She would probably frown slightly, looking like an angry snow ferret.
Even when she was angry, she kept it bottled up, rarely showing it. It was as if she feared her anger might cause some unnecessary trouble. Thus, he sometimes took the initiative to tease her; her small flares of temper were far more vivid than the polite smiles she wore at palace banquets.
Thinking of this scene, Dorji couldn't help but smile.
The weather was excellent, so he climbed onto the roof to bask in the sun. Everywhere his gaze fell was bathed in the golden light of the day. Sitting on the roof was certainly not in accordance with the rules, but the Princess’s servants showed no reaction other than a brief look of surprise.
The Princess had likely instructed them not to interfere with the Consort's courtyard affairs as long as things did not go too far.
Thinking of the Princess, he turned his head eastward, looking toward the courtyard where she resided.
It was strange; despite being the noble daughter of the Emperor, she possessed such a contradictory nature.
It wasn't until he later chatted with the ministers of the Lifanyuan that he heard the Fourth Princess's mother had already passed away. The Fourth Princess had previously been obscure within the palace, likely not receiving much favor from her imperial father.
Only then did Dorji begin to understand why she had such a personality. At the same time, a faint sense of pity stirred in his heart, realizing that she, too, had lost her mother.
He liked her, and he ought to like her; it would be best if she could come to love him deeply because of his affection.
Dorji never forgot their respective identities.
She was a Princess of the Qing court, an extension of imperial authority.
Therefore, Dorji would demonstrate his loyalty at the appropriate times, just as his grandfather, the Tushiyetu Khan, had done when he decided to submit. He had bowed his head—proud for most of his life—and sincerely offered all his cattle, sheep, camels, and slaves to the Emperor, praying for his help.
The Emperor, of course, would not actually take all the livestock and slaves. On the contrary, he bestowed many things upon the Tüsheet Khanate, such as Qing court titles, a stipend, and this beautiful Princess.
Most importantly, he returned the Mobei Grassland to their embrace.
He closed his eyes, and the vision of those grasslands appeared before him.
He had been away for over half a year. Now that he could finally return, he should be happy. After all, there, he, Dondob Dorji, was the future Khan of the Tüsheet Khanate, the heir to the Khalkha Grassland. Here, he existed more as the Fourth Princess's Consort.
Yet this joy was not entirely pure, especially when he saw Monke and the others growing reluctant to leave. There were even moments when he himself felt that a couch covered in soft cushions was more comfortable than a large yurt, giving rise to an inexplicable sense of trepidation.
In terms of material conditions alone, everything in the capital was far more comfortable than on the grasslands.
Dorji believed that the Qing court need not worry at all about the Menggu Wang Gong and Taiji being unwilling to come for an audience. Once they experienced the pleasures here, they would understand, perhaps even wishing to stay in the capital for longer.
He opened his eyes and gazed into the distance.
Vast stretches of ordinary residential courtyards lay beneath gray tiles, where people in winter clothes went about their business. It was dinner time, and smoke rose from many chimneys. They would likely be eating rice, steamed buns, green vegetables, tofu, or meat.
An ordinary scene, ordinary families.
Yet this ordinariness, if placed on the grasslands, might be considered excellent conditions. Dorji had once galloped to the outskirts of the royal court, far from the stations of the Taiji, to the homes of the poor herders.
The vegetation was sparse, and thin sheep gnawed desperately at the ground, hoping to find food. Beside them were patched yurts; many families didn't even have a decent piece of white cloth, haphazardly wrapping themselves in sheepskins for clothes. Their dinner consisted of cheap brick tea and a piece of blackened dried meat.
And that was life before the war. After years of slaughter, he wondered what state it was in now.
Dorji thought of his subjects and pursed his lips.
If only the most ordinary herders on the grasslands could one day have clothes to wear and food to eat, just like the common people of the capital before him.
As he was about to leave the capital, Dorji had no essential friends or relatives to visit. After some thought, he took two jars of wine and rode to Celeng's estate.
Celeng's residence was a blue-brick courtyard tucked deep within an alley, with bright red couplets pasted on the door. From the outside, it looked no different from countless other homes in the capital. Only upon entering the inner room and seeing the portrait of Genghis Khan hanging on the north wall did one realize the owner was Mongolian.
The Celeng brothers were still studying at the palace Study Room and had not yet returned. Dorji held a cup of milk tea and sat to talk with their grandmother for a while.
