Que Zhi said he wasn’t good with words and didn’t know how to say pretty things, but there was one thing he could do right now.
He got up, went to the cabinet, and came back with a rolled-up piece of sheepskin parchment, which he spread open in front of Xi Yu.
It was a hand-drawn map—starting from a remote border town, winding through the Gobi desert, oases, snow-capped mountains, trade routes, all the way to Liangzhou, and then to the royal court.
Every stretch of road was carefully marked in ink, every river drawn with rippling lines, and every relay station labeled with its name.
At the very bottom of the map was the royal palace of the capital city, with a tiny poplar tree and an even tinier star drawn beside it.
He pointed to that star and said, “This is you. Wherever you are is where I want to go.”
Xi Yu gazed at the map through his drunken, hazy eyes, staring at that tiny star.
After a long while, he took Que Zhi’s finger from the star and kissed the back of his hand—the same gesture he’d made at the betrothal feast by the bonfire, but this time with more pressure, as if stamping a seal.
Then he said, “I want one more thing. Osmanthus cake—for breakfast tomorrow. Put it on my tab for now. And I want a double portion.”
His voice was still soft when he said this, but his eyelids could no longer hold themselves up. As soon as he finished speaking, he sank heavily into Que Zhi’s arms, his breathing gradually growing deep and steady.
Que Zhi gently slid the sheepskin parchment out of his hand, rolled it up, and put it back in the cabinet. Then he returned to the couch, letting Xi Yu lean quietly against him.
He lowered his head, resting his chin on top of Xi Yu’s hair, breathing in sync with his gradually sobering rhythm, until Xi Yu, curled up against him, was completely asleep.
“Alright.” The word was so soft it was barely audible.
—
Xi Yu was woken by the clinking jingle of bronze bells.
Not the court’s timekeeping bells, but sheep bells—the kind herders tie around the lead ram’s neck. The sound was crisp and carried far through the dry, cold morning air, traveling for miles.
Xi Yu turned over, instinctively reaching out to the side.
Empty.
But the bedding was still warm.
He pulled the blanket up a little higher, opened one eye, and saw that Que Zhi was already dressed in his robe, standing by the low couch fastening a silver belt around his waist.
It wasn’t his usual navy blue one, but a thicker dark gray winter robe with a fur collar and cuffs two fingers wider than his everyday clothes.
“You’re wearing that today,”
Xi Yu poked one finger out from under the blanket, pointing at the winter robe. “Where are you going?”
“The northern slopes. Helü Tao said a few new herder families moved to the winter pastures this year, so I need to go check on them.”
Que Zhi fastened his belt, bent down, fished Xi Yu’s boots out from under the couch, and lined them up in front of it.
“Batu’s coming too. Halebala got a new bell—supposedly bought in Liangzhou, twice as loud as the old one.”
Xi Yu’s voice was still thick with sleep, raspy and soft. He stretched an entire hand out from under the blanket and crooked his finger.
“Come here.”
Que Zhi thought he had something important to say and leaned in close.
Xi Yu looped his arms around Que Zhi’s neck, eyes still closed, and pulled his face down half a foot, pressing their lips together.
There wasn’t much force behind it—just lips touching lips, brushing gently, like a newborn cub still with its eyes closed, confirming its caretaker’s scent.
Then he let go, dropped back onto the pillow, pulled the blanket up to the tip of his nose, leaving only a pair of peach-blossom eyes that weren’t fully open yet. The faint blush at their corners seemed deeper in the morning light than usual.
“Alright. You can go patrol the pastures now.”
Que Zhi didn’t straighten up right away.
He looked down at the person in the blanket with only his eyes showing, reached out to brush the stray hairs from Xi Yu’s forehead, and pressed another kiss to the space between his brows.
The pressure was lighter than Xi Yu’s kiss just now, but it lingered longer.
When his lips lifted from Xi Yu’s brow, he felt lashes brush across the bridge of his nose—Xi Yu had opened his eyes.
“That one doesn’t count,”
Xi Yu blinked, now mostly awake.
“It was too light—that’s just going through the motions. Do it again.”
Xi Yu sat up, clutching the blanket around himself, several strands of hair sticking up from sleep, looking at him with drowsy eyes.
This gesture was very light—not coquettish, not demanding, more like a natural reminder.
