Eastern Palace · Chat

【Time: Feng Dynasty, Year 1 of Yongning, 9th day of the 8th month, 3rd quarter of the Hour of the Rooster | Location: Xizhou】 The wind blows from the depths of the grasslands, carrying the dry, sun-baked fragrance of pasture grass that had bathed in the sun all day, along with an elusive scent that seems to have drifted from far away. The setting sun dyes the entire world in golden-red; even the breeze seems steeped in it, blowing warmly against your face. You stand here. At the crest of the hill, someone is playing a morin khuur. It is Gu Jian. He sits on a large boulder, the fiddle resting on his lap, fingers slowly sliding across the strings. He isn't playing a complete song, just a melody repeated over and over—as if he had forgotten the lyrics, or perhaps deliberately didn't want to finish it. His horse is hitched to a wooden post nearby, head down grazing, tail leisurely swishing. The wind ruffles the stray hair across his forehead; he doesn't bother brushing it aside, keeping his eyes lowered on the strings, as though only he and that fiddle exist in the entire world. The music breaks for a moment. He looks up, casting a glance toward the yurt, then looks down and continues playing. That glance is brief, so brief it seemed almost unconscious, but you know what he was looking at—a figure standing at the yurt entrance: it is A'Du. A'Du is holding a freshly slaughtered sheep, blood dripping along his fingers onto the grass. He pays it no mind, merely standing there, looking toward the hilltop. Seeing Gu Jian look over, he offers no greeting; he simply heaves the sheep onto his shoulder and turns into the tent. Boisterous laughter from Heshi drifts out of the tent. "This is good mutton today!" His voice carries through the felt yurt, muffled yet bursting with unmistakable cheer. "Whole roasted lamb tonight—nobody gets to sneak away!" Someone calls back—it's Miluo. She pokes her head out of the tent, holding a handful of salt and tossing a pinch toward Heshi. "You said the exact same thing last time, and ended up eating half of it yourself!" Heshi laughs again, his booming laughter shaking the yurt roof. From by the river comes the sound of splashing water. Xiao Feng is crouching by the riverbank watering her horse. The hem of her red dress is soaked in the water, but she doesn't care; she simply scoops up a handful of water and splashes it onto the horse's neck. The horse gives a shake, spattering droplets all over her face. Unbothered, she scolds with a laugh, "You naughty thing," her crisp, bright voice carried clearly on the wind. She raises her head, looking across the river toward the hilltop, and calls out: "Master!" Gu Jian's playing pauses for an instant. "Yeah," he answers softly, but Xiao Feng hears him. "Whole roast lamb tonight, are you coming?" Gu Jian doesn't answer right away. He looks toward the riverbank, looking at that figure in the red dress, watching her smile with carefree innocence under the evening sun. Only after a long while does he reply, "We'll see." Xiao Feng pouts. "You always say 'we'll see,' but you come every single time." She says no more, just lowering her head to continue grooming her horse. The wind blows through her red skirt, the hem swirling in the water like a blossom blooming in the river. The mouthwatering aroma of roasted meat drifts from the yurt. Someone is lighting a fire; the firewood crackles, sparks leaping into the air only to be whisked away by the breeze. A'Du emerges from the tent holding a skewer of meat and hands it to a passing child. The child takes it, offers a word of thanks, and scampers off. A'Du stands at the yurt entrance, gazing toward the distant Tianshan Mountains, his expression neutral, but his eyes relaxed. Dusk settles in. When the first star begins to shine, the lamps in the yurts flicker on one by one. Heshi pushes aside the tent flap and steps out, holding a bowl of milk tea, shouting toward the hilltop: "Gu Jian! Come down and drink!" Gu Jian packs away his fiddle, stands up, and pats the grass clippings from his clothes. He doesn't come down immediately; instead, he stands atop the hill, gazing across the entire steppe—the yurts, the hearth smoke, the river, the Tianshan Mountains, and that girl crouching by the river with her red dress fluttering in the wind. His gaze sweeps past where you are standing. Pauses for a heartbeat. Then moves away. He turns and steps down, heading toward the tents. As he passes by the river, Xiao Feng looks up at him. "Master, what tune were you playing today?" Without breaking his stride, Gu Jian replies, "Just playing whatever came to mind." "It didn't sound good." "Mmh." "Then play something nicer tomorrow." "...Alright." He enters the tent, the flap falling behind him, shutting out the firelight and laughter within. Xiao Feng is left alone by the river. Leading her horse, she walks up the bank, humming the melody Gu Jian had just played—ragged and out of tune, yet full of pure joy. The wind blows from the depths of the grassland, bearing the chill of the night. You stand here, watching that felt tent, watching that bonfire, watching the girl in red humming her song on the way back. No one asks where you came from, and no one asks where you are going.