… you cannot say things like that. I will… believe you.”
She didn’t let go. “Good.”
The air thickened between them.
Later, when a stray lock of her hair fell across her cheek, he reached out and tucked it behind her ear.
She froze. He froze.
“Mingxi…”
“I should not,” he whispered.
“You already did.”
He stood abruptly, retreating into the cold night as though distance were the only shield he had left.
Poppy sat alone in the lantern glow, something fragile and fierce opening inside her.