The auspicious day dawned clear and bright.
The autumn sky over the grassland was high and crisp. On the hunting grounds, a hundred bronze lamps, freshly oiled, lined the white felt path in a single row. The wedding dais, built of poplar wood, stood at the center of the nine cold bonfires, its pillars draped with blue banner flags that the old Khan had hung with his own hands.
People from every tribe sat or stood along either side of the felt carpet. Elders in fur hats leaned on their canes, supported by their children and grandchildren to the front rows. Young hunters wore their curved sabers polished to a shine at their waists. The women adjusted each other’s headscarves and silver ornaments, whispering and craning their necks toward the dais.
Helu Xiong had arrived at the hunting grounds before dawn.
He personally inspected the firewood for all nine bonfires, then went to the kitchen tent to test the first cut of the roasting lamb, checked the temperature of the mare’s milk wine jars with the back of his hand, grabbed a handful of spices, sniffed them, and deemed them not fragrant enough—so he rolled up his sleeves and mixed a fresh batch himself.
Helu Tao followed behind, jotting down everything his father instructed—from the stables to the kitchen tent to the guest seating. He was at it all morning, refilled his water pouch three times, and finally squatted by the bonfire polishing his saber, grumbling that this was more exhausting than preparing for the Khan’s birthday feast.
The old Khan overheard him as he passed by.
Today, the old Khan wore a new navy-blue robe, his belt fastened neatly. He paused, looked at Helu Tao, and said: “When it’s your turn, let Helu Xiong do the same for you.”
Helu Tao replied, “Then I’ll have to find someone first—the young master is lucky; he’s already brought his person home.”
The old Khan smiled and continued toward the main tent.
The tent flap was lifted from the inside, and Xi Yu poked half his face out. Around his hair bun was wrapped a blue banner ribbon that the old Khan had tied for him this very morning—according to Suo custom, on the wedding day, both grooms wore such ribbons across their foreheads. They would close their eyes, bow their heads, and when the bonfires blazed at their peak, they would remove the ribbons and overlay them together, marking the ceremony complete.
The old Khan smoothed the shoulder line of Xi Yu’s ceremonial robe, stepped back to study him for a moment, and smiled, saying he looked beautiful—even more so than the old Khan’s own bride on his wedding day.
He asked if Xi Yu was nervous.
Xi Yu thought seriously for a moment, then said he wasn’t nervous—just that his fingertips were a little cold.
“That’s eagerness, not fear.”
The old Khan let the tent flap fall and glanced toward the wedding dais.
Que Zhi was already standing before it, wearing that deep crimson robe, a silver sash at his waist, bracers wrapped around his left wrist, and his right hand holding the reins of his black horse.
The black horse’s mane had been braided into two plaits by Helu Tao, looking slightly ridiculous, but the horse itself didn’t seem to mind—it was busy nibbling at a pot of wildflowers placed beside the dais pillar.
Helu Tao whispered that those were decorations and not for eating. The black horse ignored him.
As the sun climbed above the dais, all nine bonfires were lit at once.
The blue banner flags snapped loudly in the wind, and everyone fell silent.
Xi Yu walked out of the main tent and stepped onto the white felt carpet.
The hem of his ceremonial robe trailed across the felt. Morning light enveloped him from head to toe, the silver pin gleaming in his hair, the embroidered argali-horn cuffs shimmering in and out of sight with each step.
He wore no crown. On the thin braid at his right ear hung a turquoise bead, its deep brown backing the same shade as the leather of the bracer he’d once bought for Que Zhi. It swayed gently among the strands of hair the wind had tousled.
He walked neither slowly nor hurriedly, his steps steady—as composed as when he’d walked out of that border town on the Gobi, out of the oasis, past the snowline.
Que Zhi handed the reins to Helu Tao, stepped forward three paces, and reached out to brush the wind-tossed strands of hair from Xi Yu’s forehead, tucking them behind the banner ribbon.
Then he pulled the wooden comb from his sleeve, told Xi Yu to hold still, and carefully gathered the loose hair behind his ear, pinning it back into place.
All the tribal chieftains and guests watched in silence. Several of the elderly women had tears in their eyes.
