The evening breeze carried the faint scent of Western Regions grass and earth. Inside, the silence stretched so deep it was almost soundless.
“Mm. Simply because you are you.”
Que Zhi’s gaze locked firmly onto Xi Yu, his usual composed and imposing aura softened, replaced by a tenderness and solemnity that was hard to miss.
His Adam’s apple bobbed slightly. He first lowered his voice, tentative and probing, his tone low and warm:
“Then… what do you think of me?”
As the words left his mouth, his eyes remained fixed on the young man, unblinking—as if afraid Xi Yu might misunderstand his intent, or as if he had finally cast aside all restraint and defenses to lay bare the deep affection he had harbored for so long. Every word was spoken with extraordinary seriousness:
“What I mean is—I have feelings for you.”
He had held back for so long, suppressing the stirrings of love at first sight, not daring to be presumptuous, not daring to force anything. Now, at last, he cast aside all his inner reservations and laid his heart bare with straightforward, clumsy sincerity. His eyes were full of earnestness, reverence, and a faint trace of fear—fear of being turned away.
The moment the words fell, the air went still.
Xi Yu jolted in shock, his ears flushing crimson in an instant. His long lashes trembled in flustered panic, and he couldn’t bring himself to meet Que Zhi’s eyes.
He bit his lower lip, his fingers unconsciously twisting the hem of his robe, his heart pounding in utter chaos.
The silence stretched for a long time before he finally dared to look up. His eyes were glistening, carrying a hint of timidity yet concealing an undeniable flutter. His voice came out soft and trembling, sweet and hesitant:
“You… you… why did you suddenly say that—”
Xi Yu stole a glance at him, then quickly looked down again, his brows and eyes brimming with shyness—yet his heart was already filled to the brim with warmth.
After a pause, he looked away, his voice soft as warm water, a low murmur:
“I… I like you too.”
The moment the words landed, the air went still once more.
Que Zhi froze completely, as if he had never expected such a reply. His deep eyes instantly flooded with incredulous joy.
He had held himself back for so long, hiding his love at first sight, always cautious and uncertain, afraid that his feelings might be one-sided. Now, hearing the young man’s spoken consent, the composure in his eyes shattered, surging with long-suppressed joy and emotion. His gaze burned bright, his usual cold and unyielding demeanor dissolving entirely into tenderness and reverence.
His breath hitched, his Adam’s apple rolling as he looked at Xi Yu, unable to contain himself. The overwhelming joy and searing love in his heart were nearly spilling over.
Xi Yu saw Que Zhi’s astonished expression and let out a soft laugh: “What, struck dumb with happiness?”
Que Zhi gazed at the curve of Xi Yu’s smiling eyes, tenderness surging in his own, his heart thundering in his chest.
His gaze fell on the young man’s flushed lips, and his Adam’s apple rolled gently. His voice dropped to its softest, carrying careful, reverent hesitation as he asked in a low tone:
“Can I kiss you?”
He did not move closer rashly. He simply gazed at him quietly, placing the choice entirely in Xi Yu’s hands—holding back his long-suppressed feelings, yet radiating a tenderness and restraint that feared only to offend.
Xi Yu’s ears were burning so red they looked ready to drip. His eyes shimmered as he gazed at Que Zhi, shy and obedient. He gave a tiny nod, his voice barely a whisper:
“Yes.”
Que Zhi’s breath caught sharply, his eyes instantly flooding with tenderness. He moved slowly, carefully drawing closer to Xi Yu, as if afraid to startle the bashful young man before him.
He looked at the boy whose cheeks were flushed pink and pressed a kiss to his cheek—very light, very gentle, carrying a restraint that came from the depths of his being.
A few breaths later, Que Zhi slowly straightened and began to pull back. But Xi Yu suddenly leaned in, pressing his lips to Que Zhi’s, deepening the kiss—then broke away just as quickly.
Xi Yu immediately rose from the grass, turning his back to Que Zhi, and lightly patted his own burning cheeks. “I… I should go inside.”
With that, he hurried back in flustered steps. Que Zhi was still lost in the kiss just now; seeing Xi Yu leave, he quickly followed.
Helian Xiong’s hunting feast ran late into the night.
The coals on the roasting rack burned from red-hot to ashen gray. The jars of mare’s milk wine were more than half empty. A few attendants, having finished the last long chant around the campfire, were sprawled out on the haystacks outside the felt tents, snoring.
The old Khan was helped back to the palace by his attendants. Before leaving, he patted Xi Yu on the shoulder and said, “I’ll have someone send you a couple of wild rabbits tomorrow,” then stumbled over his own feet—Que Zhi reached out and steadied him before he could fall.
Helian Xiong, however, was still full of energy. Holding his bowl of wine—which he’d never quite finished—he raised a finger at Xi Yu and said: “My nephew’s got a hard temper and an even harder mouth, but he’s genuinely good to you. In all these years, I’ve never seen him swap anyone’s drink for plain water—you’re the first. Come to the hunting grounds often. You don’t have to bring him along either.”
With that, he strode off toward his felt tent, the grass rustling beneath his feet all the way.
Xi Yu stood by the dying embers of the campfire, holding the bowl of water Que Zhi had exchanged for him. The water had gone cold, and a few specks of ash from the fire had drifted into the bottom.
He looked down at the bowl, the corners of his mouth curving upward ever so slightly. He raised his head and said to Que Zhi:
“How come everyone from Northern Shuo loves to sing your praises?”
“They’ve had too much to drink.”
“You haven’t touched a drop. And you’re the one who praises yourself the most—just not with words.” He set the water bowl down beside the extinguished fire and lightly tapped Que Zhi’s wrist with his fingers. “Come on. Let’s go back. We’ve still got the market to visit tomorrow.”
The two rode back to the palace city. The night wind swept across the grassland and poured through the streets of the royal city. Xi Yu sneezed on horseback.
Que Zhi took off his outer robe and handed it to him. Xi Yu took it and draped it over himself—the sleeves were far too long, and the hem trailed down to his calves. By the time they reached the palace, it was already past the Hai hour.
The old poplar tree stood quietly in the courtyard, its leaves washed silver by the moonlight, occasionally revealing the dark green veins on their undersides when the wind stirred them.
They entered the room. Xi Yu went to bathe.
Que Zhi unbuckled the bracer he’d worn all day and leaned against the low couch, letting the cool breeze wash over him. Yet in that coolness, he once again felt that familiar burning heat—
Not from the old scar on his thumb, but from his chest, from his throat, from the instinctive clench of his heart every time Xi Yu kissed him.
This impulse had started on the Gobi, from the very first meeting. Every time he crouched down to pour Xi Yu water, to break him a piece of dried bread, to shield him from the blowing sand—it deepened.
By the time of the flying rocks on the snowy mountain, he realized he didn’t even dodge anymore, because putting this person behind him had become more instinctive than gripping a blade.
Tonight, at the hunting grounds, he had finally spoken his heart. Now, back in the room, that impulse was pressed down beneath his tongue, so tightly that he could almost taste rust.
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