Dearest Xiao Wu,
Your sudden courtship with Crown Prince Ye Hua caught your parents by surprise, but knowing you as well as I do, it’s clearly a tactic to spark jealousy in Mo Yuan. However, Mo Yuan is not familiar with such feelings. Yet, given your nature, you will probably insist on carrying on with this charade of love.
Let me share a few insights about the Celestial Clan to prevent you from embarrassing yourself in front of young Ye Hua, which might reach Mo Yuan’s ears.
Unlike the carefree spirits of Qingqiu, the Celestials are known for their propriety, caution, and adherence to protocol. Rumor has it they even conceive children while fully clothed, and most spouses have never seen each other undressed. I surmise they find nudity offensive. They are a stiff-lipped clan, so avoid suggestive or provocative conversations, actions, or language that could offend the Crown Prince.
If you aim to impress him and win favor with Mo Yuan, engage in intellectual discussions — strategy, diplomacy, or quotes from the books you’ve borrowed from your brothers. Ye Hua has experience leading armies in battle.
Bai Qian placed the message on her table and sighed. It was unusual to receive serious advice from the notorious prankster of her life, but Zhe Yan’s words carried weight. Her parents had never troubled themselves with formal introductions into immortal society, unlike other goddesses paraded about for marriage. She was inexperienced with other clans. Little did she know that while Zhe Yan urged restraint, Uncle Prince Lian Song had filled Ye Hua’s head with a spectacularly opposite set of instructions.
Ye Hua
There were 242 little gray-flecked stones paving the rocky walkway to the Fox Den — Ye Hua had counted them three times. He was unnerved to find no guards, no attendants, not even a servant at the entrance. The wealth of Qingqiu rivaled all other clans, yet here he stood at what looked like the literal mouth of a mountain. A den. Exactly where a fox spirit ought to live.
He hovered at the first step. Should he stride in boldly as Bai Qian’s “beau,” or wait, as protocol demanded, to be announced? Not knowing what to do was unbearable for the perfectionist Crown Prince. He climbed one step, then retreated. Climbed again, then retreated. For ten minutes, he rehearsed this indecisive two-step, forehead tightening, until a slow clap echoed behind him.
Ye Hua whipped around. High God Bai Zhen lounged against a tree, hands coming together in deliberate, mocking rhythm. His mouth curved in a smirk that burned hotter than flame across Ye Hua’s cheeks.
Proper manners saved him — he shaped his arms in formal greeting — but Bai Zhen smacked his hands apart with a jadeite flute. “I understand you’re Xiao Wu’s boy…” He paused, eyes glinting. “…friend. For the time being. I don’t like to get involved, but for now consider me your partner in crime.”
He winked.
Heat scorched Ye Hua’s ears. He bowed deeper, words too polished, too rehearsed: “Thank you, High God Bai Zhen. I’ll do as you suggest.”
Bai Zhen grimaced. “Too stiff. Ye Hua, consider us family while you’re here. Call me Fourth Brother, since you and Xiao Wu are in that kind of way. Now stop dancing in the entry — you’ve no rhythm.”
With that, the aloof Celestial Crown Prince was adopted into the Fox Clan as their sixth and youngest child.
The den swallowed him whole. Warmth and noise pressed from all sides, nothing like the hushed halls of Nine Heavens.
“Ye Hua!” the Fox Emperor boomed from across the chamber, spectacles perched on his nose as he squinted at a fishing rod. “Your eyes are better than mine. Come tie this lure before I blind myself!”
Ye Hua barely took two steps before a silken hand clamped his arm. The Fox Empress — still radiant, her beauty undimmed by centuries — sang in a honeyed voice, “Have you eaten, child?” She tugged him to a dining table piled high with vegetables. A zucchini was thrust beneath his nose, its green skin gleaming. “Look at this summer squash! Gorgeous, isn’t it? Try these pancakes — I just made them.” A mountain of vegetable fritters landed before him.
