Xi Yu didn’t know what others thought.
His entire attention was on horseback riding. From atop the horse, he would call out Que Zhi’s name from time to time—when the horse sped up, he’d call; when the reins loosened, he’d call; when he felt Que Zhi move his hand from his knee, he’d call again.
Later, he no longer needed Que Zhi’s support, yet he still called his name, as if it had become a habit—as if something were missing if he didn’t say it at least once.
In the afternoon, they went to the market.
The grand market of the royal city lay south of the city walls, several times larger than the market in Liangzhou, with stalls stretching from the main street all the way to the foot of the city wall.
Batu was already waiting at the market entrance, three goats squatting by his feet.
The goats were a gift from the Helian tribe and had to be paraded past the market street every morning—that was Batu’s excuse, but really, he just wanted to browse.
He tied the goats to a street corner, looped the rope around their necks, and handed them off to the old man accompanying him. Then he grabbed Xi Yu and dove straight into the crowd, chattering nonstop about what each stall sold—that one sells silverware, brought all the way from a place called Khwarezm; that one sells spices from the Western Regions—the green jar has cumin, the red one has saffron; that one sells curved sabers, but none as good as Que Zhi-ge’s, wouldn’t recommend buying.
Que Zhi followed behind, maintaining a steady, unhurried distance.
He wasn’t wearing his dark blue robe today. Instead, he wore a long navy-colored one with subtle patterns at the cuffs, a silver belt at his waist, the left bracer still the one Xi Yu had bought him, his right hand hanging at his side.
Even so, the market-goers still stepped aside for him—not in panic, but in reverence.
The silverware vendor rose from afar and pressed a hand to his chest in salute. A caravan passing by with camels made the beasts kneel to let him pass first. A woman selling fermented milk pushed an entire bowl to the edge of her stall, lowered her head, and retreated two steps, not daring to look at him.
Batu soon vanished into the crowd, off playing somewhere on his own.
Que Zhi took Xi Yu’s hand and stopped at a jewelry stall. The vendor was a merchant from Daliang, speaking with a Wu-region accent—a rare comfort to hear a familiar dialect so far west.
Que Zhi picked up a silver hairpin and turned around, holding it beside Xi Yu’s topknot to measure.
The pin was slender, its head shaped like a five-petal flower with a tiny turquoise stone at its center—the very same shade of turquoise as the stone on Que Zhi’s knife handle.
He wasn’t looking at the pin. He was looking at Xi Yu. “You never wore ornaments before.”
Xi Yu’s hair had always been tied back with a simple cloth band—from the Cold Palace to the royal city, nothing but a cloth band.
“I couldn’t wear them before. If I did, people would notice. Then I just got used to not wearing any.”
Que Zhi’s thumb traced the shaft of the silver pin, his dark eyes deep and unreadable. His gaze fell upon the engraved intertwined-vine patterns on the pin, then slowly lifted, fixing firmly on Xi Yu before him.
He had always been reserved and taciturn by nature, never skilled in tenderness—only when his eyes met Xi Yu’s did they soften slightly. His fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around the hairpin, carrying a faint, barely noticeable trace of nervousness and sincerity. In a low voice, he asked, “Do you like it?”
Xi Yu lifted his gaze to meet Que Zhi’s, a smile dancing in his eyes. His features were already breathtakingly beautiful—brows like distant mountains dusted with mist, eyes like autumn waters rippling across a lake, skin like crystalline snow, lips naturally red as dawn. Every frown and smile carried an effortless grace.
His slender, jade-white hand reached out gently to take the hairpin, fingers delicate and exquisite, movements elegant and refined. Slowly, he tucked the pin into his dark tresses.
His jet-black hair cascaded like a waterfall, the glossy jade pin gleaming against it—dark tresses and snowy skin complementing each other, making his beauty all the more extraordinary. His features held both dazzling allure and an innate aristocratic refinement.
He tilted his head slightly, a hint of mesmerizing charm flickering through his eyes without his knowing, laced with a soft, boyish shyness. In a quiet voice, he asked, “Does it look good?”
“Beautiful.”
Que Zhi’s gaze clung to him, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly, his eyes filled with a tenderness so thick it could not be undone.
His tone was low and earnest, every word resolute: “Beautiful. No one could compare.”
Xi Yu’s smile brightened at that.
Que Zhi paid the vendor, then continued holding Xi Yu’s hand as they moved to the next stall to browse through dried fruits, his focus utterly absorbed.
