Eyes do not give up their rigor in sweep of the flowered shoulders. They are cloying, these words she speaks. The inflated esteem sprung from heaven’s son had presumably eluded his daughters. Perhaps they know in hidden ways to wield this power, or perhaps they are fashioned to yield, even to a man of lower rank. Batu does not know their customs. He rolls his shoulder.
“As it pleases, ghongzhu.” Appropriate distance is maintained while the high lady walks. She is safe behind the yellow mountain spires, but a nomad is ever attuned, hearing the coppice jointly in question.
“The steppe, princess Lian. In mongolia.”
What did han daughters know of such things?
Wèi jūn is quiet behind.
“As it pleases, ghongzhu.” Appropriate distance is maintained while the high lady walks. She is safe behind the yellow mountain spires, but a nomad is ever attuned, hearing the coppice jointly in question.
“The steppe, princess Lian. In mongolia.”
What did han daughters know of such things?
Wèi jūn is quiet behind.
mongolian | mandarin