“I can see that.”
He reached for his discarded robes. “Would it help if I—?”
“Yes,” she blurted, far too quickly.
Mingxi froze. Then, as if trying to preserve her dignity, he turned slightly away while pulling the robes on. Which… did nothing to hide the view. When he was finally covered, Poppy lowered her hands. But she still felt like he had personally wronged her with his abdominal region.
Then, he had the audacity to tilt his head. “Are you well?”
Poppy inhaled. Exhaled. Squared her shoulders. And then—because she was sleep-deprived and traumatized, and she possessed absolutely zero filter when flustered—she blurted out the words before she could stop them.
“How can you look like that?”
Silence. Mingxi stared at her.
Poppy clapped both hands over her mouth before she managed to finish. “I mean… not that you shouldn’t look like that… obviously you can. But you do, and I don’t understand how… why… what… your stomach has muscles I didn’t even know existed!”
He blinked. “Muscles exist,” he said slowly, “in all people.”
“Yes, but yours are… are—” She gestured helplessly at his abdomen. “Is this normal for Foxborn? Did you do something? Is this a magic thing? Is it hereditary? Is it a mutation? Is this a side effect of qi cultivation? Are you dehydrated? Should you sit down?”
Mingxi was visibly defeated. Completely lost. “You’re worried I’m dehydrated?” he asked softly.
“Well, I don’t know,” she hissed. “People don’t naturally look like that!”
He hesitated, the tips of his ears reddening. “It isn’t… unnatural. For Foxborn.”
“Explain,” she demanded.
He rubbed the back of his neck, shy in a way she absolutely wasn’t prepared for, before he continued, “Our physiology… responds differently to training. Or stress. Or certain types of qi discipline. It’s not… intentional.”
Poppy stared at him. “You’re telling me you look like that by accident?”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t seem offended, just embarrassed. “Yes.”
Poppy made another sound. This one suspiciously like she was dying quietly on the inside.
Mingxi, trying to save them both, cleared his throat. “We should… eat breakfast.”
“Yes,” she squeaked.
They walked side by side back toward camp.
Five steps later, Poppy muttered, “Unbelievable.”
And Mingxi unmistakably smiled.
Poppy kept her chin up and her pace measured as they walked back toward camp. On the outside, she knew she looked composed, dignified, and unflappable.
On the inside? She was disintegrating atom by atom. Dear gods. She had seen his entire torso. All of it. Every line. Every muscle. Every impossible angle. She could still see the water sliding down his abdomen like it had been mocking her.
This was not fair. No one should have eight separate divisions of abdominals. That was excessive. That was aggressive. That was biologically irresponsible.
She clutched his cloak around her tighter, face burning. “How can you look like that?”
She internally reprimanded herself after she realized she had actually said that. Out loud. To his face. She wanted to throw herself into the stream and float away. Poppy glared ahead, jaw tight.
Why did he have to be…that? Why did his clothes need to cling to all that lean strength even now? Why did the morning sunlight insist on lighting up the planes of his face like he had personally bribed the sun?
