On horseback, Xi Yu went over the day’s arrangements in a calm, organized tone, as if discussing border patrol matters with a colleague.
But his hand rested over Que Zhi’s, which was holding his waist, his thumb absently stroking it.
By the time they reached the winter pastures, Batu was squatting by the sheep pen, tying Halebala’s new bell. The leather cord had left several red marks on his fingers.
Halebala, however, showed no consideration—he bolted toward the haystack, dragging Batu along for several staggering steps.
Helü Tao was already helping the newly arrived herders fix a saddle—this time he hadn’t put it on backward, but he had reversed the saddle padding. The piebald horse grazed nearby, occasionally lifting its head to snort at the black horse in greeting.
“You’re finally here—Batu said he’d make porridge for us at noon!” Helü Tao shouted from a distance.
Que Zhi dismounted, tied the reins to a fence post, and walked over to him, saying calmly, “Batu’s not making porridge today.
You fixed the saddle backward last time. Today’s repair isn’t bad—just swap the padding around. By the way, where’s that greyhound you keep?”
“Behind the felt tent, gnawing on a bone—how did you know the padding was flipped?”
Helü Tao looked down at the saddle pad and laughed at himself. “Sure enough, it’s backward. Hang on, I’ll go get the dog.”
Xi Yu crouched by the fence, straightened the bell on Halebala’s neck. The clapper had been put in crooked—he took it apart in a few moves and reassembled it, gave it a shake. The sound was crisp but not harsh.
Batu stared in amazement, saying how did you know how to do everything, even fix sheep bells?
Xi Yu stood up and brushed the grass clippings off his hands: “Sheep bells and window latches work on the same principle. I fixed window latches when I was little.”
He said it casually, without elaboration, just took the tea bowl Batu handed him, took a sip, and passed it to Que Zhi for him to drink too.
The group walked around the winter pasture fence.
The newly arrived herder families had already stacked hay and firewood outside their felt tents. An elderly woman wrapped in a thick fur robe saw Que Zhi from afar and pressed her hand to her chest in greeting. She stared at Xi Yu for a long while, then said something in an ancient tongue, her voice raspy but gentle.
Helü Tao translated beside them—she’s complimenting you, saying you and the young master stand together like the sun and the moon, the most beautiful pair in all the grasslands.
Xi Yu gave a slight nod of thanks and replied in the Shuo Kingdom language he’d just learned. The old woman understood, and pleasantly surprised, she turned back into her tent and brought out a bowl of butter tea, pressing it into his hands.
He took a sip, then turned the bowl’s rim toward Que Zhi.
Que Zhi lowered his head and took a small sip from the spot where Xi Yu had drunk, then returned the empty bowl to the old woman.
That evening, Helü Tao’s greyhound came back with an old boot in its mouth, dropping it by the hot spring and barking at Que Zhi with its tail wagging.
Batu said the herders at noon had warned that a heavy snow would fall tonight—they should head back.
Xi Yu folded the thick felt pad and handed it to Que Zhi, then swung nimbly onto the horse himself. He adjusted the reins’ tension from the saddle and turned back to Helü Tao and Batu, who hadn’t mounted yet:
“Come again tomorrow,”
his brows curving into a soft arc, his voice full of lingering excitement and anticipation.
Then he turned slightly sideways on the horse and said in a voice only the two of them could hear:
“This morning you said the northern slopes have water nearby. I just looked at that gully east of the fence—it was half dry during autumn grazing, might run dry this winter. When we get back, mention it to the Khan—moving the winter camp a mile west would be more secure.”
Que Zhi looked down at him—morning light streamed from the east, bathing his profile in a pale golden glow. He sat straight-backed on the horse, reins in hand, his voice steady. The faint flush at the corners of his eyes was deeper than usual in the cold wind, and the turquoise bead in his braid swayed gently.
He couldn’t help himself—he bent down and pressed the lightest kiss to Xi Yu’s temple.
Not the customary morning kiss—this one he couldn’t hold back.
Xi Yu turned his face toward him, neither startled nor pulling away, just curving his lips slightly. He switched the reins to his other hand and softly said, “Let’s go.”
Three days after the winter pasture inspection, the royal city saw the first heavy snowfall of the year.
Xi Yu was woken in the middle of the night by the sound of wind.
The north wind drove snow pellets against the window lattice, rattling for a while, then suddenly falling quiet.
Xi Yu turned over and found Que Zhi awake, one hand resting on his waist, listening to the sounds outside the window.
“Is it snowing?” Xi Yu’s face lit up with excitement, still clouded with sleepy confusion.
Que Zhi hummed in affirmation, saying the ground would be white by morning.
Xi Yu turned back, pressing his forehead against Que Zhi’s shoulder, his voice half-asleep: “No need to go to the stables tomorrow, or the market. Batu’s sheep moved pasture yesterday. You can teach me how to build a snowman in the courtyard.”
“Do you want to build a snowman?”
“I really, really do!! You said the kids in the royal court build them every winter. I’ve never built one before!”
Que Zhi was silent for a moment in the darkness, then pulled the blanket up higher to cover Xi Yu’s exposed shoulder.
“I’ll teach you.”
The next morning, Xi Yu pushed open the door and froze.
The entire royal city had turned white.
Thick snow weighed down the branches of the old poplars, half a finger’s depth had gathered on the stone well rim, and the flagstones of the courtyard had vanished beneath a soft, untouched blanket of white.
The snow was still falling—not the heavy, wind-driven snow of last night, but a fine, powdery flurry that landed cool on the skin and melted as soon as it touched his lashes.
Xi Yu stood at the doorway wrapped in his thick cloak, exhaling a puff of white breath and watching it slowly disperse into the snowy curtain.
Que Zhi came up behind him, pulled him back half a step, bent down to fasten his cloak’s collar, and pulled the rabbit-fur hat over his head.
“Careful, you’ll catch cold.”
Que Zhi truly taught him how to build a snowman.
They chose the spot in the courtyard with the deepest snow.
Que Zhi crouched down, gathered the loose snow into a pile with his hands, packed it into a small ball, then placed it on the ground. He taught Xi Yu to push it forward gently with his palms, rolling it layer by layer.
“Don’t press too hard—if it’s too loose, it’ll fall apart; too tight and it won’t roll. The pressure has to be just right.”
Xi Yu crouched beside him and followed his demonstration. The first snowball he rolled came out lopsided, like a potato that had been stepped on by a horse.
He squatted there examining his less-than-perfect creation for a while, then picked it up, placed it on the stone table, and carefully patted it round, each motion a gentle, spiraling push—one push, a look, another turn, another adjustment.
Seeing him patting it so meticulously, Que Zhi crouched down beside him and helped steady the crooked base of the snowball beneath the stone bench.
The two of them squatted side by side in front of the stone bench, heads close together. Que Zhi straightened the crooked base, then took out his handkerchief, folded it several times, and tucked it under Xi Yu’s knees—the snow was freezing, and even through the cloth, the cold couldn’t be fully kept out.
When Helü Tao passed by the courtyard gate leading his piebald horse—freshly fitted with winter horseshoes—he saw their young master barehanded in the snow, shaping the snowman’s neck with a saddle-repair iron plate, and using small pebbles for eyes.
He watched for a while without a word, then quietly led his horse away.
Later, he remarked to the old horse trainer at the stables, “Good thing I fixed the young master’s saddle yesterday, or that iron plate would’ve ended up as the snowman’s ears today.”
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