Chapter 58
The valley wind shifted around them, cool and gentle, as if holding its breath. Morning light spilled gold over the clearing. Mist drifted from the stream in soft ribbons, turning the water’s surface into a mirror of silver and shade.
Poppy stepped out between the trees and froze. Mingxi was at the water’s edge, shirtless, kneeling to fill his hands in the cold stream.
And he was… Good. Gods. Her brain didn’t supply words. Just sensations.
His back moved like liquid strength—lean muscle under sun-warmed skin, perfect lines shifting with every breath. When he straightened and turned slightly, Poppy made a sound. A tiny one. The kind that escapes before dignity shows up to stop it.
Because his torso… eight clean, brutal ridges ran down his abdomen, carved so sharply they looked inked on.
Obliques cut across his hips in devastating, angled lines.
His waist tapered into a V her eyes should not have followed but absolutely did.
He was sculpted—lean, dangerous, impossibly symmetrical.
No human looked like that without dehydration, starvation, or dark rituals.
Mingxi’s head snapped up at her soft gasp. “Poppy?”
She slapped both hands over her eyes. “Oh no. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to… ah… interrupt. Or see. Or… anything.”
He blinked, and then blinked again, as though her reaction confused him more than being half naked.
“You’re awake,” he said gently.
“You’re—” Her voice cracked. She cleared it and continued, “You’re not wearing a shirt.”
“Yes,” he said patiently. “I was washing.”
“I can see that.”
He reached for his discarded robes. “Would it help if I—?”
“Yes,” she blurted, far too quickly.
Mingxi froze. Then, as if trying to preserve her dignity, he turned slightly away while pulling the robes on. Which… did nothing to hide the view. When he was finally covered, Poppy lowered her hands. But she still felt like he had personally wronged her with his abdominal region.
Then, he had the audacity to tilt his head. “Are you well?”
Poppy inhaled. Exhaled. Squared her shoulders. And then—because she was sleep-deprived and traumatized, and she possessed absolutely zero filter when flustered—she blurted out the words before she could stop them.
“How can you look like that?”
Silence. Mingxi stared at her.
Poppy clapped both hands over her mouth before she managed to finish. “I mean… not that you shouldn’t look like that… obviously you can. But you do, and I don’t understand how… why… what… your stomach has muscles I didn’t even know existed!”
He blinked. “Muscles exist,” he said slowly, “in all people.”
“Yes, but yours are… are—” She gestured helplessly at his abdomen. “Is this normal for Foxborn? Did you do something? Is this a magic thing? Is it hereditary? Is it a mutation? Is this a side effect of qi cultivation? Are you dehydrated? Should you sit down?”
Mingxi was visibly defeated. Completely lost. “You’re worried I’m dehydrated?” he asked softly.
“Well, I don’t know,” she hissed. “People don’t naturally look like that!”
He hesitated, the tips of his ears reddening. “It isn’t… unnatural. For Foxborn.”
“Explain,” she demanded.
He rubbed the back of his neck, shy in a way she absolutely wasn’t prepared for, before he continued, “Our physiology… responds differently to training. Or stress. Or certain types of qi discipline. It’s not… intentional.”
Poppy stared at him. “You’re telling me you look like that by accident?”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t seem offended, just embarrassed. “Yes.”
Poppy made another sound. This one suspiciously like she was dying quietly on the inside.
Mingxi, trying to save them both, cleared his throat. “We should… eat breakfast.”
“Yes,” she squeaked.
They walked side by side back toward camp.
Five steps later, Poppy muttered, “Unbelievable.”
And Mingxi unmistakably smiled.
Poppy kept her chin up and her pace measured as they walked back toward camp. On the outside, she knew she looked composed, dignified, and unflappable.
On the inside? She was disintegrating atom by atom. Dear gods. She had seen his entire torso. All of it. Every line. Every muscle. Every impossible angle. She could still see the water sliding down his abdomen like it had been mocking her.
This was not fair. No one should have eight separate divisions of abdominals. That was excessive. That was aggressive. That was biologically irresponsible.
She clutched his cloak around her tighter, face burning. “How can you look like that?”
She internally reprimanded herself after she realized she had actually said that. Out loud. To his face. She wanted to throw herself into the stream and float away. Poppy glared ahead, jaw tight.
Why did he have to be…that? Why did his clothes need to cling to all that lean strength even now? Why did the morning sunlight insist on lighting up the planes of his face like he had personally bribed the sun?
