The spring rain fell a few more times, and the grassland turned completely green.
Not the dull, dusty green of the Gobi, but a tender, bright green—the kind that seemed to seep water when you stepped on it.
A fuzzy layer of grass shoots had sprouted along both banks of the irrigation ditch on the northern slope. From a distance, it looked like a green felt carpet had been laid out.
As Xiyu rode along the ditch embankment, he noticed that the creek bed was now full of flowing water—clear and bright, with newly grown water weeds swaying gently in the current at the bottom.
He could now ride long distances on his own.
Not the short loops around the winter pasture he’d done before—but real long-distance rides.
From the royal city, all the way along the northern slope ditch embankment to the edge of the dwarf pine grove, and then back—a round trip that took most of the day.
The first day he’d completed that route alone, Xiyu returned with his face slick with sweat, his hair whipped into a mess by the wind, and his silver hairpin askew.
But when he jumped off his horse, his eyes were startlingly bright, his face full of pride.
“I made it,” he announced, standing in the courtyard to Que Zhi, who was crouched under the old poplar brushing the black horse’s mane.
“From the ditch embankment to the dwarf pine grove—didn’t get lost, didn’t fall off, and at the fork in the road, the horse even knew which way to go. So? What do you think?”
His tone carried a hint of barely concealed pride—clearly waiting to be praised, yet pretending to be casual about it, with a touch of playful stubbornness.
Que Zhi stood up, straightened his crooked silver hairpin, and brushed the sweat-dampened stray hairs from his forehead, tucking them behind his ear.
“Very good.”
Xiyu’s face immediately fell, his lips pursing into a small pout, looking at him with full displeasure.
His cheeks puffed out slightly, his tone carrying a hint of aggrieved, stubborn charm: “Just ‘very good’?”
Que Zhi reached out and gently pinched Xiyu’s puffed-up cheek. His voice was low and warm, coaxing as he drawled slowly,
deliberately teasing him: “Then what else do you want me to say?”
He lifted Xiyu up, hands cupping beneath him,
and gave him another kiss, then said solemnly:
“Very good. Tomorrow, ride the black horse and go even farther.”
A pause. “I’ll go with you.”
Xiyu squinted his eyes.
Going even farther—he’d been thinking about that for a while. But having Que Zhi say it so directly made him feel a little shy, as if he’d been too obviously excited.
“Ahem, I forgive you then!”
Xiyu cleared his throat to cover his embarrassment, changed the subject, and asked what was for dinner.
Then he slipped down from Que Zhi’s arms and ran off toward the kitchen.
Que Zhi watched his retreating figure and followed, saying that the kitchen had fresh vegetable buns today—the old cook had made the filling with shepherd’s purse freshly picked from the northern slope.
“Saved two steamers for you.”
As spring on the grassland was about to pass, Helü Xiong held a spring hunt at the hunting grounds.
It wasn’t a large affair—no representatives from the other tribes, just a few veteran hunters from the Helü clan and Batu’s family.
He simply wanted to have one last good hunt before the weather turned too hot.
Xiyu rode alongside Que Zhi across the hunting grounds all day, loosing three arrows—the first missed the target entirely, the second struck a dwarf pine, and the third finally hit a wild hare.
When he carried the hare back to camp, Helü Xiong was roasting a leg of lamb. Spotting Xiyu’s catch, he let out an exaggerated exclamation of praise:
“A’yu finally bagged his first prey! This hare deserves a whole skewer of wild scallions grilled just for it.”
Hearing his teasing, Xiyu’s cheeks flushed instantly red, the heat spreading all the way to the tips of his ears.
He handed the hare over to the old cook to handle, then sat down by the campfire and took the waterskin Que Zhi passed to him.
When the gathering broke up, Batu was carrying a wild hare that Helü Tao had given him, with Halbala trailing behind trying to nuzzle the rabbit’s ears—only to be swatted away by Batu’s backhand.
The gray hound circled Helü Xiong, trying to sneak away the old bow he refused to put down. Helü Xiong hung it on his horse’s saddle, muttering that he’d have to add two more arrows to it when he got back.
