He inhaled deeply. “I can try.”
She smiled. “That’s enough.”
Xu Yunlian and Mingzhao were already seated at the low, ornate, lacquered table. The ceremonial porcelain teaware rested between them—white with red fox-tail motifs painted around the rims. Sunlight filtered through the paper screens, casting soft gold across the room.
Yunlian’s eyes warmed when she saw them. “Mingxi. Poppy. Welcome.”
Poppy and Mingxi knelt opposite them. Poppy lifted the teapot with both hands, pouring carefully—each motion intentional, respectful, as Mingxi had instructed her. She bowed low, rising to her knees with the first cup cradled in both palms.
She extended it forward, arms steady. “Mother… please drink tea.”
Yunlian’s breath trembled. She accepted the cup with both hands, fingers brushing Poppy’s in a gesture of blessing.
“My daughter,” she whispered, voice thick with emotion. “Thank you.”
She drank.
Poppy bowed again before returning to Mingxi’s side. Mingxi exhaled sharply, trying to compose himself. He poured the next cup—carefully, though his hands shook just enough for Poppy to gently steady him with a touch to his wrist.
He rose, bowing deeply. “Muqin. Please drink tea.”
Yunlian’s eyes filled instantly. She took the cup from his hands, her fingers trembling.
“Mingxi,” she whispered, voice breaking, “my son.”
He bowed again, deep and sincere. Poppy saw the moment something old and guarded inside him loosened, the moment he let the wordmothersettle into his bones without resistance.
Yunlian touched his cheek gently with her free hand. “I am honored,” she said. “Truly.”
Mingxi blinked hard but didn’t pull away.
Poppy poured the second cup and carried it forward. She bowed deeply, both hands lifting the porcelain.
“Father. Please drink tea.”
Mingzhao accepted it gravely with both hands. “You honor us,” he said. “And you honor each other.”
He drank and then placed his hand briefly on Mingxi’s shoulder—solid, approving, wordless but powerful. Mingxi’s breath caught.
Poppy returned to her cushion, and Yunlian reached for both of their hands, drawing them gently forward. From up close, her eyes shone with pride.
“From this day,” she said softly, “you walk as one family. One hearth. One destiny. The ancestors witness this unity.”
Foxfire drifted around them like drifting petals.
Mingxi bowed his head, voice quiet but steady. “Thank you, Mother. Father.”
Yunlian wiped a tear.
Mingzhao nodded, satisfied.
Poppy squeezed Mingxi’s fingers. He squeezed back, something fragile and healing settling between them.
He leaned close enough that only she heard. “I told you she’d cry.”
“I told you you’d survive.”
He smiled—small, soft, real.
