Chapter 61
Poppy woke slowly, warmth and pine-scented air pulling her back from the edges of sleep.
Mingxi’s cloak was still wrapped around her—soft, heavy, smelling faintly of cedar and foxfire.
She blinked up at the morning light filtering through the pines, letting herself breathe.
No nightmares. No revenants. Only the quiet pulse of a forest waking.
She stretched—and froze.
Mingxi stood at the stream’s edge, shirtless, rinsing his blade. Sunlight slid over the lean lines of his shoulders and back. But when he lifted the blade to dry it, his muscles tensed just enough for her to see it—the wince.
Poppy’s stomach dropped. His left shoulder and upper back were torn with four deep claw marks—angry, red, and clearly painful. He hadn’t said a word.
She rose without thinking. “Mingxi,” she called.
He stilled, though he didn’t appear startled or alarmed, and then turned, eyes steady. “You’re awake.”
“You’re hurt,” she breathed.
He glanced over his shoulder, almost dismissive. “It looks worse than it is.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It will heal quickly.”
“That’s also not an answer.”
He gave a small, rueful exhale. When she stepped closer, the tension in his shoulders eased.
“Let me see,” she murmured.
He shifted so sunlight fell on the wounds. They were deep, fresh, and still inflamed. Poppy drew in a shaky breath.
“You should have told me.”
“It would only have worried you.”
“I am worried.”
His gaze lifted, something unguarded flickering through the gold.
He hesitated, but then spoke softly, “I didn’t want you to worry about me. You needed to rest more.”
The words hit her harder than she expected—gentle, sincere, almost tender in their simplicity. Poppy touched the uninjured skin beside the wound, fingertips grazing lightly, and Mingxi inhaled sharply.
“Does it hurt?” she whispered.
“Yes,” he said honestly. “But not dangerously.”
“It still matters.”
For a moment they stood together in the hush of morning, her hand felt warm from his skin, something very old and very new stretching between them. Finally, Poppy drew a steadying breath.
“What… do we do next?”
Mingxi stepped back. “We need to get you control over your magic,” he said quietly. He took a small pause but then seemed to reach a decision. “I… have an idea, if you want to try.”
She nodded. “Show me.”
Mingxi moved to a flat patch of earth in the clearing, beckoning her to join him, and then said, “Your magic answered fear last night. We need it to answer intention instead.”
Poppy crossed her arms. “That sounds easier than it is.”
“Most worthwhile things are.”
He stepped behind her—close but not touching. She felt the warmth of him at her back, the coiled discipline in his breathing.
“Foxborn channel qi through movement forms,” he said. “You’ll adapt one of ours.”
“Movement forms? Like martial arts?”
His lips curved slightly. “Think of it like… dancing,” he said. “But older. And with teeth.”
Poppy blinked. “Teeth?”
“Sometimes literally,” he murmured. “But not today.” He positioned his hands near her elbows firmly, guiding. “Stand naturally. Feet shoulder-width.”
She obeyed.
“Lift your arms. Slowly.”
She raised them. He breathed beside her—steady, unhurried—and she matched him without thinking.
“Again. Breathe.”
Her breath synced with his—soft at first and then steadier, deeper.
“Let your magic rise,” he whispered.
A warm pulse shimmered under her skin.
“Now guide it.”
He stepped close—so close his chest brushed her back as he reached forward, hands cupping the air around hers. Together, their hands traced a slow arc. A soft thread of silver unfurled between her palms.
Poppy gasped. “I did that?”
“You did,” he said softly.
His breath brushed her cheek. His hands still framed hers, their bodies aligned in quiet, electric closeness. When her pulse fluttered, he stepped back abruptly and with visible restraint.
“That’s enough for now.”
Poppy turned toward him just as she remembered he was still shirtless. She dropped her eyes for a moment, then shot them back up, and finally dropped them again in mortified betrayal.
Mingxi raised one brow, amused. “Are you well?”
“No,” she blurted and then flailed. “Yes. Perfectly. Fine.”
She was absolutely not fine.
He reached for his shirt, but she caught his wrist gently. “You still haven’t let me treat your injuries.”
His expression softened—quiet, warm. “And you’re still worried.”
“Yes,” she whispered.
A breath, long and silent, passed between them, and then he nodded slowly and said, “As you wish.”
Mingxi sat at the edge of the clearing, cloak draped loosely over his lap, shirt discarded beside him. Morning sunlight traced the hard lines of his shoulders, catching on the angry claw marks raked across his skin.
Poppy knelt beside him, her breath steadying as she opened the small travel satchel Minghua had insisted she take. The herbs inside were neatly bundled, a tiny jar of salve nestled between them with a faint silver fox painted on the lid.
