The Year-End Sacrifice bonfire burned through the entire night.
In the latter half of the night, the camp’s clamor gradually faded. The evening wind carried the chill of the winter night, and Xi Yu, overcome with drowsiness, leaned against Que Zhi’s shoulder and unknowingly fell into a deep sleep.
Sensing the breathing at his shoulder become even and long, Que Zhi moved with the utmost care, quietly lifting Xi Yu into his arms and carrying him into the felt tent.
When Xi Yu slowly woke after a night’s sleep, his mind still hazy, his whole body was warm and snug, wrapped up tightly.
Beneath him lay the white wolf pelt; over him were two layers of heavy cloaks, and on the outside, the soft lambskin blanket was wrapped snugly around him—
from his neck all the way down to his ankles, rolled up into a round bundle like a plump little snowball, so tightly wrapped that even lifting his arm was a struggle.
Xi Yu blinked, his sleepy eyes still hazy, and wriggled inside the felt blanket. His rounded body made it hard to turn, revealing only a stretch of pale neck and a flushed little face.
He gave a slight shake of his head and mumbled softly: “…Why did you wrap me in so many layers?”
The warmth had made him languid and comfortable, his entire body bundled into a soft, thick ball, airtight, with not a trace of cold wind able to get in.
Que Zhi was already awake, sitting by the tent’s edge, tending to the charcoal fire, his gaze resting tenderly on Xi Yu as he watched him squirm awkwardly inside the heavy cloak and sheepskin, a faint smile curving at the corner of his lips.
His voice was low and mellow: “The wind was cold at night. Without enough layers, you’d catch a chill.”
Xi Yu tried to struggle slightly, but he was wrapped too tightly to move at all. He puffed out his cheeks in mild frustration: “You’ve turned me into a round ball—I can’t even turn over.”
Que Zhi let out a low chuckle, rose, and walked to the bedside. He reached out and gently adjusted the edge of Xi Yu’s collar, his tone full of indulgence: “Isn’t it nice to just curl up and stay warm like this?”
Xi Yu squinted, lazily soothed by the warmth, his brows soft and drowsy, murmuring: “It’s warm, all right… but it makes me feel clumsy.”
Que Zhi looked down at him—his face half-buried, only a pale, clean visage showing, his whole body bundled into a round lump—his eyes brimming with tenderness that seemed about to spill over.
He reached out to free him, coaxing gently: “I like clumsy Ayu too.”
With that, he bent down slightly and pressed a gentle, tender kiss to Xi Yu’s forehead, his brows and eyes full of affectionate warmth.
Xi Yu rubbed his eyes and sat up, then nuzzled his fluffy head against Que Zhi’s chest, burying his face there for a while.
Outside the felt tent, it was very quiet. The horns that had sounded one after another through the night and the singing from the dance circle had all ceased. Only the soft rustle of snow falling through the low pine forest could be heard.
After Que Zhi helped him dress, Xi Yu lifted the tent flap and stepped outside.
The enormous bonfire on the hunting grounds had burned down to embers, leaving only a flat expanse of ash and a few half-burned pine logs, their cores sending up thin white smoke in the morning light.
People from each tribe were taking down their felt tents, rolling up wool felt, and tying bundles onto camels’ backs. Children were picking up half-burned pinecones from beside the ash pile. Adults were bidding each other farewell, promising to hold a spring hunt once the thaw came after winter.
Xi Yu stood at the tent entrance watching for a while, then ran over to help Batu roll up his felt.
Batu was crouched on the ground trying to roll up a thick wool felt. He’d rolled it several times but couldn’t get it tight—when he let go, it sprang back open. Harbala stood beside him, tilting his head, chewing on some dry grass he’d picked up from somewhere.
Xi Yu walked over, stepped on the edge of the felt with one foot, and in a few quick moves rolled it up and tied it tight.
“Have your mother give you a leather cord when you get back. Next time you roll up felt, tie it with a leather cord and it won’t spring open.”
Batu thought this was a great idea and asked where Hulü Tao had gone.
Before he finished speaking, Hulü Tao came running from the direction of the kitchen, carrying two large bundles of steamed dumplings that the old cook had packed for Batu to eat on the road.
The Tata tribe’s camel caravan was the first to leave.
The old herder led his camel up to Xi Yu, pressed a hand to his chest in salute, and said that when the goji berries ran out, just send word, and he’d bring fresh ones come spring.
Xi Yu nodded obediently and said with a smile, “Travel safe.” The old herder smiled back in acknowledgment, swung onto his camel, and the bells jingled as the caravan gradually disappeared beyond the snowy plain.
The Kerait tribe and several smaller tribes’ caravans followed. Batu’s parents were among the last to leave.
Batu’s mother pressed a bundle of dried wild onions into Xi Yu’s hand, then reached out and pulled his robe collar higher, reminding him not to catch a cold.
Xi Yu nodded obediently again, his head bobbing slightly in reply.
Only then did she mount her horse and ride off with Batu’s father toward the winter pasture.
Harbala trotted a few steps behind the horse, then turned back and bleated at Xi Yu before turning around and chasing after them.
The sun rose higher, and on the hunting grounds, only the wooden stakes left after taking down the tents, the trampled snow, and the bonfire’s ashes remained.
Hulü Xiong and Hulü Tao made one last inspection of the camp, making sure all fires were out, and gathered up a found felt hat, gloves, and a child’s boot that someone had lost, putting them in a cloth bag to be claimed come spring.
The old Khan stood at the entrance to the hunting grounds, watching the last caravan disappear at the edge of the snowy plain, standing there for a long time.
Xi Yu walked over and stopped beside him. The old Khan didn’t turn his head.
“Every year, Azhi and I stand here seeing people off. This year, there’s one more person with us.”
The two stood side by side in silence for a long while, until the wind picked up.
Que Zhi stepped up from behind and draped a heavy cloak over Xi Yu’s shoulders.
Without a word, he raised his hands and gently spread the cloak, still carrying his own warmth, softly and carefully wrapping it around Xi Yu from behind, settling it securely on his shoulders, and fastening it at the front, blocking out the biting winter wind.
The old Khan turned and glanced at the greyhound by the ash pile, which was lowering its head and snorting at a leather bracer in its mouth, and smiled:
“In the old days, the people of the Qiu Lin clan used to say that only after the festival ends does a person truly grow a year older.”
Then he patted Xi Yu on the shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go back.”
After the bustle of the Year-End Sacrifice faded, the royal city returned to the quiet that winter brought.
After each tribe packed up and left one by one, the caravan tracks crisscrossing the snow were covered clean by a fresh layer of snow overnight.
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