After the weather on the grassland had fully warmed up, Xiyu started dragging Que Zhi along to soak their feet in the creek valley.
It wasn’t the big production of winter that required charcoal fires and thick felt cushions—
Just a simple affair: after lunch, they’d ride slowly to the creek valley, take off their boots, stick their feet in the water, and laze there all afternoon.
The stream flowed down from the snowy peaks—cool, but not too cold. His ankles submerged in the water, his upper body basking in the sun,
He was leaning against a sun-warmed rock by the creek, nearly dozing off, when he heard Que Zhi’s voice:
“The creek water is colder than the hot springs. You can’t soak too long.”
He kept his eyes lazily shut, his pale calves swaying gently in the shallow water, rippling the surface with a slow, idle motion,
His tone carrying that clingy, soft whine: “Anyway, you’re watching over me—I’m not scared!”
When he’d soaked enough, he lifted his wet feet and rested them on Que Zhi’s lap, letting him roll his pant legs back down.
Que Zhi bent over, smoothed the fabric, dried the droplets off the tops of his feet with a cloth, then took down the socks that were draped over the rock and put them on for him, one by one.
Xiyu watched him crouching by the creek, putting on his socks,
and suddenly recalled that winter at the hot springs, when Que Zhi had changed his underrobe for him.
Later, when he’d woken up, he’d asked if he’d said anything strange—asked three times, and each time told him not to repeat it.
Now he’d long forgotten what he’d said back then.
Que Zhi reached out and pinched his cheek, pulled him up from the creek bank, and led him by the hand out of the valley.
The black horse and Little Snowball were tied side by side to a rock at the valley mouth; at the sound of footsteps, they both let out a snort in unison.
As autumn approached, Xiyu began stocking the courtyard with winter supplies.
He had Que Zhi help him build a low shed against the courtyard wall, where they moved the extra jars of mare’s milk wine and pickled vegetables from the kitchen. Outside the shed, he stacked two rows of dried tamarisk roots for firewood.
Every time the old cook passed by, he’d remark that the shed was neater than the kitchen cellar.
“That’s because the cellar’s too dark for him to read the labels,” Xiyu explained.
He’d written labels for every single jar—”Strong” for the mare’s milk wine, “Sweet” for the fruit wine, “Salty” for the pickled potherb mustard, and “Spicy—peeled by Batu” for the pickled wild scallions.
Each label was written in neat, upright script and pasted in the same spot on every jar. From a distance, they looked like a line of soldiers standing at attention.
Que Zhi helped him carry the last bundle of tamarisk roots into the shed, then looked at the row of labels:
“This time last year, you were still writing Spring Festival couplets for all the tribes—the whole courtyard was red paper and ink. This year, you’ve switched to writing recipes.”
Xiyu set his brush down on the low shelf, thought for a moment, and said:
“It’s pretty much the same—either way, I’m adding something to this home. The couplets fade after a year, but pickled vegetables, if done right, last till next spring. More practical.”
Little Snowball had grown into a proper adult horse by the time it got its last set of new shoes before autumn.
Xiyu rode it all the way to Liangzhou city. At the market, he bought Que Zhi a new wrist guard—
From the same leather stall as the old one, the same deep brown, but the leather was softer than before, and the edges were stamped with an embossed pattern that hadn’t been there last year.
He turned it over in his hands, examining it from every angle. He thought the new one was better, but then again, the old one was still the best—
Because that old wrist guard had been with Que Zhi for a full year and a half.
In the end, he still bought the new one. He took the old one off Que Zhi’s wrist and fastened the new one in its place.
That night, Xiyu sat in the courtyard leaning against Que Zhi, chattering about what he wanted to do tomorrow, the day after, and beyond…
The wind carried over from the dwarf pine grove beyond the northern slope, blending the faint sound of the irrigation ditch flowing into the fertile fields with the soft scrape of the black horse’s hooves against the wall.
Que Zhi said yes.
Then take it slow.
After all, they still had so many days ahead—long springs, long summers, autumns, winters, and a very, very long future.
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