Da Tang Si Zi: My Six Super Rich Little Nuggets!

Chapter 377 Let flowers be flowers, let trees be trees.

Zi'an's voice sank into the echoes of history, carrying a grand assessment of the landscape.

"This grassland is the sacred land where all ethnic groups rose to prominence. The Donghu, Xiongnu, Xianbei, Shiwei, Uyghur, Tujue, Khitan, Jurchen... even the Tujue tribes of today, all once sang songs of water and grass here, multiplying and singing epic songs. Bloodlines flow like rivers here, converging and surging. It is the ancestral home of the northern barbarians, its weight immeasurable, the foundation of the nation."

"It's the season now..." Si Zi took a deep breath, letting the cool, refreshing breeze of the grassland, carrying moisture, caress her face, like the breath of this land. "Is it midsummer?"

"It is the seventh day of the sixth lunar month, the hottest period of summer is just beginning." The young man nodded.

Their gaze swept across the blue sky outside the tent, and they could sense the spiritual energy flowing between heaven and earth.

"At this moment, the grassland is a cool and blessed land bestowed by heaven, and it is also the time when the earth's veins and dragon energy are most active and pure. Especially after a fresh rain, when the dust has been washed away, the blue sky is like an inverted deep sea, and the clouds are like piled-up snow peaks. It is the perfect time to take in the weather of heaven and earth!"

They gazed into the distance, where the grass stretched to the sky and the green waves surged, as if the lungs of the earth were breathing in and out life.

Cattle and sheep graze like stars fallen to earth, yurts dot the landscape, and wisps of smoke rise gracefully into the clear sky. All is quiet here, except for the melodious pastoral songs, which seem to come from the depths of the earth, flowing quietly along with the winding stream.

Looking out over the hillside, the flock of sheep seems like drifting clouds resting on the green hills of a dragon's spine. When the wind blows, the green waves roll like dragon scales opening and closing.

Such a scene transcends the mundane and possesses a mystical quality.

"The shepherdess, with Yunhe by her side, sings a hundred love songs, her willow whip swaying, her figure appearing and disappearing in the boundless green, like a dancing spirit between heaven and earth. As dusk melts into gold, the sky is adorned with a tapestry of rosy clouds, stitching the grassland and the heavens together, a symbol of the golden crow returning to its nest and the dragon's breath returning to its abyss. At that moment, the mournful sound of the morin khuur rises from within the felt tent, like weeping and lamenting. This pure sound in the stillness of heaven and earth, contrasting stillness with movement, reaches straight to the netherworld, and hearing it can cleanse the soul and enlighten the mind."

"It's the seventh day of the sixth lunar month, the hottest period of summer is just beginning," the young man said with a smile.

"The grassland is a cool and blessed land bestowed by heaven. Especially after a fresh rain, when the dust has been washed away, the sky is clear and blue, and the clouds are piled up like snowflakes, it is the perfect time to appreciate the grassland's weather."

As Si Zi looked around, he saw grass stretching to the sky and green waves surging, like an endless green sea.

Cattle and sheep are scattered like pearls, yurts dot the landscape, and wisps of smoke rise gracefully into the clear sky. All is quiet here, except for the melodious pastoral songs, which seem to come from the depths of the earth, accompanying the winding streams that flow quietly towards the distant horizon.

The flocks of sheep on the hillside, viewed from afar, resemble drifting clouds resting on the mountain mists, or like pearls left behind by gods, adorning a verdant carpet. Where the wind blows, the green waves roll and surge in layers.

Zi'an said, "Listen quickly, it's the shepherdess from the Hu."

Si Zi then saw a woman with long hair and willow-leaf eyebrows, leaning against Yunhe (a musical instrument), singing a melodious love song, wielding a supple willow whip, her figure appearing and disappearing amidst the boundless greenery.

As dusk falls and the sun sets in the west, the sky is ablaze with rosy clouds, stitching the grassland and the heavens together into a seamless brocade.

At that moment, the mournful sound of the morin khuur (horsehead fiddle) rose from within the felt tent, as if weeping and lamenting. This pure sound, amidst the great stillness of heaven and earth, created a harmonious interplay of movement and stillness, cleansing one's mind and spirit.

As night deepened, Sizi stepped out of the yurt and looked up at the starry sky.

"The moonlight... is so clear and transparent," she sighed softly.

The young man also looked up and replied, "My lady is wise. The crescent moon hangs like a hook in the distant blue sky. The flowing clouds, adorned with the moonlight, transform into countless graceful shapes, like fairies dancing at night."

The Milky Way hangs low, sparkling and dazzling. The air here is filled with a pure and refreshing atmosphere, and the brilliance of the stars far surpasses that seen in Chang'an.

A gentle breeze blows, bringing a refreshing coolness to the face.

Beneath the moonlight, the river shimmered, its surface reflecting golden light, flowing silently. Looking around, the warm yellow glow of felt tents shone through, like stars fallen to earth. The grasslands in the night stretched out their vast embrace, welcoming travelers from afar with their unique tranquility and depth.

“That river…” Si Zi pointed to a jade ribbon shimmering with silver fragments under the moonlight, “winding and turning, quite strange, where is it?”

"Young lady, you have a good eye!" the young man praised. "This is the Morigele River on the Chenbal Grassland in Hulunbuir, which the local herdsmen revere as 'the most winding river in the world.' The riverbank is a window into the lives of nomadic tribes."

Every year during the season when the water and grass are abundant, herders from all directions gather here like rivers flowing into the sea. Their felt tents are connected, and cattle and sheep graze everywhere, creating a natural and magnificent tribal scene. “Look at that Golden Horde Mongol tribe,” he pointed to a well-lit and well-organized camp.

"It was built in imitation of the layout of the former Turkic Khan's (a Tang Dynasty term for a powerful leader of the grasslands, referring to Genghis Khan) temporary residence, to recreate the grandeur of that royal court."

"Yes, now in the height of summer, the Turkic tribes and the forest tribes (Ewenki) of Chenbalhu Banner, following the ancient teachings of their ancestors to 'live wherever the water and grass are,' have set up camps on the banks of the Morigele River, where the mountains are clear, the waters are deep, and the pastures are abundant, naturally forming the vibrant nomadic settlements we see before us."

Si Zi stood quietly before the tent, gazing at this magnificent scene that was both unfamiliar and somewhat reminiscent of what had been recorded in history books. The evening breeze carried the low murmur of the morin khuur (horsehead fiddle) and the faint strains of pastoral songs.

In this vast "barbarian land" of the Tang Dynasty, the alienation and wonder of a time traveler in her heart became increasingly profound and indescribable amidst the fusion of starlight, moonlight, and the night's rest on the grassland.

The most touching words Zi'an said to Zhen Xiaosi were not "I love you," but "I'm here"—he understood everything about love: letting flowers be flowers, letting trees be trees.