Chapter 60
Mingxi sat still, cherishing her closeness, her light even breathing. Her warmth seeped through his shoulder into his chest, quieting the foxfire that normally curled hot and restless inside him. He remained upright, posture disciplined, but something in him eased.
He could not sleep. Foxborn didn’t sleep deeply unless they were truly safe, and this mountain was anything but.
With Poppy resting against him, her scent mingling with pine and moonlight, he allowed himself something rare: a trance.
Not full consciousness. Not full rest. A state halfway between, where awareness hovered lightly at the edges and the body restored what it could without ever dropping its guard.
His breathing slowed. His heartbeat softened. His magic coiled low and calm. He drifted—present, aware, yet resting more deeply than he had in years. Every shift of wind still registered. Every sound threaded through the trance. Every heartbeat of hers anchored him in place.
He hovered there, silent and still, guarding her in a state Foxborn only entered when they trusted someone enough to let their power rest. He immediately noticed the moment his fingers brushed her hand lightly.
He noticed, and he didn’t pull them away. A ripple in the wind cut through his trance—cold, unnatural. His senses sharpened instantly. Not a revenant. Not a demon. Predator.
His eyes snapped open. The Yaoguai-Lang. His hand slid around Poppy’s waist, steady and sure.
“Poppy,” he murmured, voice low. “Wake.”
She stirred, breath catching as her cheek brushed his shoulder. When she saw his expression, she woke fully, heart pounding.
“What is it?”
Mingxi didn’t answer with words. He stood, and the creature entered the firelight. It emerged from the dark like a living shadow, massive and wolf-shaped, its hide black and rippling as though threaded with smoke. Golden eyes burned like twin lanterns, and hunger carved into every line of its body.
Poppy gasped, and Mingxi stepped in front of her.
“It hunts fox spirits,” he said quietly, drawing his blade. “Specifically.”
“It’s hunting you?”
“It smells fox qi. And injury.”
Her breath hitched. “You’re not—”
But the beast lunged.
Mingxi moved first—not out of panic, but with terrifying precision. He met the creature mid-leap, blade igniting with foxfire. The clash shook the air, sparks flying as the Yaoguai-Lang snarled, its jaws snapping inches from Mingxi’s face.
Poppy’s breath locked. “Mingxi!”
“Stay back!”
She didn’t listen.
The beast slammed Mingxi into a rock, teeth scraping at his shoulder as he twisted free. His blade slashed across its muzzle, but the creature was relentless.
It clearly smelled moonlight as it turned and charged Poppy. She froze. Her magic didn’t. A burst of silver erupted from her chest—wild, raw, instinctive. The blast struck the beast squarely, sending it skidding across the hollow with a guttural screech.
Mingxi stared at her, stunned.
“Poppy… that was—”
“I don’t know how I did that!”
The Yaoguai-Lang rose again, staggering. It turned—not toward Mingxi this time. Toward her.
“No!” Mingxi growled.
He intercepted the creature, foxfire blazing along his blade. He slashed deep, slicing through hide and shadow. The beast shrieked, collapsing in a twisted heap before dissolving into black mist.
Silence.
Poppy trembled. Not in fear, but Mingxi sensed she was in shock from the magic crackling beneath her skin. He sheathed his blade and knelt in front of her, hands closing over her arms, grounding her.
“Are you injured?”
She shook her head. “I just… I couldn’t let it hurt you. I couldn’t.”
“You shielded me,” he whispered.
She swallowed hard. “It was instinct.”
He exhaled—a slow, shuddered breath—and pulled her into his chest. He felt her breath catch. He wrapped his arms around her, firm and warm. Not polite. Not formal. Protective. Grateful. Raw.
“Thank you,” he murmured into her hair.
She held him back, fingers curling in his tunic. “I thought it would kill you.”
“It tried,” he said. “And failed.”
She huffed a broken laugh. Mingxi pulled back just enough to press his forehead to hers, their breath mingling.
“You’re safe,” he whispered. “I swear it.”
Her voice trembled. “So are you.”
For a heartbeat, neither of them breathed.
Mingxi went perfectly still, his forehead still resting against hers, their exhales mingling in the cold night air. He felt a tremor inside—barely there, a shiver that betrayed everything his control fought to hide.
Poppy lifted a hand to his jaw, her thumb brushing the edge of a scrape he’d taken for her. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t move at all. He watched her, his heart beating fast against his ribs.
“You’re here,” she whispered, barely a breath.
Before he could think, she leaned in and kissed him. The kiss was soft. So light it barely registered at first, the briefest press of warmth against his lips. Not a claim. Not a demand. Something offered and gone almost before he could respond.
Mingxi froze—not in rejection, but in stunned, aching stillness, as if the world had stopped around them and only her mouth against his remained real. Her fingers curled lightly at his jaw, giving him every chance to pull away, but he didn’t.
Instead, after a breath that shook him to his core, he returned the kiss—softly, carefully, reverently. As if kissing her was something holy and long forbidden. As if she’d given him something precious simply by touching him.
Their lips lingered for a moment more, tender and trembling, before he drew back just enough to search her face, wonder and fear and something unbearably tender tightening every line of him. Slowly, he pulled away, breath unsteady.
“We should move closer to the rock face,” he said. “Less exposed.”
Together, they strengthened the wards and rebuilt the fire.
When Poppy lay down, wrapped in his cloak, she whispered, “Can you… stay? Not far. Just… here.”
He swallowed. “I’ll stay.”
He sat beside her—not touching, not crowding, but close enough that his warmth bled through the air between them.
Poppy’s breathing slowed. Her hand drifted in sleep, resting lightly atop his.
He didn’t pull away. He didn’t drop into trance again.
He stayed fully alert this time, guarding her, watching the fire, sword within reach.
But her hand on his… he let himself hold onto that.
Just for the night.