They finished breakfast side by side, pretending to be normal people eating a normal breakfast and failing spectacularly. The farther they moved from Huayuan Jing, the quieter the world became. The forest was dense here, the air cool and thin with altitude, pine needles softening their steps. Sunlight threaded through the branches in narrow shafts, catching the edges of Mingxi’s hair as he walked beside her. They didn’t speak. They didn’t need to.
Silence with him wasn’t uncomfortable. It was… companionable. Steady. Almost safe. Which was unfortunate, because Poppy had absolutely no business feeling safe around a man who looked like that with his shirt off. She willed her thoughts back to the trail just in time for her boot to skid on loose shale. She slipped—only a fraction of an inch—but Mingxi’s hand closed around her wrist instantly, pulling her toward him with smooth, effortless strength. For a breathless heartbeat, she was against his chest, close enough to feel the warmth of him.
“Careful,” he said softly.
She nodded, trying not to notice how his fingers lingered before he released her.
They continued upward until the trail narrowed into a ledge carved into the cliffside. The drop beside them was dizzying. Wind pressed against Poppy’s skirts, and she hesitated.
Mingxi stepped behind her, voice low. “Walk slowly. If the wind catches you, lean back into me.”
Her pulse stumbled. She didn’t look at him—she couldn’t—but she stepped forward. When the wind rose sharply, his hand found her waist,steadying her with practiced ease. The warmth of his palm burned through the cloak, and she nearly forgot how to move.
“You’re doing well,” he murmured, thumb brushing her side in a way that probably wasn’t intentional but still made her knees weak.
Poppy exhaled shakily when the trail widened again. She barely had time to recover before a hidden root snagged her boot, and she jolted forward—straight into Mingxi’s waiting arms. He caught her fully this time, arms wrapping around her waist, her palms braced against his chest.
They froze. His breath whispered past her temple. Her heartbeat thudded wildly between them. Neither moved.
Finally, slowly, he let her go.
“You’re safe,” he said.
The words felt heavier than a simple reassurance.
The higher they climbed, the colder the air grew. A sharp breeze cut through the trees, and Poppy shivered. Without a word, he unclasped his cloak and draped it around her shoulders, his hands brushing the sides of her neck as he fastened it. She went very still.
“Better?” he asked quietly.
She nodded, though her cheeks burned. His hands stayed there—resting lightly, as if reluctant to withdraw—before he finally stepped back.
When they reached a pair of boulders blocking the trail, Mingxi reached down to her with an outstretched hand.
“Give me your hand.”
She placed hers in his without thinking. He lifted her up easily, steadying her when her foot slipped against the stone. His thumb brushed her wrist in a soft, inadvertent stroke that sent heat spiraling through her.
Then they walked on.
Too close. Not close enough.Her thoughts spiraled out of control.
This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. His Foxborn grace, his quiet strength, the way he moved with precision and confidence—she’d noticed all of that before. But after the stream… after seeing him shirtless, sculpted like some divine weapon… after he pulled his robes over that eight-pack like it was nothing—Poppy was disintegrating internally.
It wasn’t fair. No one should look like that without trying. Humans didn’t. Humans couldn’t. Even the statues Poppy had seen hadn’t looked as beautifully masculine as he did.
Her face heated as he glanced back at her, golden eyes catching the sun. The cloak smelled like him—warm cedar, faint foxfire, cold air—and she hated how much she wanted to bury her face in it.
Mingxi, for his part, seemed calm. Too calm. But she saw the subtle things—the way his breath hitched when he’d caught her, the way he stepped closer when the wind grew sharp, the way he watched her when he thought she wasn’t looking. He was controlled, yes, but beneath it something coiled tight whenever she stumbled or shivered.
The path grew quieter, more intimate, and her voice dropped to match the hush of the valley.
“Will we reach the moonwell in time for the full moon?”
“Yes,” he said. “Just before it. It would’ve been faster by portal, but as you know, we couldn’t use them.”
She absorbed that in silence, feeling the weight beneath his calm.
By the time the sun dipped low, the path opened into a sheltered hollow between two pines. Moss blanketed the ground, and a rock overhang offered just enough shelter to make camp.