Que Zhi tucked the wooden comb back into his sleeve, took Xi Yu’s hand, turned, and walked to the old Khan. Then he knelt.
The couple knelt side by side before the wedding dais.
The old Khan removed the blue banner ribbons from their foreheads, folded them together, and placed them on the wooden tray carved with the argali-sheep totem that sat upon the dais.
Following Suo custom, he asked: “By the Eternal Blue Sky as witness—do you willingly take one another as partners, to share a tent, to share a fire, through pasture’s bloom and wither, through the river’s changing course, never to betray one another?”
“I do.” Que Zhi’s voice was not loud, but steady.
“I do.” Xi Yu said.
He looked up at the person kneeling beside him, thinking that Que Zhi had never looked more formal than he did today in that deep crimson robe and bracers—and that this would be the last time he’d ever need to be so formal.
The old Khan raised the wooden tray above his head and proclaimed in Suo, with a long, sonorous voice: “Bound as partners!”
All nine bonfires were fed with fresh wood at once. The flames leapt high, the flames in the bronze lamps flickered in unison before steadying, and Helu Xiong struck the bronze gong on the wedding dais.
At the sound of the gong, people from every tribe rose to their feet. The women scattered flower petals over the white felt carpet. Some tossed their hats and headscarves into the air. The young people’s cheers rose like waves, one cresting over the next, even the hunting dogs tethered at the edge of the grounds joining in with enthusiastic barks.
Que Zhi pulled Xi Yu up from the felt carpet, took his hand, and led him forward—through the petals swirling in the air and the blue banner flags snapping in the wind, through the crowds of well-wishers lining the path, and took that first step.
From this day forward, he could ride the same black horse with him, reach out to straighten his silver pin whenever it went askew, shield him from wine at every banquet where he craved fruit wine, and on every starry night, hear him call his name.
—
The night had grown deep, and the boisterous clamor of the daytime grassland wedding feast had long since faded.
The songs and laughter, the guests’ toasts, the clansmen’s congratulations—all had slowly drawn to a close. Only a few embers remained of the bonfires beyond the royal court. The evening breeze carried faint traces of wine and the scent of flowers and herbs, drifting quietly across the courtyard.
All was still. Only the occasional murmur of guards in the distance, and the soft chime of silver ornaments beneath the eaves stirred by the night wind—a tinkling, gentle, and peaceful sound.
The courtyard lights were half-dimmed, the warm amber glow of the glazed lamps spreading softly over the bluestone ground. The bustle of the day had faded, leaving only a quiet, languid serenity.
The guests had all departed—tribal elders and chieftains had returned to their own tents. Even Batu, the most rambunctious of them all, had been led off to rest early by his father. The vast inner courtyard of the royal complex had finally fallen silent.
Xi Yu still wore his crimson wedding robe. The intricate fabric set off his delicate, warm features, lending him an air of lazy drowsiness.
He stood beneath the eaves, gazing at the stars emerging one by one in the night sky. The noise had faded, yet his heart felt more settled than ever.
From this day on, he was no longer a wanderer adrift in a foreign land, no longer a forsaken prince in a forgotten palace. He was the one who belonged, rightfully and openly, by Que Zhi’s side—rooted in the Western Region’s royal court.
Que Zhi walked slowly to his side. The composed, distant demeanor he’d worn as a royal host during the wedding feast had melted away, leaving only an unguarded tenderness.
He stepped up beside Xi Yu, raised his hand to smooth the slightly rumpled collar of his wedding robe, his gaze falling on the loose braid at Xi Yu’s temple. His voice was low and gentle: “Tired?”
Xi Yu shook his head lightly. “I didn’t really do much today.”
He leaned quietly closer to Que Zhi, his shoulder brushing against his arm, his voice soft: “It’s just that after all the excitement of the day, the sudden quiet feels a little unfamiliar.”
The night breeze brushed past, setting the edges of his wedding robe fluttering, the silver ornaments at his forehead swaying gently and catching the dim light.
Que Zhi helped him out of the wedding robe, then raised his hand and drew him close, pulling him securely into his embrace, shielding him from the cool night air.
His gaze rested tenderly on Xi Yu’s flushed eyes, filled with deep affection and devotion. He spoke softly: “From now on, you have me. In the quiet of the night, it will be only us.”
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