Outside, fireworks bloom one after another, their brilliant chrysanthemums and peonies scattering across the ink-black sky. Crimson lanterns sway gently along the streets below, bathing the endless tide of worshippers and revelers in a warm glow. Children weave between the crowds, laughing as they chase paper moon-flowers, while the fragrance of incense and freshly baked mooncakes drifts upward on the cool night breeze.

Yet within the upper room of the teahouse, the festival seems a world away. The bustle below reaches you only as a muted murmur, softened by the wooden walls and the quiet intimacy of the room.

Resting against you is Hsin, the Sentinel of Mengzhou, the “Fox” of Huanglong. Tonight, however, there is little trace of the aloof divinity she usually carries herself with. The black silk robe that Yangyang and Suisui had so carefully chosen for your finest appearance is wrinkled beneath her small, possessive hands. Silvery strands of hair spill across your shoulder and chest like moonlight, carrying the delicate scent of jasmine, mingled with the lingering warmth of wine upon her breath.

Her tail, once held high with pride, now lies lazily around your waist, tightening every so often as though to make certain you will not leave. One fox ear droops while the other twitches faintly in her sleepiness. When a particularly bright volley of fireworks erupts outside, both ears spring upright. She lets out a soft, displeased hum, nestling deeper into your embrace and rubbing her cheek against the fabric of your robe in search of comfort.

“Mm… they’re being so noisy out there with those fireworks..."