Xi Linxuan went to prepare the goose. Wei Linxia washed her hands to help make soup but recalled the books she’d read that only described grassland heroes fighting, racing horses, and feasting, never detailing how to gather firewood.
When she asked Xi Linxuan, he said it was under a straw mat near the sheep pen. As she was about to go to the door, he added, “Or I’ll go get it.”
“It’s just gathering firewood,” Wei Lindxia said confidently. She found it, lifted it, and was stunned. The lumps were flat, dark, hard when poked, and didn’t look like firewood at all. She picked up a few and brought them back to the tent, grabbing some dry grass along the way. These items didn’t seem easy to light. When she returned, Xi Linxuan was slightly surprised but turned back to prepare the goose. Only after Wei Lindxia gathered materials and managed to cook breakfast did he stop.
The taste was clearly not as good as Xi Linxuan’s cooking. After eating, he asked, “Do you know what you just burned?”
Wei Lindxia shook her head.
“Dried cow dung,” he said.
She had to admit her stomach churned momentarily at the thought.
After some reflection, Wei Lindxia felt she had to face reality. People on the grasslands had been using it for years, and grassland girls still looked lovely. What was the big deal? She squatted next to Xi Linxuan to help pluck the fine feathers.
“That…” she started.
“Hmm?” Xi Linxuan looked up, a smile on his face, “Actually, it took me quite a while to get used to it too. It’s nothing.”
“No, we don’t have cows at home.”
Where would we collect cow dung?” Wei Lindxia asked.
Xi Linxuan laughed, inserting a beautiful goose feather in her hair: “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll take care of it.”
“Okay,” Wei Lindxia nodded.
That night, the group lit a large bonfire, roasting tender lamb and the goose Xi Linxuan had caught. Most didn’t speak the central plains language, so Xi Linxuan translated. As the men drank from large cups, Wei Lindxia, concerned for Xi Linxuan’s health, tugged his sleeve, making the men laugh. Xi Linxuan assured her, “Just a toast, I won’t drink too much.”
The mood was festive, with laughter from men and women. A group of young girls whispered nearby, leaving Wei Lindxia uncertain if they were laughing at her concern for Xi Linxuan.
The middle-aged woman who had praised Wei Lindxia approached, bringing mare’s milk wine: “Qiu Madam, you’re lucky. Qiu Sir is educated and has a good temper, much better than our rough men.”
“Oh, you’re too kind. Compared to them, my Qiu Shui is quite delicate,” Wei Lindxia replied, feeling secretly pleased.
Men’s praise of each other’s wives holds less satisfaction than the envy that comes from other women, reaffirming their husbands’ worth.
Because she hadn’t been this happy in a long time, Wei Lindxia drank too much. The grassland liquor was strong, and by the end of the feast, she felt dizzy and weak. Xi Linxuan carried her back.
(end)
