Following the herdsman Old Sheepskin's finger, I involuntarily looked up at the sky. The thick cloud layer piled up from overhead all the way to the horizon. His last sentence echoed repeatedly in my mind: that "dragon" was in the sky.
After saying this, Old Sheepskin stopped talking and quietly went to slaughter a sheep. I stared blankly at the sky for a long time, still half-believing and half-doubting his words. At this time, the grassland became busy; everyone was helping prepare for the evening banquet. It was inconvenient for me to press further, so I turned back to the group of Educated Youth.
There are many taboos when slaughtering livestock in the pastoral area. For example, after killing, one must absolutely not say things like "what a pity" or "it would have been better not to kill," because once such words are spoken, the animal's soul will remain to cause trouble. Furthermore, horses or oxen used for riding, livestock that helped their owners, and female livestock that produced many offspring or much milk must not be killed. Since the Educated Youth were outsiders, the herdsmen were rarely willing to let them help slaughter livestock, and they were generally kept away from the skinning and cooking processes.
So, after the oxen and horses were penned, the few of us Educated Youth had nothing to do but wait for the meal. Night finally fell; the sky was like a vast dome covering the wilderness. Bonfires were lit in front of the herdsmen's yurts on the grassland. The herdsmen successively brought out large platters of food with Mongolian characteristics, setting up a whole-sheep feast, accompanied by things like blood sausage and sheep stomach, which we had never eaten before. Smelling the unique sweet aroma of dairy products permeating the night air, we couldn't stop swallowing our saliva.
Fatty and I hadn't eaten lunch. Seeing so much delicious food, our appetites were greatly whetted. Just as Fatty reached out to grab a piece of hand-held meat, Old Sheepskin tapped his hand back with his tobacco pipe. It turned out that the cadres who had traveled from afar had to say a few words to everyone first.
What he said was nothing more than rehashing the usual clichés popular at gatherings at that time. The cadre surnamed Ni was about thirty years old, with a thin face behind thick prescription glasses, sporting a slicked-back cadre hairstyle. In reality, he wasn't a leading cadre at all, just a civilian employee sent by his superiors to write a report on model deeds in the pastoral area. He never expected to receive such high courtesy on the grassland. The herdsmen, who had hardly ever seen any leaders, kept calling him "Leader" one after another. He was genuinely flattered and overwhelmed, insisting that everyone change their address to "Old Ni."
Among the Mongolians, the west is considered the superior direction, and age commands respect. Old Ni was invited to sit in the most Noble seat in the west. An elderly herdsman held up an Ox Horn cup and first sang a few lines of a toast song. Ding Sitian, having lived on the grassland for over half a year, had learned a little Mongolian and translated for me, saying the song was about how wine is the crystallization of the five grains, and the wine offered by Mongolians to guests represents welcome and respect...
Fatty and I had no interest in the content of the toast song; we kept our eyes fixed on the lamb leg roasting and dripping oil, inwardly hoping the old man would finish singing quickly. After Old Ni said a few more words to fill the time, we could start eating. Mongolians drink alcohol as if it were Cold Water, always using Large Bowls. Those with low alcohol tolerance would be scared off by the sight. At this time, the herdsmen all toasted the Leader. Old Ni, unable to handle the alcohol, couldn't fend off the toasts for even half a round before being completely inebriated and carried horizontally into the yurt.
There were no heavy drinkers among the Educated Youth either. Not daring to drink bowl after bowl like the herdsmen, we simply grabbed some food and started another smaller bonfire to the side to eat. The herdsmen knew that the young people from the interior had low tolerance, so no one chased us to compete in drinking. They were also happy to have no Interference. When herdsmen drink too much, they like to sing. Midway through the meal, someone's Morin Khuur started playing mournfully. The sound of the instrument was like sorrowful complaint, yet exceptionally desolate and powerful, its tone vigorous, its movement shaking the heavens.
The eleven of us Educated Youth sat around another bonfire, experiencing the grassland life where the fire warmed our chests while the wind chilled our backs. We were captivated by the sound of the Morin Khuur. I wanted to go over and see who was playing the Morin Khuur so well. Ding Sitian said, "You don't need to look; it must be Grandpa Old Sheepskin's music. Although he is an outsider from the Northwest, he sings Qinqiang Opera and Xin Tian You well. Having lived on the grassland for decades, he has truly captured the essence of playing the Morin Khuur. I think Tengger must have given the most beautiful sound of the Kholin Gol Grassland to Grandpa Old Sheepskin's Morin Khuur." After she finished speaking, she stood up and danced a solo to the sound of the Morin Khuur.
Ding Sitian used to be a cultural backbone; she excelled at singing and dancing. She always wanted to join the army's cultural troupe, but she couldn't fulfill her wish because her family had overseas connections. She learned Mongolian dance instantly on the grassland and danced more like a Mongolian than the Mongolians themselves. Mongolian dance forms are graceful, with a moderate tempo, mostly using body language to praise the vast beauty of the grassland and express the posture of soaring eagles and galloping horses.
We watched Ding Sitian's dance, completely mesmerized, forgetting where we were. When the music stopped, we were still immersed in it and didn't even think to applaud and cheer. As the saying goes: "Nothing is better than a cup in hand; how often in life does one see the moon overhead." Under the high sky and bright moon on the grassland, before the fiercely burning bonfire, everyone sang, danced, drank happily, cherishing this rare opportunity that might only happen a few times in a lifetime. The Educated Youth were scattered across various banners and districts, rarely meeting, so they especially treasured this gathering. One after another, they performed, either singing or dancing.
Finally, Ding Sitian pulled Fatty and me up from the ground and announced to everyone, "Let's welcome Bayi and Kaixuan, who came from the Hinggan League, to perform for us!" The few male and female Educated Youth present all applauded. Fatty and I exchanged a look; this was a bit difficult. The place where we were sent to work and live seemed to have shamans who danced, but not the kind of dancing done on the grassland. Since we hadn't learned any singing or dancing, wasn't this going to make us two look foolish?