The bonfire feast officially began.
The roast lamb turned over the hottest part of the fire, fat dripping onto the pine charcoal with a sizzle. The kitchen’s steaming baskets were arranged in a circle, sending up clouds of hot vapor.
Batu had long since saved Xi Yu the warmest spot south of the bonfire:
a stone seat cushioned with thick felt, backed by half an old tent cloth cleverly rigged as a windbreak. Even Harbala had been positioned at his feet as a furry footrest.
He brought over several tiers of dumplings from the kitchen and arranged garlic paste and vinegar beside Xi Yu.
Hulü Tao busied himself helping the old cook—chopping wood, passing oil dishes, turning the lamb leg.
The old cook had been working all day but was still full of energy. As he brushed the final layer of sauce onto the roast lamb, he let out a hearty shout for everyone to get their plates ready.
Xi Yu took the hand-grabbed mutton that Que Zhi handed him and bit into it—rich with fat and fragrance. He raised his brows in surprise:
“This preparation is excellent. This is the first time I’ve tasted a whole roast suckling lamb like this.”
Batu corrected him from the side, looking proud: “This isn’t the same roast from the autumn hunt. My father specially presented this castrated lamb to the Khan, and the roasting method is an old Helian tribe technique.”
Hulü Tao happened to walk over to deliver his father’s message and said to Xi Yu: “Uncle Helian says to eat more—this lamb was specially offered as tribute.”
Everyone gathered around the bonfire to share the whole roast lamb. Steaming baskets were carried out from the kitchen one tier at a time. Hand-grabbed mutton was dipped in small dishes of wild onion and salt, and mare’s milk wine bowls clinked loudly against one another.
Xi Yu held butter tea pressed on him by Batu’s mother in one hand, and a rib bone that Que Zhi had deboned for him in the other, his pinky hooked around a roasted lamb tail just handed over by Hulü Tao.
Someone had added an extra pinch of wild onions to the edge of his bowl, and Batu secretly picked away a few pieces of fatty meat he couldn’t finish.
The aroma of roast meat and the steam from the baskets mingled with the piney smoke of the bonfire, wrapping the entire hunting ground in a warm, thick blanket.
He raised his bowl and turned his face toward Que Zhi, the firelight shattering into fine golden specks in his peach-blossom eyes.
His voice wasn’t loud, but close enough to carry over Hulü Xiong’s drinking-game shouts and the crackling of the pine logs:
“This year makes up for last year’s. Next year, we’re coming back.”
Que Zhi gently tapped the rim of his bowl: “Every year.”
As night fell, the long tunes by the bonfire gave way to faster rhythms.
People from each tribe began to dance around the fire. The young joined hands in a circle, their boots striking the frozen grass in steady rhythm.
Batu dragged Hulü Tao into the crowd. Hulü Tao kept saying he wouldn’t dance, but after Batu stepped on his feet several times, he ended up joining in anyway.
The greyhound ran around outside the dance circle, occasionally darting in to snatch someone’s fallen felt hat, then chased out again to have it retrieved.
Xi Yu didn’t dance. He sat on the stone bench by the bonfire, holding a fresh cup of hot tea, with Harbala lying at his feet.
He watched Que Zhi extricate himself from the crowd, his hair slightly disheveled, his dark blue robe dotted with snow. A little girl who had just learned to walk was tugging at his hem, refusing to let go.
Her mother rushed over to carry her away, but Que Zhi turned around, crouched down, and let the girl climb onto his shoulders.
He carried her steadily for two slow laps, making her giggle with delight, before gently coaxing her back to her mother’s side.
When Que Zhi returned and sat down beside him, Xi Yu handed him the hot tea. Que Zhi took a sip, lowered his head, and explained in a calm, quiet voice: “She was looking for her father’s camel.”
Xi Yu watched how gently he had played with the child, his eyes blinking softly. His face lit up with eager, slightly soft excitement, a hint of playful coaxing in his brows.
He reached out and tugged at Que Zhi’s arm, murmuring, “I want it too, I want it too.” (˙ ˙)
“I want to sit on your shoulders too!” (ˉ︶ˉ)
Que Zhi was momentarily startled at his words, his hand holding the teacup pausing briefly. He looked up at Xi Yu, a gentle smile instantly spreading through his eyes.
He set down his teacup, turned his head to look at him, his brows all laced with indulgence, his voice low with a hint of teasing tenderness:
“How old are you, still acting like a child?”
Even as he said this, his body was already leaning forward slightly, taking the initiative to half-crouch down,
his broad back steadily facing Xi Yu, tilting his head back toward him with a slight lift of his chin, his eyes full of doting affection:
“Come on, up you go. Let me carry our Ayu around the camp a few rounds.”