Xi Yu stood quietly beside him, eyes slightly downcast, his gaze resting gently on their intertwined hands.
His slender fingertips curled unconsciously, watching the sight of their ten fingers locked together, inseparable.
Que Zhi’s words echoed in his ears, and the tips of his ears quietly flushed a faint pink. His heart felt soft, tinged with a shy flutter as he stood there, reluctant to look away.
The stall owner gauged something from the way Que Zhi bent down to look at Xi Yu, and from the fact that he hadn’t let go of the handsome Central Plains youth from start to finish.
He forced a smile at Xi Yu and said the hairpin was free—a gift for the young gentleman, just to make a friend.
Que Zhi set down a small piece of silver and said two words: “Take the money.”
Then he turned back with the dried fruits in hand, the silver hairpin still swaying gently in Xi Yu’s hair, catching the light of the bustling alley and reflecting off his plain blue robe.
Que Zhi reached out and straightened the slightly tilted pin, saying, “Beautiful. It suits you perfectly.”
He said the words “suits you perfectly” very softly—meant for Xi Yu alone.
Que Zhi continued to hold Xi Yu’s hand as they walked at a leisurely pace to an elegant silk shop in the heart of the city. Pushing open the door, they entered a space filled with the soft, colorful brocades of the Western Regions—fabrics embroidered with drifting cloud patterns, sand motifs, and winding floral vines, their tones both gentle and luxurious.
Xi Yu’s eyes went wide with wonder at the sheer variety of styles, his gaze full of novelty. He turned to look at Que Zhi beside him and asked casually, “Are you buying clothes?”
Que Zhi looked down at him, his eyes brimming with delight, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. His tone carried a mix of helplessness and affection as he replied bluntly, “No—for you!”
Before Xi Yu could process it, Que Zhi was leading him into the inner chamber of the ready-made garment shop.
As soon as they entered, the shopkeeper came out to greet them—a tall man who led the pair to examine the fabrics on the racks:
“You two distinguished guests have come at just the right time. Our fabrics and patterns are all handwoven by local artisans—exclusive totemic designs from the Western Regions. Even the styles—cloud collars, fitted waists, narrow sleeves—are all made in the local fashion.”
“If we custom-order by measurements, when will they be ready?”
The shopkeeper’s smile grew even more eager as he stepped forward. “Rest assured, young masters—we work quickly here in the Western Regions. Choose your fabrics and take your measurements today, and we’ll work through the night. By the Chen hour tomorrow morning, we can deliver them directly to your residence.”
Xi Yu’s eyes lit up with surprise at this, and he turned to Que Zhi, his voice full of anticipation: “That fast? Ordered today and ready tomorrow?”
Que Zhi looked at his eager expression, warmth flooding his heart. He reached up to gently brush away a strand of hair that the wind had tousled at Xi Yu’s temple, his tone indulgent and tender: “Since that’s the case, then take your time choosing. No rush—pick carefully, and tomorrow you’ll have new clothes to wear.”
Xi Yu tilted his head slightly, a hint of soft dependence in the corners of his eyes. He tugged lightly at Que Zhi’s sleeve and murmured, “Then you pick for me.”
Que Zhi looked down at him, all the tenderness in his heart melting away into a faint, gentle smile at the corners of his lips. His reply was crisp and full of affection: “Alright.”
He walked slowly along the rows of fine silks, his gaze sweeping carefully over each pattern and hue. His fingertips brushed lightly over fabrics woven with golden sand textures and winding exotic floral vines, deliberating seriously over cuts and colors—wanting only to pick the robes that would best complement Xi Yu’s presence.
They had their measurements taken in the shop and selected the fabrics. By the time they finished, the sky was already painted with sunset hues. Hand in hand, they made their way back.
Poplar trees swayed gently along the roadside, and passersby were a mix of foreign travelers and local merchants.
Que Zhi’s tall, imposing frame stood steady as he naturally took Xi Yu’s wrist and guided him protectively to his side. Xi Yu, with his slender, refined figure and delicate, luminous features, followed slowly beside him, gently led along.
From a distance, amid the shifting crowd, the tall and sturdy man held firmly onto the handsome, gentle one by his side. Their closeness and ease made them look for all the world like a steadfast husband leading his beautiful, obedient wife on a leisurely stroll through the bustling market street—peaceful, tender, and timeless.
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