Chapter 93
Poppy woke slowly to actual warmth—not the gentle glow of foxfire, not the heated air of Huǒyáo Jìng, but the heavy, overprotective, smothering warmth of approximately five to seven fox tails draped over her like a weighted blanket with opinions.
One was directly across her face.
She sputtered, pushing soft fur away as she blinked into the dim light of the private house. Mingxi was curled behind her, limbs tangled with hers, all seven tails wrapped around her like he was both shielding her from the world and ensuring she couldn’t escape if she tried.
He made a low noise—half groan, half fox-whine—and burrowed closer.
Poppy smiled, brushing hair from her face. “Mingxi… sweetheart…”
A miserable groan answered. She shifted to face him, and his eyes cracked open. Then immediately closed again.
“Everything hurts.”
Poppy bit back a laugh. “What hurts?”
“My soul.”
“That’s not specific.”
“I am dying,” he muttered into her collarbone. “It’s the only explanation.”
“Darling… you’re hungover.”
He went stiff with betrayal. “No. No. Fox spirits do not get hungover. Our metabolism is superior. We are built different.”
“You drank a whole bottle of plum wine.”
“Lysandra forced me.”
Poppy smoothed his hair. “I don’t think she forced you to take the fifth cup.”
He groaned again and flopped onto his back dramatically, an arm covering his eyes. “Oh, heavens, they are too bright.”
“It’s a window.”
“The window is attacking me.”
She snorted.
When she tried to slip out of his tails, they tightened automatically around her waist.
“Oh?” she teased, leaning over him. “Are we clingy this morning?”
He cracked one eye open, looking deeply offended. “I am not clingy. I am anchoring you.”
“To the bed?”
“Yes.”
She kissed his cheek. “Let me get us water.”
“Mmm… no,” he mumbled, pulling her back against his chest. “Stay.”
His voice, still hoarse from the night before, sent a warm shiver down her spine. His head lowered to her throat, brushing a kiss there—slow, sleepy, instinctive—before he seemed to remember language existed and added:
“Please.”
Her heart melted, and she settled against him, fingers resting over his heartbeat. That was when she felt it. A soft, warm pulse beneath her hand… not physical, not qi entirely… something deeper. A whisper of magic. A spark answering a spark.
She stilled.
Mingxi seemed to sense her silence and peeked up. “Are you all right?” he murmured, instantly alert despite his melodramatic suffering.
“Yes,” she whispered quickly, not wanting to alarm him.
“Just… feeling you.”
His expression softened, turning unbearably tender. “Then feel all of me,” he whispered, brushing a thumb over her lip before he kissed her.
Slow, sweet. Soft enough to stir heat again. Lazy enough to say we had nowhere else to be.
Until—
KNOCK
“Are the newlyweds alive?” Minghua shouted joyously.
Mingxi buried his face in Poppy’s neck with a muffled curse.
Poppy stroked his back, trying not to laugh. “We should answer.”
“We should not,” he said firmly. “We should stay here for the next decade.”
“Mingxi—”
“No. I refuse. They will drag me into sunlight. The sunlight is angry.”
Poppy pressed a kiss to his jaw. “We’ll face them together.”
He released the longest, most suffering exhale in fox-spirit history.
Another knock.
“Mingxi!” Mingjun called, far too amused. “If your qi is unstable, Mother made ginger tea.”
“I am not unstable,” Mingxi snapped.
Poppy murmured, “You threw up when you stood up last time.”
Mingxi froze. “We do not speak of that. Ever.”
“Of course,” she said gently. “Come on, let’s get up.”
“Carry me.”
She blinked. “What?”
He kissed her shoulder, sleepy and pitiful. “Carry me.”
“You are heavy.”
“I am delicate.”
“You are very much not.”
He tugged her against him, refusing to release her. “Fine. If you will not carry me, then stay with me. Forever. In bed. Where there is no sunlight… and no sisters.”
But Poppy was already laughing, gently prying at the tails wrapped around her. Each time she moved one, another curled around her ankle.
“Mingxi, please.”
“No.”
“Mingxi.”
“Fine.”
He finally let her go with a dramatic sigh, crawling upright like a fox spirit who had been personally wronged by the concept of mornings. Poppy helped him dress. He leaned on her far more than necessary. When they opened the door, the clan was waiting.
Minghua: “Look at you two glowing! You—”
Mingjun slapped a hand over her mouth.
Xu Yunlian: “You both look well rested.”
Mingxi turned pink.
Lysandra: “I felt a power surge. Was that the seventh tail or…”
Caelan dragged her back by the collar.
Mingzhao simply nodded once with deep approval. He was clearly a father respecting the fact that his eldest son had finally lived.
Mingxi groaned softly. “Told you,” he muttered to Poppy. “We should have stayed in bed.”
She leaned up and whispered in his ear, “Tonight we can.”
His ears went red, tails flicking wildly behind him, and for a moment, he seemed to forget entirely about his hangover.
Mingxi eventually managed to sit upright, though he did so with the dignity of a fox spirit who had survived a fatal battle and absolutely wanted everyone to know it. His seventh tail kept twitching unpredictably, flicking against Poppy’s leg each time he groaned.
Poppy brushed hair from his forehead. “Feeling any better?”
“No,” he muttered. “My bones hurt. My teeth hurt. My… soul hurts.”
“That’s the hangover,” she reminded gently. “It’ll pass.”
“Will it?” He flopped backward onto the pillows. “Or is this my life now? A tragic cautionary tale?”
Poppy laughed. “Sweetheart… we need to get ready.”
He froze. “For what? If it’s sunlight, I decline.”
“The tea ceremony.”
All seven tails stopped. “The—” His voice cracked. “The tea ceremony is today?”
“I was told it’s always the morning after the wedding,” she said, amused.
“Why?” he whispered, scandalized. “Who decided that? We are emotionally compromised! Vulnerable! I am too soft for this.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“No, I won’t. I have to… ” He lowered his voice further. “I have to properly address Yunlian.”
Poppy took his hands. “She loves you. She just wants to hear you acknowledge it.”
Mingxi made a small fox-noise of suffering and collapsed face-first into her lap. “Are you sure you can’t carry me?”
“Absolutely not, Mingxi,” Penelope replied with exasperation and humor lacing her voice.
“I’m suffering.”
She stroked his hair. “Mingxi, you fought a Yaoguài-Láng. You can drink tea.”
“It had fewer emotional consequences,” he snapped.
She kissed his cheek and tugged him upright. “Come on. Let’s get you dressed.”
With an air of martyred resignation, he acquiesced, and she fixed his robe, adjusted his collar, brushed out his hair, and tied his sash. His ears drooped the entire time like a tragic forest spirit.
As she straightened his sleeves, he caught her hands softly. “You’ll stay beside me?” he asked quietly.
“Always.”