Chapter 92: Snowy Returns It’s snowing all over Mobei. …
It's snowing all over Mobei.
Dorji stood in front of the coffin, prayed, and offered a stick of incense to his grandfather.
The lamas' chanting maintained a specific rhythm, and in this funeral tent filled with the scent of incense, there was a drowsy feeling.
The cold wind blew and my grandfather started coughing again. I thought it was just a normal cough, which would last for the fall and winter and he would be well again in the spring. But he didn't make it to the next spring.
In the last few days, my grandfather was in a coma almost all day, until one day when the first snow fell, he finally woke up.
"What time is it?"
Dorji, who was standing guard in front of the cave, raised his eyes suddenly and was relieved to see that he had the strength to speak: "It's almost 3 p.m."
"I mean, what month?"
"It's cold moon."
According to the Mongolian calendar, it is time to slaughter sheep and store meat, brew milk wine, and prepare for the winter.
"How are the animals?"
"Very good, everything is the same as before."
Dorji stepped forward, held his grandfather's hand, and helped him sit up straight.
Tushetu Khan waved his hand and said, "It's okay. I have strength."
His cloudy old eyes glanced outside the curtain, where a ray of dazzling light shone through, a white light that could usually only be reflected in the snow.
"Is it snowing?"
"It started snowing last night. It's the first snow of the year."
The first snow on the grassland always comes suddenly, like death, Tushetu Khan thought.
He sat for a while, then suddenly said, "Help me go out and take a look."
"You are in good health, aren't you? You are not susceptible to colds."
Dorji frowned and tried to persuade him.
Tushetu Khan looked at him. This grandson was in his prime, strong as a horse. Looking at him, it was as if he saw another man - the eldest son that Tushetu Khan was proud of but had long lost.
Dorji inherited his father's thick eyebrows and a very similar outline, but his facial features are a bit like his delicate mother.
Tushetu Khan reached out and rubbed his head, which was as thick as the mane of a black pony.
"Oh, this little bit of wind, what's that? Help me walk, I want to see some grass."
"It's snowing, where is the grass?"
"What do you know, don't you? Help me and get out of here."
Tushetu Khan actually struggled to get up.
Dorji had no choice but to help Tushetu Khan put on a thick sable coat and winter hat with other attendants, and helped him out of the felt tent.
Walking out of the dim felt tent, the grassland was pure white, and the vast land seemed to be covered with a layer of wool felt.
The dazzling light of the snow made Tushetu Khan squint his eyes.
Dorji noticed this and helped his grandfather to coax him, "Look, there is no grass left. Go back to the tent and I will warm up some milk wine for you."
"nonsense?."
Tushetu Khan broke free from him, but this old man, who had spent half his life in military service, was still incredibly strong even though he had been ill for a long time.
Dorji was caught unprepared and was actually thrown off. Then he saw his grandfather bending down and brushing away a piece of snow.
Under the snow, there are withered and yellow grass stems, shriveled and clinging to the ground. Even though they are dying, their roots are still alive. Wait until spring, and new green will emerge. Every year, there is a cycle of withering and flourishing, and wildfires cannot burn them all.
Dorji showed admiration and said, "You are right. Even if it snows, the grass is still there."
Tushetu Khan showed a proud look on his face: "That's the truth."
Dorji smiled, but his heart was filled with sadness. The grass may be greener, but the people will never be fewer.
He supported his grandfather and walked slowly in the field for a while, and according to Tushetu Khan's instructions, they found a small hill that overlooked the entire winter camp.
The attendant spread a piece of red felt on the snow and asked Tushetu Khan to sit down. Dorji squatted down and touched the felt with his hand, feeling it was cold, so he took off his fur coat and put another layer on it, then he helped his grandfather to sit down slowly.
The snow had stopped at this moment, and from afar one could see some tents emitting white smoke from the drying of meat jerky, and the wind also carried a hint of the fresh aroma of meat.
Perhaps attracted by the delicious fragrance, two eagles were circling in the sky, flapping their wings in the bluest part of the sky.
The grandparents and grandchildren quietly looked at the grassland after the snow, watching everything on the grassland.
After a long silence, Tushetu Khan suddenly said, "When I was young, I also trained an eagle. It was a very big one, with wings as long as this. Your father was young at that time, and when he saw the eagle swooping down, he was so scared that he started crying."
This long-forgotten memory suddenly surfaced, surprising even Tushetu Khan himself.
Dorji was also stunned. Since his father passed away, his grandfather never took the initiative to talk to him about his father's past. If he didn't talk about it, others didn't dare to mention it. It really represented a very painful memory of their tribe, like a scar that they would never touch.
He came back to his senses and asked: "Dad was so timid when he was a child?"
"Yes," Tushetu Khan laughed. "At that time, I hugged him and scolded him at the same time. A man on the grassland cried when he saw an eagle. He was just like a little lamb."
Dorji also laughed: "According to my father's temper, he won't just let it go like this."
"Yes, it was him. After that, he forced himself to follow the eagle. In the end, the eagle could help him hunt." Tushetu Khan rubbed his eyes and looked at the vast snowfield, but couldn't find the focus.
Later, he woke up from his dreams many times and felt that he had killed his son.