Every morning since they’d been married, after Que Zhi placed his boots beneath the couch and before Xi Yu threw off the covers to get up, he would do one thing.
Que Zhi looked at the hand peeking out from the blanket’s edge, then at his face—those peach-blossom eyes still not fully open from sleep,
the faint flush at their corners deepened by the warmth of the room, and that tear-shaped mole forever suspended at the edge of that flush.
He bent down and pressed a deep kiss to Xi Yu’s lips.
Not the cautious, barely-there grazing of before—this was the steady, assured pressure born of countless repetitions over their days of marriage.
The hold wasn’t long either, but long enough for Xi Yu to close his eyes, then open them again.
“Alright. Get up now.”
“Do you want to come? You’ll need to dress warmly.” Que Zhi straightened up to retrieve the food tray.
Xi Yu’s voice pitched higher, bursting with barely contained excitement as he chirped, “Yes, I’m coming!!”
He threw off the blanket and nimbly swung off the couch, grabbing the new winter robe laid at the foot of the bed and shaking it out before slipping his arms into the sleeves. His voice returned to its usual composed rhythm:
“Batu’s porridge is too salty, and Helü Tao put the saddle together backwards last time. Those two can’t be left alone at the winter pastures without supervision—I’m coming with you.
We’ll eat breakfast on the way. Bring double portions of flatbread.”
Xi Yu finished dressing, wrapped his belt neatly around himself twice, and stood before the bronze mirror to check himself—his hair wasn’t combed yet, but the stray strands falling beside his face weren’t too messy. Que Zhi hadn’t brushed his hair this morning; the wooden comb was still on the small table.
He glanced back at Que Zhi, and before he could even speak, Que Zhi had already picked up the comb and walked up behind him, telling him to turn around. He gathered the loose hair behind Xi Yu’s ears, wove it into a side braid, and threaded a turquoise bead through it, asking if it was too tight.
“No, it’s just right.”
Then Xi Yu turned around, straightened the fur collar on Que Zhi’s winter robe, patted his shoulder, and said, “Let’s go.”
The winter pastures were west of the northern slopes, past a low ridge.
Que Zhi led out the black horse. Xi Yu stepped into the stirrup and mounted on his own—his riding skills had improved greatly since autumn.
The motion was clean and crisp, the reins wrapped twice around his hand as he adjusted the saddle’s tightness.
Que Zhi swung up behind him, gave the horse a gentle squeeze with his legs, and the black horse strode forward steadily.
Out the north gate, hooves crunched against the frozen grass roots. The sky was pale gray, the wind light but dry and cold. The white puffs of Xi Yu’s breath swirled around the horse’s neck and dissipated.
Xi Yu sat upright, his gaze sweeping over the old poplars along the slope that had shed all their leaves, then toward the distant snow line.
Then he leaned back softly against Que Zhi’s chest, his head resting gently against his warm lapel, his voice lazy and sweet as he murmured casually:
“The grass on the northern slopes is denser than on the southern slopes. The herders should be able to stock up on more hay this year.”
Que Zhi held the reins in one hand and gently wrapped the other around Xi Yu’s shoulder, his fingertips absently rubbing the brocade fabric at his shoulder.
His voice was low and steady, carrying the familiar wisdom of the grasslands, as he answered slowly and softly:
“The northern slopes have water nearby. The snowmelt comes slowly, and with the shade, there’s no harsh sun—the roots retain moisture well, so the grass naturally grows more lush.”
Xi Yu felt at ease hearing this, nestling further into his embrace, his brows curving in contentment as he leaned quietly against him, listening to that steady voice.
The two of them discussed pasture management for the winter for a while.
Then Xi Yu asked, “Did Batu pick out Halebala’s new bell himself in Liangzhou?”
“Yes.”
“That bell is twice as loud as the old one. Batu must have jingled every single bell at the stall before picking that one out.
Helü Tao put the saddle together backwards last time. If we have him fix a bell today, he’ll probably put the clapper in wrong too—when we get to the winter pastures, I’ll check his saddle first, you check the herders’ new fencing, and then we’ll have Batu make tea at noon—don’t let him make porridge. He puts way too much salt in it; last time I drank it I was thirsty all day.” (ˇˇ)
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