She stepped closer into his line of sight—not obstructing Poppy, but gently, firmly commanding his attention.
“Mingxi,” she said, voice low and warm. “You are shaking.”
He bristled. “I can hold the ward. She needs—”
“You will hold nothing until you are whole.”
Her voice was still soft, still gentle, but immovable.
He opened his mouth to argue, but Yunlian simply lifted a hand, palm up.
“Enough,” she whispered. “You carried her home. Let us carry you for one moment.”
The healers moved as soon as she spoke, not roughly, instead with firm insistence. They each took one of Mingxi’s arms—not to restrain him, but to steady him—and he was too exhausted to hide the small stagger that betrayed how much he hurt.
His eyes flicked to Poppy. “I won’t leave her side,” he said through his teeth.
“You won’t,” Yunlian replied. “You will return to her as soon as you can stand without falling.”
That did it. His resistance eased—not in defeat, but in reluctant acceptance.
The healers guided him to the adjoining alcove, foxfire blooming around their hands as they began to stitch spirit, bone, and breath back into alignment. Mingxi endured the treatment silently, jaw clenched, eyes slanted toward the doorway as if he could see through the carved screens and back to Poppy.
The moment the foxfire dimmed and the healers stepped back, Mingxi was already moving.
“Careful,” the elder healer warned.
He ignored it.
He crossed back into the main pavilion with long, decisive strides, breath steadier, ribs no longer grinding with every step. Poppy lay exactly where he’d left her, moonlight flickering faintly beneath her skin.
Mingxi went to her side and knelt, taking her hand with a gentleness that didn’t match the fierce desperation in his gut. Yunlian watched from near the door, arms lightly folded, expression softening as Mingxi settled beside Poppy with the certainty of someone returning to the only place he belonged.
She nodded once, approving, and said quietly, “You may hold the ward now.”
Mingxi didn’t look up, but his grip on Poppy’s hand tightened in silent gratitude.
The foxfire-laced ward hummed to life around them—strong and steady under Mingxi’s command. Yunlian turned away, letting them have the room. Only the sound of soft foxfire lanterns glowing along the walls remained.
Poppy drifted on a warm tide of sleep, deeper than any she’d known.
Not the fitful sleep of fear. Something gentler, healing, and safe.
She surfaced slowly, senses forming one by one: warm silk beneath her, a faint herbal scent, golden light flickering behind her closed eyes, and a steady warmth encircling her hand.
She blinked.
Mingxi sat beside her on the cushion, still in his travel clothes, coat shrugged off, sleeves rolled to his forearms. Foxfire hovered in a small orb above his free hand, pulsing in time with her breath.
His other hand held hers. Firmly. As if to anchor her in this world.
Her voice was soft, raw from exhaustion. “Mingxi?”
His head lifted instantly. His eyes—gold brightening from worry to relief—met hers.
“You’re awake.”
She swallowed, feeling the dryness in her throat. “Where…?”
