He inclined his head, solemn. “By trying.”
Her breath caught.
Minghua placed a hand on Poppy’s shoulder. “See? I told you.”
But Mingxi wasn’t finished. He reached out—slowly, carefully—and touched Poppy’s cheek with the back of his fingers. Barely a graze. A whisper of warmth in the cool evening.
“You do not have to speak like us to be welcome among us.”
Poppy swallowed. “But I want to.”
Mingxi’s heartbeat stuttered.
Mingjun’s grin died in real time. “Wait. You’re touched? By that!”
Mingxi didn’t even turn. “Leave.”
Mingjun fled.
Minghua, snickering, followed.
Suddenly the courtyard felt still. Quiet. Silver blossoms drifted lazily around them.
Poppy looked up at him shyly. “I really want to get it right.”
“You will,” Mingxi murmured.
“How do you know?”
“Because you try harder than anyone I have ever met.”
Her cheeks flushed, but he did not sense embarrassment this time—but something warm and blooming. He held her gaze a moment longer and then stepped back, giving her space.
“Tomorrow,” he said gently, “I will teach you too.”
Poppy’s breath hitched. “Really?”
“Of course.” His lips curved ever so slightly. “But you will not be a cat.”
She groaned. “I’m never living that down.”
“No,” Mingxi said softly. “You are not.”
He hoped he made his words feel like a promise, not a tease. A promise that she wasn’t an outsider. Not anymore.
Later, lantern light followed them back to the pavilion. Mingxi walked her to the door, hands folded behind him. He flicked his tail—just barely visible—once, betraying nerves he’d never admit.
“Good night, Poppy,” he said softly.
“Good night,” she whispered.
She stepped into the pavilion.
The night breathed cool and gentle across the shrine as she slipped beneath her blankets, unaware that the days ahead—filled with lessons, laughter, warmth, and subtle falling—would make that fragile feeling bloom into something real.
Something she hadn’t had since Lysandra.
Something like home.
