The next day, Batu discovered something new.
He came to find Xiyu to hang out, and noticed Xiyu casually picking the fatty meat he didn’t like and dropping it into Que Zhi’s bowl—
the movement smooth and natural, without even glancing at Que Zhi.
And Que Zhi lowered his head and ate that piece of fat, equally smooth, without even pausing his chopsticks.
Batu was so stunned on the spot that he forgot to tie up his sheep and walked three circles around the old poplar tree.
Que Zhi then took his empty bowl to the kitchen, pausing briefly as he passed Batu, and said something ambiguous in the Shuo language.
Batu mulled it over for ages without figuring it out, so he cornered Xiyu and asked what that sentence meant.
“He said you talk too much.”
“That can’t be right—what he said to me was nine syllables long,”
“Usually when he talks to me it’s just three—’Shut up,’ ‘Watch where you’re going,’ ‘Stop yelling.’ A nine-syllable sentence from him is pretty long—what did it really mean?”
Batu went to ask the old cook in the kitchen.
The old cook said the young master was reciting a Shuo proverb, meaning something like “sheep grazing don’t worry about how fast the horse runs.”
The young master just means don’t meddle in other people’s business.
Batu suddenly understood, then translated it in his own way—that means don’t interfere with you two.
But there’s no way I can just stand by!
He chased after Xiyu and started counting out loud how many times Xiyu had picked food for Que Zhi, and how many bowls of fermented milk had been brought back by Que Zhi’s own hands.
The two of them walked through the streets one after the other, counting, until Que Zhi caught up and only then did they start herding the sheep.
The royal city’s grand market opened three times every ten days, and Batu never missed a single one.
In his own words, herding sheep is serious business, and going to the market is also serious business—herding fills the sheep’s bellies, going to the market fills his own belly,
and while he’s at it, he can find out which hide merchant offers the best price—three birds with one stone.
Xiyu thought he was talking nonsense, but he himself was always happy to go, because there were always novel things at the market.
Like today, he spotted a bronze mirror at a peddler’s stall from out of town.
The mirror wasn’t large, about the size of a palm, with intertwined lotus patterns cast on the back. The craftsmanship wasn’t exquisite, but just seeing a Central Plains bronze mirror out here in the Western Regions was a rarity in itself.
He picked it up and turned it over to examine it. The peddler, seeing his interest, quickly greeted him in Han Chinese with a Wu-region accent:
“You have a good eye, young master—this one came all the way from Daliang, a genuine court style. Not imperial-made, of course, but the pattern is copied from what the nobles in the palace use—can’t go wrong.”
Xiyu didn’t respond.
Of course he knew it wasn’t a real court style—he’d seen the real one before, in the cold palace.
Among his mother’s belongings was a small bronze mirror, with a pattern on the back that only consorts of certain rank were permitted to use.
That mirror had stayed behind in the cold palace when he fled, burned to ash along with the fire.
He set the imitation mirror back on the stall and kept walking.
The peddler was still calling after him: “Young master, take another look—even if you don’t buy, you can still take a peek—”
Que Zhi walked beside him, glanced at his profile, and didn’t ask what he was thinking.
After a few steps, Xiyu spoke as if to himself: “This mirror doesn’t reflect very clearly.”
“I’ll find you a good one when we get back.”
“I’m not complaining about the clarity. I’m complaining that it’s too new.”
Xiyu paused. “There used to be an old one. The reflection was very true. Too bad I couldn’t bring it out. But never mind—I don’t need it now anyway. For combing my hair, there’s you. For washing my face, there’s you. What would I want a mirror for?”
Xiyu didn’t actually have much feeling for his mother.
Everything he knew about her came from Old Zhou—she had been a mere maid who served tea and water by the Empress Dowager’s side, and was noticed by the Emperor solely for her looks, casually bestowed the title of a minor consort. She was likely schemed against by the Third Prince’s mother in the harem’s infighting, fell out of favor, and ended up in the cold palace.
