Helü Tao said that in the coldest part of winter on the grasslands, the river would freeze into a sheet of iron.
Xi Yu didn’t believe him. ( ° ° )
The thickest ice he’d ever seen before was that thin crust on the surface of a water vat in the dead of winter—it would shatter with a single finger poke, the broken pieces floating on the water like transparent duckweed.
What kind of ice was iron? (｀?_?)?
He pulled his fox-fur hood down a little, shook his head at Helü Tao in disbelief, and said ice was just ice—how hard could it get?
“It’s true. You can kick it with a horse’s hoof and it won’t even crack,”
Helü Tao insisted, dismounting in a hurry. He picked up a rock from the roadside and hurled it into the snow, where it sank into a deep pit, bounced twice, and rolled into the dry grass.
“Tomorrow we’ll go to the frozen river. I’ll show you what iron really means—the young master knows. The frozen river is just past the northern slopes, over one more ridge. It freezes the earliest every winter and thaws the latest.”
Helü Tao said proudly to Xi Yu.
Que Zhi came over just then. Hearing this, he looked up and said: “It hasn’t frozen to its thickest yet. In past years, it took until around the Winter Solstice. This year, the cold came late.”
“Still hard enough. Last year, when Batu drove his sheep across the frozen river, three of them slipped and fell on their hooves. But Halebala was steady as could be—that lead ram walks on ice like it’s solid ground.” Helü Tao laughed heartily as he spoke.
Batu nodded vigorously beside him. “Halebala really is steady on the ice.”
But he himself had fallen much harder—he’d ended up lying in his tent for two days afterward, and his backside still remembered the curve of that frozen river.
“Then I want to see it when we go.”
Xi Yu swung onto his horse, settled himself, and glanced back at Que Zhi.
Que Zhi understood. He loosened the reins and let Xi Yu ride ahead, following behind him at a distance marked by the black horse’s tail.
Snow had fallen for several days straight. As far as the eye could see across the grasslands, there was nothing but white. Only the herders’ winter shelters sent up thin spirals of cooking smoke, half a felt tent visible above the snowdrifts.
They followed the old route from their previous winter pasture inspection toward the northern slopes. When they passed the dried-up gully, Xi Yu deliberately paused—
the gully he’d suggested moving the camp westward from had indeed frozen solid at the bottom. The ice wasn’t thick, but it was solid enough—no cracking sounds when stepped on.
He said that after the Winter Solstice it would get even drier, and they’d need to send people early next spring to dig an irrigation channel.
Que Zhi said he’d already noted it, and the Khan had arranged for people to come dig come spring.
The two discussed the length and alignment of the irrigation channel while on horseback for a while.
Helü Tao listened on the side for a long time, unable to get a word in, so he resigned himself to teasing Batu’s sheep instead.
The frozen river lay past the northern slopes, over another low ridge.
As they crossed that ridge, the wind suddenly picked up. The low pines along the ridge crest moaned in the gusts, and the wind carried tiny, sharp snow grains that stung the face.
Xi Yu pulled the cloth scarf at his collar higher, leaving only his eyes exposed.
Beyond the ridge lay an open river flat. Withered yellow reeds poked through the snow in patches, their heads frozen into crystalline rime by the ice and moisture. They quivered in the wind, shaking off a few specks of white frost.
The frozen river wound down between two low hills, frozen solid. Under the gray sky, its surface gleamed with a dark, bluish luster, as if someone had inlaid a massive piece of deep ink-dark jade into the snow.
Helü Tao pointed at the frozen river and shouted, “We’re here!”
Batu’s sheep scattered along the riverbank, lowering their heads to nibble at the withered reed heads poking through the snow.
Halebala, as always, walked steadily across the ice, his hooves clicking against the frozen surface with a crisp, clear rhythm.
Occasionally he stopped to look back at the people, his sheep-face carrying an air of ease that came from a lifetime of crossing this river.
Batu said he crossed this river dozens of times every year—he knew it better than any person.
Xi Yu dismounted, his boots sinking half an inch into the snow on the riverbank.
