“A-Ji, am I doing this right?”
Danzeng sat beside Sang Luo, carefully removing the dirt from the roots of the medicinal herbs. Every so often, he would look up and ask whether he was doing it correctly.
It had already been more than two months since he came home. With the companionship and care of his family, a faint light belonging to a child had gradually returned to his dark jade-like eyes.
He had begun getting used to quietly sitting beside Sang Luo whenever she dried medicinal herbs, learning to identify the roots, stems, and leaves that gave off a bitter fragrance.
He also quietly watched whenever Ciren rode out with Sang Luo to see the newborn foals, recording with those dark eyes the sight of A-Ji’s long hair blowing in the wind and his A-Bu’s hearty laughter.
Even when faced with the lamb liver Ciren grilled until crisp on the outside and tender inside, carefully removing all the fatty parts, he could now cautiously eat a small piece.
Then, under Ciren’s expectant gaze, he would give the slightest nod.
That tiny gesture would send Ciren into a fit of delight. He would ruffle Danzeng’s hair, and this time Danzeng wouldn’t immediately dodge.
He would only shrink his neck slightly, with the corners of his mouth curving almost imperceptibly upward.
Watching his youngest son change day by day, Zhandui finally felt reassured enough to prepare for the move to the pasture.
At night, however, whenever he returned to the tent, he would still burst into tears in front of Lajin.
“This child… He finally doesn’t come home like a stranger anymore, like he did these past few years.”
Lajin laughed and patted his back.
“All right. Isn’t that a good thing?”
“Yes, it is.”
Zhandui wiped his tears and continued packing.
During winter, the pastures in the snow mountains required the men of each household to stay there to protect the livestock. Otherwise, hungry wolves might come down from the mountains and attack the cattle and sheep.
For families like Zhandui’s, where most of the men were away from home, several close households usually took turns guarding the pastures.
As Ciren tied up a sturdy bundle of leather ropes, he excitedly described his plans to Sang Luo.
“There’s a lake near the pasture. Even in winter, it only freezes over with a thin layer of ice. Once you break through the ice, the water underneath is as blue as a gemstone. When you come up to bring me supplies later, I’ll take you there. And…”
Ciren suddenly stopped.
Something seemed to have crossed his mind, and his face began turning red.
“And what?” Sang Luo asked.
She hadn’t heard what he was going to say next. Her hands continued helping him pack while she turned toward him.
“There’s also a birch forest. It’s especially beautiful in winter. I can build a little swing there for you, hanging it from the thickest tree.”
His voice suddenly lowered, carrying a hint of embarrassment.
“Just the two of us.”
During this time, Sang Luo had become quite good at riding horses, and her relationship with Ciren had also been gradually developing.
Hearing his plans, she couldn’t help looking forward to them.
“Okay. I’ll wait.”
Just as Ciren was imagining their beautiful future, the rapid sound of hoofbeats suddenly came from outside.
Ciren initially thought it was one of the neighboring elders returning from the snow mountain.
But when he stepped outside, he saw a communications soldier in uniform, looking travel-worn and dusty.
“Is this Comrade Dündup’s home?”
After Ciren nodded, the communications soldier saluted and spoke in a hurried, serious tone.
“Under orders from Battalion Commander Dündup’s unit, I’ve come to deliver a letter!”
“Battalion commander?”
Ciren and Zhandui, who had just stepped outside, both froze.
They stared in surprise at the communications soldier and the letter in his hand.
“Dündup A-Bu got promoted!”
Ciren excitedly stepped forward and accepted the letter bearing an urgent seal.
The letter had been issued by the unit’s political department, and its wording was formal and grave.
It briefly explained that during an important border patrol mission some time ago, Dündup had thrown himself into fierce combat with hostile forces to protect his comrades and vital supplies.
Although the mission had been successfully completed and the enemy driven back, he had suffered severe injuries and was in critical condition.
After intensive emergency treatment, he had survived the critical stage. However, because his injuries were severe—particularly those to his left leg and back—he would require long-term rest and rehabilitation.
The organization had therefore approved an extended medical leave.
Considering Dündup’s current condition, the family was asked to travel to the military hospital and assist with his care for a period of time.
Ciren’s hands trembled slightly.
Zhandui leaned over and quickly read the letter.
His face immediately turned pale.
The excitement and anticipation he had felt upon hearing of his son’s promotion vanished completely.
He stood there deep in thought for a long time before suddenly looking toward Sang Luo.
His lips moved as though he wanted to say something, but no words came out.
Concern, anxiety, and helplessness over the sudden disruption of their plans were all written across his face.
Sang Luo understood exactly how Zhandui felt.
His son needed someone to care for him, but the snow-mountain pasture couldn’t be left without anyone either.
At this moment, she was the most suitable person to go.
“I’ll go.”
“Then I’ll go with you!”
Ciren immediately spoke up, his voice filled with urgency.
“Ciren.”
Zhandui stopped him.
“Moving the herds to the pasture is a major task. One person won’t be able to handle it alone. As for Dündup, I trust A-Luo to take care of him.”
Ciren wanted to argue, but when he met his father’s firm gaze, he clenched his fists before finally lowering his head in resignation.
“I understand.”
Because the communications soldier said time was of the essence, Sang Luo began packing immediately after seeing Zhandui and Ciren off.
Lajin had red-rimmed eyes as she packed several sets of new clothes she had made for Dündup, along with dried food and yak butter for her daughter to eat on the journey.
Throughout all this, Danzeng stood quietly nearby, watching Sang Luo bustle about.
Just as Sang Luo was about to leave, he suddenly ran over and placed a tiny protective amulet embroidered with an auspicious knot into her hand.
It was something he had sewn himself when he was still studying under the lama.
“A-Ji, you must give this to A-Bu.”
Sang Luo closed her fingers around the amulet, still warm from the child’s hands.
Her heart softened with emotion.
She crouched down and hugged the thin little boy.
“A-Ji will bring A-Bu back as soon as possible. Danzeng, behave yourself at home and don’t worry.”
Danzeng nodded vigorously.
His eyes were filled with reluctance at having to part with Sang Luo, along with concern for Dündup.
Following the communications soldier, Sang Luo rode quickly toward the military station.
After three days of traveling, however, she was informed that Dündup had been transferred to a hospital in the provincial capital.
By the time she arrived at the provincial hospital, exhausted and covered in dust from the journey, it was already late at night.
The communications soldier led her to the inpatient building.
After asking at the nurses’ station, she headed toward Dündup’s room.
The corridor was filled with the sharp smell of disinfectant.
It was so quiet that she could hear only her own footsteps.
For a moment, countless horror stories she had heard before flashed through Sang Luo’s mind.
Just as she saw the room number and finally felt relieved that she had arrived at the right place, a figure suddenly rushed out of the shadows near the stairwell.
The person was dressed in ragged clothes, with dry, yellow hair resembling a tangled mess of weeds.
They were looking down and running blindly, nearly crashing straight into Sang Luo.
Startled, Sang Luo instinctively stepped aside.
The person was startled as well and suddenly raised their head.
The instant their eyes met, both of them froze.