Xiyu especially remembered one time when he was little, so hungry he couldn’t bear it anymore, he snuck into the kitchen to steal food.
The Third Prince caught him and maliciously kicked him to the ground. They didn’t even know who he was.
They stomped on his hands until they were bloody and mangled. When he returned to the cold palace, his mother offered neither concern nor comfort.
Maybe back then he still wanted a mother, but as he grew older, he came to face reality—having no family was fine too; at least he didn’t have to be so hesitant and cautious all the time.
Old Zhou raised him. Everything he knew, Old Zhou had taught him.
Que Zhi silently took his hand, holding it lighter, yet tighter.
Batu caught up from behind, holding three skewers of roasted meat in his hand, grease dripping all the way.
He shoved two of them into Xiyu’s and Que Zhi’s hands, still chewing with his mouth full,
mumbling vaguely: “Eat up, while it’s hot—there’s a new grill over there, the line was huge, I only managed to get three skewers!”
Xiyu took the roasted meat, and before taking a bite, glanced at the skewer in Que Zhi’s hand.
Que Zhi’s skewer had five pieces of meat; his own had only four.
He held up his skewer and swapped it with Que Zhi’s, saying, “Yours has more meat. I want that one.”
Que Zhi handed him the one with five pieces, took the one with four, and didn’t even lift an eyelid.
Batu watched in stunned disbelief, then swallowed the meat in his mouth and protested—Xiyu, how could you steal his meat—no, wait!
That’s my meat! I bought all three skewers! If anyone’s stealing, it should be me first!
Xiyu took a bite of the meat and said leisurely, “Didn’t your father teach you? Between friends, there’s a priority exchange right. You, as a temporary friend, are at the back of the line.”
Batu was choked speechless by the improvised term “priority exchange right” and decided to ignore him, burying his head in his own skewer.
Halfway through, he forgot he was upset and dragged Xiyu over to a stall selling saddles, pointing at one trimmed with silver and saying he’d definitely buy it when he had money.
Xiyu told him to first pay off what he owed the Liangzhou hide merchant before talking about buying saddles.
Batu let out a wail, saying, how come you Central Plains people have such good memories.
In the evening, the three of them sat on the low wall at the end of the market, sharing a bag of honey-preserved dried apricots.
The market was already packing up, merchants loading goods onto camels, the noise of the streets gradually fading, replaced by the evening breeze carrying the calls of birds returning to their nests and pastoral songs drifting from the distant grasslands.
The setting sun painted the earthen walls a warm orange. The three sat in a row, Xiyu and Batu’s legs dangling and swinging outside the wall.
Batu grabbed the last dried apricot, chewed it, and suddenly let out a long, satisfied sigh:
“I think my sheep have gotten fatter lately. Must be the good grass around the royal city. Dad says we’re moving to the southern mountains next month—the grass there is even better.”
“But I don’t really want to go. Moving camp is too tiring, and the southern mountains don’t have a market. Herding sheep gets boring.”
He tilted his head to look at Xiyu. “When I come back from the southern mountains, will you still be in the royal city?”
“I don’t know. I’m not from the royal city. I just came here with him.”
Xiyu pointed his chin toward Que Zhi.
“Then where are you going after this?”
Xiyu was silent for a moment.
The sunset sank in his eyes, then rose again.
“Before, I wanted to go to a lot of places. The Gobi, snowy mountains, grasslands—I’ve seen all of them now. As for the future—I haven’t figured it out yet.”
Xiyu folded the empty dried-apricot wrapper and tucked it into his sleeve, patted the sugar powder off his hands, jumped down from the low wall, and dusted off his clothes.
“When you figure it out, tell me. Anyway, wherever you go, he’ll definitely follow. And if he follows you, I can follow too—I’ve never been to Jiangnan before. When the time comes, I’ll herd my sheep all the way to Jiangnan to find you!”
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