Those ambitions, those easily provoked wars, the smoke that burned across the entire grassland, and those old friends who disappeared in the wars.
In the end, there was only vast snow.
"I'm sorry, your father." Tushetu Khan's throat seemed to be blocked and he sounded a little hoarse.
Dorji lowered his eyes and said nothing. He didn't know what to say, father... His father's face was already blurred in his memory, but what he remembered clearly was the feeling of a pair of strong hands lifting him onto the horse's back. His father asked him to escort the Khan for him, and used these words to coax him to leave.
The wind gradually grew stronger, and there seemed to be signs that snow was about to fall again.
"It looks like it's going to snow again, let's go back." said Dorji.
Tushetu Khan shook his head: "It's okay, I want to take another look."
He took out a golden seal from his arms and threw it casually to Dorji.
Dorji took it and looked at it against the light, and found that it was the seal of Tushetu Khan.
"grandfather?"
"This position is not easy to sit in." Tushetu Khan said softly, "When you have to fight, you must fight decisively; when you can have peace, you must cherish it. Remember, the bravest person is not the one who kills the most people, but the one who can protect the most people and let them survive and live better."
Dorji clenched the seal in his hand and spoke with a choked voice: "Grandfather, isn't it? When the time comes, you can stay with me for a little while longer, just a little while."
Regardless of any title or Khanship, after his father and mother passed away, his grandfather was the relative he depended on for life.
Tushetu Khan looked at him and smiled.
Having put aside his unparalleled majesty, the thinner Tushetu Khan looked like an ordinary old shepherd.
"Dundubu Dorji, you will do well," he said. "As for me, don't be sad. I am just returning to the embrace of the grassland."
"Let's go home," said Tushetu Khan.
They walked back slowly, leaving two lines of footprints on the snow. When it snowed again at night, not even footprints would be left.
As he approached the king's tent, Tushetu Khan looked back at the grassland for the last time. In a trance, he seemed to see a vast expanse of green grassland again.
At that time, he was young, had no wife, no son, and had not succeeded to the throne as Khan. He wandered on the grassland every day with his sheep and horses. The sky seemed bluer than it is now, the grass was greener than it is now, and even the wind was sweet with the fragrance of milk. He would lie on the grass while grazing, watching the white clouds change shape, and imagine what kind of person he would become in the future and what kind of future he would have.
It's snowing.
It's snowing all over Mobei.
Dorji had already had experience with funerals. One day after Lao Tushetu Khan passed away, he quickly instructed everyone to set up a mourning tent and report the news to the Qing court and the tribes. The Living Buddha led a group of lamas and chanted sutras to send his brother back to the eternal heaven.
Friends and relatives from all over Mobei came one after another. Dorji had to take care of every single thing, including how to settle them and how to mourn for them. He was so busy that he had no time to feel sad or miserable.
He just arranged various matters with an expressionless face and quickly became haggard.
The old concubine also helped to receive some relatives and friends. Seeing Dorji's appearance, she sighed: "You are the only one here to support us. If the hostess was here, she could help you a little."
Dorji said coldly: "Are you talking about? The princess?"
After hearing this attitude, the old concubine didn't dare to say anything. She just changed the subject and made an excuse that she was going to entertain the wife of Taiji who came from Chechen Khan, and quickly disappeared from Dorji's sight.
The wife of Chechen Khan came from afar, her shoes and socks were all wet, and she was leaning by the fire, so the old concubine chatted with her.
As they were chatting, they mentioned the princess.
"She is Dunduobudorji's wife, so she should be here. If she were here, the young prince wouldn't have to look so haggard." said the old concubine.
"But now the road is blocked by heavy snow, it is indeed difficult to travel." The concubine who came from afar thought about the ice and snow outside and sighed, "Even we who have lived in Mobei for many years are in such a mess. Don't even mention the little princess, who is pampered in the palace. I heard that she looks weak. We want her to cross the snowfield to come here? If something goes wrong, who can take the responsibility?"
The old concubine sighed: "Alas, I'm afraid the young prince also thinks so, but he doesn't dare to say it..."
When the maid Meng Gen, who was serving tea to them, heard this, her face turned green. She must tell the princess about this when she comes back.
When she retreated outside the tent, she saw the heavy snow like goose feathers, and felt wronged and sad. At one moment she felt that the princess should come, and at another moment she felt that the princess should not come.
The snow still fell quietly.
The sky and the earth are all white.
After offering incense to his grandfather and finishing a variety of affairs, Dorji came out of the big tent to take a breath.
It was still snowing, and the snow mixed with the north wind flew onto people's faces like shearing wool.
When the cold wind blew, Dorji's chaotic thoughts became a little clearer. Just as he was about to turn around, he suddenly caught a glimpse of a blurry black dot moving in the snow in the distance.
In such a heavy snowstorm, there were still mourners? Dorji narrowed his eyes, and his heartbeat suddenly quickened.
He walked quickly into the snow, first jogging and then running forward, not caring about the snow falling on his eyelashes.
The team finally got closer, and a man got out of the car. His grass-green palace satin mink cape was particularly eye-catching in the snow. Everything was white, except for this little bit of green.
She is his princess, his dusk snow, his spring.
She came through the howling snow and wind across the entire northern desert, just for him.
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