The old grandmother was particularly happy to see someone from Khalkha. Her eyes crinkled into slits, though her hearing was no longer very good.
Dorji asked, "Are you used to living here?"
The grandmother answered loudly, "What? They’ll be back in a little while."
After repeating this "chicken talking to a duck" routine twice, Dorji stopped speaking much and simply smiled as he listened to the grandmother ramble about the past.
When people grow old, they love to reminisce. Perhaps it is because the future has grown too thin, leaving only the thick past to be leafed through. Because few people came to talk to them, once they caught a young person, they were desperate to pour out the entire past, seeking some proof that they had once existed.
The grandmother mentioned how the Tibetan Lama had bestowed the title of Saayin Noyan upon Celeng's great-grandfather, describing how prestigious their tribe had been in Khalkha. She also angrily cursed the Dzungars as "beasts" for stealing their pastures and livestock.
"There was even a little flower in front of my yurt! Red, very beautiful. Sadly, when we left in a hurry, it was trampled flat by horse hooves…"
Amidst the rambling, the shadows of the sun lengthened, and the Celeng brothers returned. The younger brother came to rescue Dorji, stepping forward to pull on the grandmother. "I'm thirsty, I want milk tea."
The older brother quickly pulled Dorji into the room.
"Junwang, you didn't give any prior notice. Your ears must be tired from the noise?" Celeng asked.
"It’s fine," Dorji said with a smile. "I haven't heard anyone speak such a long string of the Mongolian Language in a while."
"You're heading back soon, aren't you?"
"Soon. We leave in March."
Originally, Celeng brought out small wine cups, but Dorji found them too small and asked him to switch to large bowls. Only drinking like this was satisfying.
"I see you've become almost exactly like the people here," Dorji remarked.
Celeng finished half a bowl of wine and said, "What, are you here to scold me for being 'Le Bu Si Shu'?"
"What mouse?"
There was no such phrase in the Mongolian Language, and Celeng had said it by directly mimicking the Chinese sounds.
Celeng laughed and said, "It’s only because we brothers are chatting. If you said that in front of the Princess, she would laugh at you."
"Making her laugh is also a good thing," Dorji said nonchalantly. "After she finishes laughing, she'll teach me."
Celeng lowered his eyes, staring at the wine in his bowl, and gave a low grunt of agreement.
"I really have grown used to this place. Besides, I can't go back."
"Isn't the grassland still there?"
"But is my grassland still there?"
Their tribe had been the first to be invaded and plundered by the Western Mongols. Five years had passed; who knew who had occupied their pastures by now? Even if the Western Mongols vomited those lands back up, would fertile pastures be waiting there for their return?
Among the Three Tribes of Mobei, even if the Tüsheet Khanate didn't act, the other two would have long since carved up the territory. Unless the Master gave the order, who would be willing to spit out the fat meat already in their mouths?
Celeng saw things very clearly. Right now, the Master was on friendly terms with the Three Tribes of Mobei, especially the Tüsheet Khanate; he would never stand up for a small tribe like theirs that had lost its land.
Dorji had obviously realized the crux of the matter as well. He patted Celeng on the shoulder and spoke sincerely:
"Your luck will come eventually. When that time comes, we shall drink together again."
"If it could be so, that would be grand."
"Of course it will be so."
Dorji spoke with as much certainty as if the sun would rise tomorrow. This made Celeng chuckle. "How do you know?"
"I just know," Dorji said. "My great-uncle is the Living Buddha Jebtsundamba. As his grand-nephew, isn't it quite reasonable for me to have a bit of prophetic ability?"
He picked up the wine jar and filled both bowls. "The quantity is just low; only one out of ten predictions comes true. You’re in luck—I’m giving today's prediction to you!"
Dorji held his wine bowl high and smiled. "Within ten years, you will surely find your opportunity."
Though he knew Dorji was just comforting him, hope kindled in Celeng's heart. One day, one day he would honorably win back everything he had lost.
Celeng raised his wine, clinked his bowl against Dorji's, and tilted his head back to drink it all.
To meet with such high spirits and drink for a friend—it was truly satisfying!
Drinking his fill of joy, Dorji stood up, clapped his hands, and began to sing:
Oh, the two steeds of the Holy Lord…
I wonder if that divine steed of the blue heavens is well…
The familiar melody was the Mongolian Long Song both had grown up listening to.