Before he could decline, the Empress tore one in half and lifted it patiently to his lips. Her arched brows danced suggestively until he opened his mouth and obeyed.
“Leave the boy alone!” the Emperor hollered, waving the fishing rod like a staff. “If he eats all that, he’ll turn into a zucchini, and I don’t want green grandchildren!”
Ye Hua blinked. Grandchildren?
Before he could recover, Bai Qian breezed into the chamber, humming happily, a picnic basket hooked in her arm. Her gown flashed coral and gold under the lamplight. “Mother, Father, don’t stuff him full! We’re going on a picnic.” She paused suddenly. “Oh! The blanket.” And she darted back into another room.
The instant she left, whispers shot through the den like arrows:
“Don’t eat anything in that basket!”
“Tell her you’ve a stomachache!”
“Say your jaw is wired shut!”
Bai Qian’s voice floated back, sharp and cheerful: “I can hear you all! Don’t scare him. I’m a terrific cook!”
Laughter erupted. Even Ye Hua chuckled under his breath — a startling sound in his own ears.
Then she was there again, tugging at him, her warm palm slipping into his. Their fingers twined effortlessly, as if they’d always belonged that way.
The sensation jolted him. He had never held a woman’s hand. It wasn’t terrible, but it was foreign, and his unease surfaced in a too-curt question: “Bai Qian, must we hold hands when no one is watching?”
She startled, releasing him at once, her cheeks heating. “No… of course not. I’m sorry. I suppose I was just… excited.” Her gaze lingered on his hand even after she let go, wistful as if she missed the contact already.
Her face gave away everything — every flicker of feeling, every thought that passed through her bright eyes. Animated, unguarded, utterly unlike the serene masks of Celestial women. He found himself staring.
She was adorable.
They walked side by side through sun-dappled paths, her steps light, almost bouncing. Sunlight caught her hair, revealing shades of chocolate and tawny gold. She wore it braided unconventionally, fishtailed down her back, two smaller braids looping from her temples to join the plait. Her gown was coral-tinted, fitted to her blooming figure, bright as dawn.
Ye Hua, despite himself, noticed. The curve of her waist. The sway of her hips. She was… perfect for Mo Yuan. Yes. Mo Yuan.
At the lotus pond, Bai Qian spun, arms out. “Here, this spot.” She spread a blanket on the grass and unpacked the basket with radiant cheer. Her hands moved quickly, pulling out delicacies of all shapes and colors, arranging them like treasures.
“Ye Hua, how are things? Are your accommodations comfortable?” she asked, eyes bright.
“Thank you for your consideration,” he answered, stiff as armor. “Everything suits me.”
“It was nothing,” she beamed. “If you’re pleased, that’s enough for me.” She pressed a warm lotus-leaf bundle into his hand. Inside was sticky rice.
He bit into it — and froze. Salt. Oceans of it. His tongue nearly shriveled.
Her eyes shone, waiting. “Well? How does it taste?”
He cleared his throat, deadpan. “I worry for the sea creatures.”
She blinked. “The… sea creatures?”
“Yes. You’ve used all the salt in the seas for this rice. I fear for their survival.” He flicked the rest of the parcel into the lotus pond. “Never cook for Mo Yuan.”
She gasped, hands flying to her mouth — then burst into helpless giggles, shoulders shaking. “You’re impossible!”
Ye Hua’s lips pressed tight to keep from laughing with her. He found the sound of her laughter strangely… infectious.
Then, his voice softened, but not enough for her to notice. “Bai Qian… what is it about Mo Yuan that made you so…”
“In love with him?” She supplied nodding shyly. “He’s unique. There’s only one of him. Even if he had a million identical siblings, I would know him anywhere.”
Ye Hua nearly choked. She had fallen for me, thinking I was him. Foolish Fox. And yet, her conviction was so earnest, her smile so bright, that he found himself fighting down the laugh bubbling in his chest.
Strike three.
And yet… he wasn’t quite sure he meant it anymore.