She was doomed. Absolutely doomed.
Mingxi should have been calm. He was trained for calm. Bred for calm. Council trained. Guardian-tempered. Nothing shook him. Except apparently a woman blinking awake in his cloak and then nearly passing out when she saw his torso.
He didn’t know what to do with that.
She had looked at him like… like he was something dangerous and beautiful and she didn’t know which one terrified her more.
And when she had said, “How can you look like that?” Mingxi had forgotten how to breathe for several seconds. She wasn’t horrified. She wasn’t scandalized. She was…shocked. And not because she thought he looked strange.
Because she noticed him. All of him.
Mingxi smoothed his robes, suddenly aware of every inch of skin beneath it.
He’d never cared how he looked before. Foxborn bodies were simply Foxborn bodies.
But Poppy had stared at him with wide blue eyes and flushed cheeks and a stuttering breath, and Mingxi didn’t have the emotional training to withstand that.
She kept glancing at him, clearly trying not to but failing.
Every look hit him like a spark under the ribs. Mingxi inhaled slowly. Controlled. Pointless. He was doomed. The campfire crackled softly as Mingxi set a pot of congee over the flames. Poppy sat on a low woven mat, knees drawn up, cloak still wrapped tightly around her shoulders like armor.
Mingxi moved with his usual quiet efficiency—pouring water, stirring rice, adding fox-root and ginger—and Poppy watched every motion like he was performing high magic instead of breakfast.
Every time he reached for something, his robes stretched over his shoulders, and Poppy immediately looked away. Then peeked again. This became a cycle. A very obvious cycle.
Mingxi ladled steaming congee into a bowl and offered it to her.
“Careful,” he said softly. “It’s hot.”
Poppy took the bowl with both hands, nodded, and then immediately burned her mouth. She made a small noise.
Mingxi’s brows lifted—half concern, half amusement. “You’re… flustered,” he said gently.
“I am not flustered.”
“You are red.”
“It’s the fire.”
“The fire is low.”
Poppy stared at him. Mingxi stared back, keeping himself composed.
Finally, she muttered, “It’s unfair to look like that.”
Mingxi blinked once. Twice. “I’m fully clothed.”
“That’s not the point.”
“What is the point?”
She gestured vaguely at his entire being. “You know what the point is.”
Mingxi coughed. Actually coughed. Then, he looked into the fire, hoping it might rescue him. The silence that settled between them was warm and charged, no longer awkward, just… aware.
When she reached for more congee, their fingers brushed. Both froze. Poppy looked down quickly. Mingxi didn’t move at all. Poppy’s breath hitched, and Mingxi knew she felt it too, the undeniable pull between them.
Poppy swallowed.
Mingxi said, very quietly, “We should… continue the trail once we’ve eaten.”
Poppy nodded, cheeks still pink. “Yes,” she whispered.
They finished breakfast side by side, pretending to be normal people eating a normal breakfast and failing spectacularly.
The farther they moved from Huayuan Jing, the quieter the world became.
The forest was dense here, the air cool and thin with altitude, pine needles softening their steps.
Sunlight threaded through the branches in narrow shafts, catching the edges of Mingxi’s hair as he walked beside her. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.
Silence with him wasn’t uncomfortable. It was…
companionable. Steady. Almost safe. Which was unfortunate, because Poppy had absolutely no business feeling safe around a man who looked like that with his shirt off.
She willed her thoughts back to the trail just in time for her boot to skid on loose shale.
She slipped—only a fraction of an inch—but Mingxi’s hand closed around her wrist instantly, pulling her toward him with smooth, effortless strength.
For a breathless heartbeat, she was against his chest, close enough to feel the warmth of him.
“Careful,” he said softly.
She nodded, trying not to notice how his fingers lingered before he released her.
They continued upward until the trail narrowed into a ledge carved into the cliffside. The drop beside them was dizzying. Wind pressed against Poppy’s skirts, and she hesitated.
Mingxi stepped behind her, voice low. “Walk slowly. If the wind catches you, lean back into me.”
Her pulse stumbled. She didn’t look at him—she couldn’t—but she stepped forward. When the wind rose sharply, his hand found her waist, steadying her with practiced ease. The warmth of his palm burned through the cloak, and she nearly forgot how to move.
“You’re doing well,” he murmured, thumb brushing her side in a way that probably wasn’t intentional but still made her knees weak.