Xi Yu’s eyes lit up. He quickly scrambled forward with delight, climbing onto Que Zhi’s back with light, nimble movements, and settled himself steadily astride his shoulders.
Que Zhi raised his hands to securely hold Xi Yu’s calves, straightened up, and began walking forward with steady, unhurried steps.
The evening breeze brushed gently past. Sitting high up, Xi Yu’s view suddenly opened wide. He looked out at the bustling camp below, the scattered bonfires, and couldn’t help curving his brows and eyes, a trace of irrepressible smile at his lips—completely relaxed and happy.
Feeling the light weight sitting on his shoulders, Que Zhi slowed his pace even more, his voice low and deep with warm tenderness: “Can you see clearly enough?”
Xi Yu sat on his shoulders, one hand resting beside Que Zhi’s crown, pointing excitedly at various sights in the distance, his tone cheerful and soft, as if he’d found a treasured delight.
Que Zhi carried Xi Yu steadily through the camp, walking at a calm, composed pace.
The tribespeople and attendants passing by caught sight of the scene. They paused briefly in surprise, then broke into knowing, gentle smiles, stepping aside to clear the way.
A woman passing by with her child smiled and nodded toward them, her eyes full of admiration and emotion.
A few young tribesmen exchanged glances, silently pursing their lips to hold back laughter, but politely looked away, sneaking only sidelong glances.
Batu spotted them from afar and grinned broadly, his face full of envy as he gazed at the sight. He immediately dashed over to his father, tugging at his sleeve relentlessly, his eyes full of hope, wanting to sit on his father’s shoulders too.
His father, pestered endlessly, looked down at the boy clinging to him. With no trace of gentleness, he gruffly smacked him on the head and barked:
“Get lost, you brat! How old are you, still acting like a baby? Have you no shame?”
Despite his harsh words, he still gave in. With a resigned sigh, he crouched slightly, hoisted Batu onto his shoulders, and took a few rough, slow laps around.
Batu waved his arms and legs in excitement, shouting with joy, completely unbothered by his father’s scolding.
Hulü Xiong stood not far off, watching the two sides in their playful ruckus. He took a sip of the mare’s milk wine in his hand,
a faint smile flickering in his eyes. He shook his head silently and turned to attend to camp affairs—
but he still glanced back from time to time, his expression a mixture of resignation and quiet satisfaction.
The evening wind carried the bonfire’s warmth, making the banners at the camp’s edge sway gently. Que Zhi kept steady hold of Xi Yu’s legs throughout, his pace unhurried, letting him sit high and take in all the lively sights of the camp.
Xi Yu looked down at the people moving below, his fingertips occasionally brushing lightly through Que Zhi’s hair, his peach-blossom eyes bright with warmth.
In his usual gentle demeanor, there was now a rare, carefree lightness. He would point occasionally toward the fragrant bonfires in the distance and whisper to Que Zhi what he wanted to eat.
Que Zhi drew closer, then slowly came to a stop. He carefully bent his knees and crouched down, steadily lowering Xi Yu onto a thick felt cushion on the ground.
The moment his feet touched the ground, Xi Yu swayed slightly, still a bit dizzy, his brows carrying a lazy smile, his cheeks flushed by the evening wind, still immersed in the joy of looking down from a height.
Que Zhi reached out and steadied his waist, his fingertips gently tidying Xi Yu’s slightly disheveled hair by his temples, his voice low and tender: “Steady yourself—don’t wobble.”
The two sat down side by side on the soft cushions by the bonfire. Hot milk tea had already been brought over, along with freshly steamed goji berry flower-shaped buns and dumplings, neatly arranged on a wooden tray.
Xi Yu knelt properly, reached out and pinched a corner of a flower bun, taking small bites, his gaze still lingering on the lively crowd in the distance, a faint smile always at the corner of his lips.
The bonfire in the distance burned fiercely. The pine-log tower had been raised higher with fresh thick wood, the flames shooting straight up into the snowy night, casting a red glow over every smiling face on the hunting grounds.
Xi Yu leaned back, the back of his head resting against Que Zhi’s arm.
The night wind blew scattered snowflakes to the edge of the felt tent, where they melted into droplets—
but the lambskin vest behind him fit snugly against his back, blocking every bit of incoming chill.
The bonfire burst with a shower of fine golden sparks in the wind, splitting Batu’s long bow-song in two before slowly drawing it back together.
Que Zhi took his hand, interlacing their fingers together.
Leave a Reply