Celeng also instinctively slapped the table to keep time, singing loudly with Dorji:
Oh, the two steeds of the Holy Lord…
May you not be bound by the cold bit,
May you gallop across the lush pastures,
May you drink freely of the sacred springs…
It began to rain during the night, the raindrops pitter-pattering against the tiles.
Muxue had already let down her hair and was preparing to sleep when she suddenly heard Matron Kang reporting that the Consort had not yet returned.
"Is no one following him?"
"The Consort rode out alone. Before leaving, he told Monke he was going to the home of that fellow countryman from Khalkha," Matron Kang said. "Perhaps he was delayed by the rain. The Evening Drum is about to sound; should I send someone with an umbrella to look?"
Muxue glanced at the Western clock in the room. It was nearly eight o'clock; any later and it would be the hour of the Curfew.
She nodded in approval. "Go then. If it is too late, he can stay there for the night."
Matron Kang took her leave. Rong'er brought over a box of pearl powder to apply to her face. "He likely wanted to bid his countryman farewell and talked a bit long."
"It is only human nature," Muxue said, as a certain matter came to mind.
Before leaving, she would have to go to the palace to bid farewell. She would be able to see and properly say goodbye to relatives like Yi Fei and the Fifth Prince. However, there was one person whom, if she did not go to see now, she feared she would hardly ever see again.
She said to Rong'er, "Come here, I have instructions for you."
Rong'er was slightly surprised upon hearing them, but it didn't show on her face. She complied, "This servant will see to it tomorrow."
After applying the pearl powder and drinking a cup of hot milk, news came from outside that the Consort had returned, but he was drunk.
Dorji could get drunk? Muxue was somewhat surprised. She had seen his alcohol tolerance at banquets before; even after two people had reportedly collapsed from drinking, he still looked composed.
This was a novelty. She didn't feel like sleeping yet, so she draped a quilted jacket over her shoulders and went to see the spectacle.
Some people acted like fools when drunk, while others vomited. She wondered which type Dorji was?
He was neither.
When Muxue arrived at the West Courtyard, the servants had already changed Dorji out of his wet clothes and were using hot water to wipe his face.
Dorji was lying on his side on the couch, his legs slightly curled. He was exceptionally quiet, like a sleeping child, with only a flush of red on his cheeks.
Moving closer, she could see his long, thick eyelashes. As the hot towel wiped his face, Muxue heard him murmur, "Eji."
Was he missing his mother?
Seeing the servants had finished cleaning Dorji and were tucking him in, Muxue tiptoed out to the outer room and asked Monke, "The Consort must have had a very good relationship with his Eji, right?"
Monke sighed. "Master's Abu and Eji both loved him dearly. He was their only son, their greatest pride. Unfortunately… the late Junwang was severely wounded on the battlefield and died of his injuries. The Fujin’s health was already poor from the turmoil of war; when she heard the news, her old illness flared up, and she passed away soon after. At that time, Master was training at the front lines with the Prince and didn't even have time to see the Fujin one last time."
He glanced at Muxue, hesitating.
"If you have something to say, just speak," Muxue said.
Monke said haltingly, "Princess, our Master is truly a very good person. Don't look at how he smiles all day and think he has no worries… he is just not used to speaking of them."
Dorji would not share his troubles with his subordinates for fear of affecting morale. He also couldn't bother his grandfather, who exhausted himself for the sake of Khalkha, with such small matters. With both parents deceased, he had nowhere to turn. If he truly felt miserable, he would at most find a high place to sit and watch the clouds and the moon, waking up the next day looking high-spirited as if all were well.
Monke dearly hoped that his Master's wife could listen to his heart. But Dorji's wife just happened to be a high-born Princess, and with the grand cause of the Manchu-Mongol alliance between them, it seemed this hope was a mere luxury.
Muxue was silent for a moment before saying, "I understand."
She couldn't bring herself to say any other words or promises for the time being.
Returning to the bedroom, she sat down on the Palace Stool by the couch, resting her chin in her hand, silently watching the sleeping Dorji.
That feeling of having no one to talk to about one's troubles—she understood it all too well.
Had this man grown up the same way?
On this night, where the air was still turning from cold to warm, the orange lamplight shone on his elegant face, like the light at dusk.
She reached out her hand, wanting to poke his cheek, but stopped when she was extremely close.
After hesitating for a few seconds, she finally withdrew her hand, stood up, and left.