Chapter 78
They barely crossed the threshold of Huǒyáo Jìng before the realm responded.
Foxfire lanterns lining the forest paths flared to life. The wind shifted, carrying bright, crystalline qi. Deeper in the territory, a chime rang—not from wind.
A summons.
Poppy shivered. “Mingxi…”
“They sense us,” he murmured.
Not us, she thought heartbrokenly. Him.
The moment they entered the clearing at the heart of Huǒyáo Jìng figures were already waiting. Not guards. Not attendants. His family.
Shen Mingzhao stood at their center, hands clasped behind his back, posture flawless, expression carved from stone. His dark hair was tied high; his charcoal robes shimmered with subtle silver threading. His gaze skipped over Poppy, Caelan, and Lysandra and locked straight onto Mingxi’s six tails.
The air sharpened.
“Mingxi,” Shen Mingzhao said quietly. “Explain.”
He didn’t shout. Worse: he exhibited controlled alarm. Xu Yunlian stepped forward, graceful and composed. Her eyes softened instantly at Poppy.
“Penelope, darling—are you hurt?” She brushed cool fingers to Poppy’s cheek. “You’re feverish.” Her gaze then fell to Lysandra and froze. “What happened to that girl?”
Caelan held Lysandra tighter. “Long story.”
Before Poppy could answer, Minghua burst from the house like a firework given sentience.
“Mingxi!” she screamed, sprinting across the courtyard. “Oh, my gods, you have six tails!”
She barreled straight to Poppy next.
“Thank the ancestors you’re alive! We saw the moon flare last night—the whole realm shook—what did you do?”
Mingxi groaned into his hand. “Minghua. Please lower your voice.”
“No!”
Mingjun appeared last—taller than Mingxi, more stoic, but clearly alarmed. His gaze swept over their injuries, Lysandra’s corrupted aura, Caelan’s wary stance, and then Mingxi’s six tails.
“Mingxi,” he murmured, “your qi is unstable. The wards rippled when you crossed the boundary.”
He stepped closer. “Do you need stabilization?”
Mingxi shook his head. “Poppy first.”
Mingjun nodded immediately.
Shen Mingzhao raised a hand. “Inside,” he said sharply. “Now. Mingxi will explain everything in the inner hall. Healers will attend to the wounded.”
He looked again at his son, at the glowing tips of his six tails, and then said quietly, “And you will tell me why you returned with a stranger, a corrupted oracle, moon-scarred burns”—his eyes narrowed—“and two additional tails.”
Mingxi met his father’s gaze, exhausted but steady. “Father,” he said hoarsely, “I’ll explain.” He drew Poppy closer. “But she stays with me.”
A beat of silence swept the clan.
Xu Yunlian placed a calming hand on Mingzhao’s arm. He exhaled once and then said, “Very well.”
The group moved as one—Mingzhao leading, Yunlian beside him, Minghua clinging to Poppy’s sleeve, Mingjun guarding the rear, Caelan carrying Lysandra like a disgruntled prophecy grenade.
The doors opened. Warm foxfire spilled out, and Poppy leaned into Mingxi, legs shaking.
“Welcome home,” Minghua whispered.
To Poppy’s shock, it felt like the truth.