It wasn’t blazing.
It was… quiet.
But something in the look made her breath hitch.
His expression softened just barely, a subtle loosening of tension in his shoulders—as if seeing her was a relief he hadn’t admitted he needed.
Yunlian nudged her forward with a gentle hand. “Go on, dear.”
Poppy forced her feet to move. She tried to sit beside Minghua, but a kit had stolen the seat and was eating her sweet bun with no intention of moving.
Minghua smirked. “Guess you’re sitting elsewhere.”
Elsewhereturned out to be beside Mingxi.
When she reached him, he stepped back just enough to offer space—not too much, not too little. His control was perfect. His ears, however, were faintly pink.
“Good morning,” he murmured.
His voice had never sounded quite so… careful.
Poppy swallowed. “Good morning.”
They sat. Not touching. But not as distant as before. Silence stretched—soft, not strained. She could feel the echo of last night between them, like a warm thread still unbroken.
Minghua plopped down across from them and took one look at the two of them before grinning like a fox who’d found the pantry unlocked.
“So,” she said brightly, far too loudly, “did you two sleep well?”
“Minghua!” Mingxi snapped, ears going scarlet this time.
Across the table, Yunlian hid a smile behind her cup.
Mingzhao didn’t bother hiding his.
Poppy dropped her face into her hands.
The kits cheered. For the first time since her life had collapsed in London, Poppy felt something shocking and profound: She felt like she was part of something warm. Something alive. Something that wanted her here.
Something that felt dangerously like family.
The days that followed settled into a rhythm that felt impossibly gentle after everything Poppy had endured. She trained each morning beneath the plum trees with Yunlian, learning how to breathe through the tug of her magic instead of bracing against it. Kits interrupted constantly, dropping blossoms into her lap, tugging at her sleeves, proudly presenting pebbles and half-chewed fruit as offerings. Poppy laughed more freely in those moments than she had in months.
Mingxi was almost always nearby. Not intruding. Not hovering. Just present, watching from the veranda, or leaning against a carved post, or standing with arms folded as if listening to something only he could hear. His gaze tracked her movements with a focus that felt both protective and… something else.
In the evenings, they walked the estate’s inner paths. Foxfire lanterns glowed above them, casting long, warm shadows. Sometimes they talked softly; sometimes they fell into silence that felt strangely intimate. Every so often, their hands brushed—not enough to be deliberate, but enough that Poppy felt the heat of it for hours afterward.
For a time, she let herself believe this peace would last, but the forest had other plans. The first real sign came at the river. What should have been a peaceful walk turned sharp the moment they saw the far bank, a thin black sheen clinging to the grass like ink spilled across damp earth. A Guardian knelt beside the dimming ward-stone, chanting steadily as foxfire sputtered in protest.
Poppy felt a cold tug beneath her sternum—deep and instinctive.
“It’s searching,” she whispered.
“For you,” Mingxi said before thinking.
“Unfortunately,” she replied.
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He stepped subtly between her and the creeping blackness, body angled protectively without any conscious thought behind it. It took only moments for the Guardian to cleanse the stain, but the wrongness lingered in the air long after.
