“I brought food! And more food! And… oh! I embroidered this sachet. It has foxes on it!”
Mingxi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Minghua…”
“What? You both looked like you needed sweets!” She shoved a warm bun into Poppy’s hand before Poppy could protest. “It’s apricot,” she said proudly. “It fixes emotional trauma!”
Poppy blinked and then couldn’t help the laugh that erupted. A small, startled, beautiful sound. Mingxi stared at her, stunned.
Minghua puffed up like a triumphant sparrow. “See? I told you sweets help!”
“Minghua,” Mingxi said, voice strained. “Perhaps—”
“Not a chance,” Minghua declared. “Sadness has been defeated. You’re welcome.” She plopped onto the bench between them, swinging her legs and shoving another bun at Mingxi. “You too, Dà ge. You look like you’re about to brood a hole into the garden.”
Mingxi took the bun. He did not smile, but his eyes warmed.
Poppy watched them, brother and sister bickering gently, and her heart ached with a soft, suffocating envy and a flicker of hope. Before the warmth could settle too deeply, a serene voice floated across the garden.
“Minghua.”
Xu Yunlian stood at the edge of the path, hands folded, expression gentle but unmistakably deliberate.
Minghua froze mid-ramble, buns still clutched in her arms. “Yes, Mother?” she chirped.
“I need your help preparing the offerings,” Xu Yunlian said. Her voice never rose, but it carried a quiet, elegant authority that made even foxfire pause.
Minghua blinked. She glanced at Poppy and then at Mingxi. Then back at her mother. A flash of understanding crossed her face, dramatically obvious, comically unsubtle.
“Oh,” she whispered. “Oh.”
“Minghua,” Mingxi warned under his breath.
“I’m going!” she hissed back. “I’mgoing.” She thrust the last bun into Poppy’s hands with the solemnity of a sacred duty. “This one has extra filling. Eat it. It cures emotional devastation.”
“Minghua,” Mingxi repeated, clearly exasperated.
“Zaijian!”
She dashed off toward her mother, who hid her satisfaction with the grace of an empress used to orchestrating delicate emotional logistics.
And then… they were alone. The garden fell into a softer quiet. Not empty. Not cold. Just… still.
Poppy stared down at the bun in her hands, suddenly overwhelmed by the sweetness of the moment and the heaviness in her chest. Mingxi stepped closer, not pressing, not imposing, simply anchoring himself within her reach.
“Poppy,” he said gently, “you don’t have to return inside yet.”
She looked up, fragile and uncertain.
“There is a path behind the gardens,” he continued. “Quiet. Sheltered. Good for air. And for… steadiness.”
Her breath trembled. “Are you offering distraction?” she whispered.
“No.” A pause, soft as breath. “I am offering peace.”
Something in her loosened. Just a fraction. Enough.
“Yes,” she murmured. “I’d like that.”
Mingxi didn’t offer his arm. He merely turned toward the path, an invitation, not an expectation. Poppy stepped beside him, and the moment she matched his stride, the last of her tension unwound.