He walked to the edge of the frozen river and crouched down, brushing away the thin layer of snow with his glove to reveal the smooth, mirror-like ice beneath.
His fingers moved gently across the surface, following the grain of the ice, until the tips touched the bubbles trapped within—frozen too quickly, the air unable to escape before being sealed layer by layer beneath the ice.
His eyes widened, and he turned to wave at Que Zhi: “Come look—there are bubbles trapped in the ice, row after row, like an entire document written beneath the surface.”
Que Zhi tied the black horse to an old elm by the bank and came over, crouching beside him to examine it together.
Helü Tao and Batu crowded in to look too—Batu said they looked like sheep hoofprints, Helü Tao said they resembled silver chains, the same kind of frozen patterns he’d seen when his father hunted that white wolf years ago.
Xi Yu tilted his head and asked Que Zhi what they looked like. Que Zhi said they looked like something not beneath the ice.
His gaze settled on the small patch of ice where Xi Yu’s fingertip rested, but he didn’t elaborate.
Batu was the first to step onto the ice.
He’d meant to act as their guide, but had forgotten the lesson he’d learned last year when he fell here—he’d barely taken a few steps before slipping flat on his back, spinning half a turn on the ice, and getting dragged back by the collar by Helü Tao.
Helü Tao scolded him as he hauled him along: “You tell everyone else not to be afraid, and you’re the first one to spin like a top.” Then he pulled Xi Yu onto the ice too.
The two of them stumbled and chased each other a few steps across the surface, the frozen layer beneath them emitting a low, rumbling resonance, as if an undercurrent still rolled beneath the ice.
Xi Yu didn’t rush onto the ice right away.
He circled around to the riverbank, picked up a fist-sized rock, walked onto the ice, and struck it. The rock bounced off, leaving only a faint white mark on the surface.
He crouched to examine the mark, his breath misting across the ice, and then the corners of his eyes curved slightly: “It really is iron.” c( O.O )
Xi Yu straightened up to walk toward the center of the frozen river. But just as the sole of his boot touched the slick surface, a hand reached out from behind and grasped his wrist.
Que Zhi had followed without him noticing. His five fingers held Xi Yu’s wrist steady and strong, his own boots planted firmly on the ice as if nailed in place. He said the ice was slippery at first—hold onto him.
Not guiding a camel, not helping him mount a horse—but pulling him to his side on the ice, letting him grip his arm as they walked forward slowly.
Xi Yu slid half a step along the ice’s grain, his boot heel leaving a white streak on the smooth surface.
Taking the momentum, he grabbed Que Zhi’s sleeve to steady himself, looked up, and watched his own breath scatter across Que Zhi’s shoulder. He laughed softly, then released the sleeve and instead took Que Zhi’s hand, leading him step by step toward the center of the frozen river.
On the riverbank, the withered reeds swayed in the wind, their frosted tips rustling.
Helü Tao and Batu had stopped slipping. Batu was lying flat on the ice, fastening Halebala’s loosened bell cord, while Helü Tao crouched nearby, tapping the ice with his scabbard to test where it was thickest, saying he wanted to drill a hole and fish.
The greyhound barked at the ice from the unfrozen shallows of a river bend, its paws scraping at the surface before sliding off, chasing a frozen twig far into the distance.
Xi Yu led Que Zhi to the center of the frozen river and stopped.
The ice was widest and flattest here. The snow and withered reeds on both banks had receded into a blurry backdrop. The dark, bluish veins of the ice stretched beneath his feet, as if he were standing on the reflection of the entire sky.
He let go of Que Zhi’s hand and nudged a pine cone frozen at the ice’s edge with the tip of his boot, gently prying it loose. Then he lifted his head.
In the cold wind of the frozen river, the thin blush at the corners of his peach-blossom eyes was deeper than usual. His gaze reflected the clear, empty winter light suspended between the lead-gray sky above and the dark blue ice below.
“I want to remember this place. Every winter from now on, we’ll come here, and I’ll carve a mark into this ice.”
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