She froze and a blush crept across her cheeks. The noise of the marketplace faded to a distant thrum.
“I… Mingxi…”
Before she could gather a thought, a cluster of kits shrieked with laughter and barreled past them, several darting toward Poppy with fearless curiosity. One tugged her sleeve. One sniffed her robe. Another poked her boot.
Mingxi froze as though the universe had betrayed him.
Then…
“Ai! Kits!” Auntie Li shouted from across the square. “Leave the poor girl alone!”
They scattered, yipping gleefully. Poppy burst into laughter, light, real, bubbling out of her like something young and unguarded. Mingxi went utterly still. Her laughter seemed to stun him more than revenants or shadow entities ever had.
He looked at her like the moon had risen at midday, and Poppy, catching her breath, touched the hairpin again, fingers brushing its crescent curve.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Mingxi inclined his head, but his gaze didn’t waver. “You’re welcome.”
His response was soft, warm, almost tender.
They continued walking, closer than before, without realizing it. The marketplace felt even more alive, but Poppy didn’t feel lost in it.
She felt… held. Anchored. Seen.
Chapter 39
They walked back slowly, the noise of the marketplace fading behind them. The stone path climbed in gentle curves toward the guest pavilions, lantern light brushing soft gold across the moss-covered steps. The bustle softened into quiet: birds rustling in the canopy, the distant hum of foxfire wards, the whisper of silk between them.
For the first time since entering the forest, Poppy didn’t feel overwhelmed. She felt… steady.
Mingxi walked half a step closer than before. Not touching—never touching—but his presence wrapped around her like warmth. Every so often, when she stumbled on an uneven stone, his hand hovered near her elbow, ready without insisting.
“You’re quiet,” he murmured.
Poppy exhaled softly. “I think… I’m breathing again.”
He looked at her then—really looked—and something eased in his shoulders. They passed beneath an arch of flowering plum trees. Petals drifted down like pale-pink snow, catching in the loose strands of her hair. Mingxi paused.
“Hold still.”
Before she could ask why, he reached up—slow, deliberate—and brushed a petal from her cheek. His fingertips didn’t touch her skin, but she felt the warmth of them all the same. Her breath caught.
Mingxi hesitated but then added, even quieter, “The hairpin suits you.”
Her fingers rose instinctively to the crescent moon nestled in her bun.
“You picked it,” she said. “Of course it suits me.”
A faint, utterly rare smile touched the corner of his mouth. “I am pleased you think so.”
They continued on, the path narrowing, the air growing more secluded. The weight of the Council chamber—and the memory of Lysandra—loosened by degrees.
“It’s strange,” Poppy said softly. “I should feel terrified. There’s so much I don’t understand. So much I’m not prepared for.”
“You do not have to be prepared,” Mingxi replied. “You only have to take the next step.”
She let out a breath that trembled—not with fear this time, but something gentler—and said, “And what if the next step is too big?”