Poppy smiled faintly, knowing Minghua had packed this. Poppy dipped two fingers into the salve and hesitated.
“May I?”
Mingxi looked at her—not with Foxborn aloofness or Councilor reserve, but with something softer. Something vulnerable.
“Yes,” he said quietly.
She shifted closer, and Mingxi exhaled a breath like he was preparing for a battle he wasn’t sure he wanted to win. Poppy touched his shoulder. He sucked in a sharp breath, but he didn’t seem in pain; instead, she sensed he was shocked by the fingertips on his bare skin. She paused, unsure.
“Too much?” she whispered.
“No,” he said, voice low. “Just… unexpected.”
She nodded and began spreading the salve gently along the unbroken edges of the wounds. Mingxi tensed and then forced himself to relax.
Her movements were careful, slow, almost reverent.
“You’ve fought creatures like this before?” she asked softly.
“Many,” he murmured. “But not while guarding someone who…” He stopped.
“Someone who what?”
He didn’t answer right away.
Her hand brushed lower along the muscle of his arm.
“Your breathing changed,” she said quietly, eyes focused on the wound. “It still hurts.”
“Some,” he admitted.
“You don’t have to endure in silence, you know.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “A Foxborn with pride? Impossible.”
Poppy smiled despite herself. She reached for more salve, her thigh brushing his knee as she shifted. His breath hitched, and Poppy couldn’t help but lean in closer. When her fingers touched the center of the wound, he hissed softly.
“Sorry,” she whispered.
“You’re fine,” he breathed. “It’s just…”
“What?”
“You’re gentle.”
She could feel the heat rise to her cheeks. “I’m trying not to hurt you.”
“You’re succeeding.”
Her hands slowed even more.
“You take care of everyone else,” she murmured. “Even me. You should let someone take care of you.”
Mingxi turned his head slightly, and she felt the intensity of his stare when he said, “And you want to be that someone?”
Poppy’s breath caught. “I—” She swallowed. “I don’t know.”
But she did.
She smoothed the last stroke of salve over his skin, and the wound began to glow faintly as the herbs took effect. She let her hands linger a moment too long, just a breath, just a second, and when she pulled back, Mingxi turned fully toward her.
She froze. They were close. Too close. Close enough she could see the gold flecks in his eyes. Close enough that her breath mingled with his. Close enough that if one of them leaned forward even half an inch—
His hand lifted, fingers brushing her jaw. Feather light. Barely a touch.
Poppy’s eyes fluttered shut. “Mingxi…” she whispered.
He leaned in, breath warm against her cheek… and stopped. A long, trembling pause. He rested his forehead against hers instead. Not a kiss, but so close it burned.
“You needed rest,” he whispered. “And healing. Not confusion.”
She opened her eyes slowly, meeting his. “Mingxi?”
She knew her voice was a fragile thing. He pulled back—not far, but enough.
“I can’t—” he said softly. “Not while you’re vulnerable. Not while I’m meant to protect you.”
Poppy’s throat tightened. “You’re protecting me right now.”
A rough exhale left him. “That’s the problem.”
He reached for his shirt—not putting it on yet, just holding it as if anchoring himself. Poppy wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even disappointed. She was… delighted. She felt alive. Because he wanted to kiss her. He had nearly kissed her, and he held back not from doubt but from care.
She rose slowly.
“When this is over,” she whispered, “and we’re both still standing… you won’t have to hold back.”
Mingxi’s heartbeat stilled, and then a soft, reverent smile touched his lips. “I’ll remember you said that.”
The world felt different that day. Maybe it was the clear sky. Maybe it was the hush of wind threading through the pines. Maybe it was the way the light seemed softer somehow, catching in Mingxi’s hair and turning the loose strands silver.
Or maybe it was just that Poppy was finally breathing again.
They walked side by side along a narrow cliff path, the scent of river spray drifting up from far below.
Mingxi moved with disciplined precision, but she could see the faint stiffness in his shoulder and how the injury still pulled at him.
Yet he didn’t complain, didn’t slow, didn’t let her worry show on his face.
And the strangest part? He looked… lighter. Not carefree. Not unworried. But lighter, as if the night before had stripped something heavy from him.
They didn’t talk much. They didn’t need to. Their silence was warm, companionable, threaded with all the words they weren’t saying.
At one point, the path narrowed to a jutting stone ledge.
Poppy hesitated, eyeing the drop. Mingxi extended a hand—not commanding, not guiding, just offering.
She placed her hand in his. He lifted her down from the ledge, hands firm at her waist. The moment her feet touched the ground, she expected him to let go.
He didn’t.