The Wind Gently Touches the Grass
The valley lay before them, an endless green ocean swelling with wild flowers that were just blooming, the tall stalks swaying and rustling together as the wind gently touched the grass.
China urged his horse forward with a light squeeze of his calves. "Zǒu!" he said with a click of his tongue. His armour clinked softly as his horse stepped into the field of flowers.
Mongolia followed after him on a smaller but sturdier horse. He hardly needed to command it to move. The horse was a part of him, and it obeyed his will as soon as he thought of it, as easily as if it were his own legs.
This was the difference between him and China.
They rode along side by side at an unhurried pace. The flower stalks were tall enough to brush at their ankles, and they could reach down to pluck at the blossoms should they wish to. As they waded through the field, China's eyes roamed around in quiet wonder, drinking in the space between earth and sky. Mongolia found he only had eyes for China.
"Which do you think is the most beautiful flower?" China asked suddenly in a soft, reverential murmur. His eyes were fixed still to a faraway point.
He was always looking so far ahead.
Mongolia swept a glance of his own around the field. Without a word, he willed his horse to pick up the pace and hurried past China. The distance between them grew as China pulled his own horse to a halt and Mongolia continued to trot briskly on.
A few yards ahead, Mongolia jerked sharply to his right, and his horse wheeled around and galloped at full speed across the field. At a few intervals, he reached down to grasp at a handful of flowers. He continued in this fashion as he dashed around in a rough circle, collecting flowers as he went, slowly spiralling in towards a stationary China.
By the time he came to a stop, he had an arm full of blossoms thrown haphazardly together in a bouquet. He picked out a bright yellow flower from amongst the tangle as his horse snorted and panted beneath him, gently offering it to China.
"This one is the most beautiful of all," he declared.
China's lips twitched at the corners in an almost smile.
For a brief moment, as his gauntleted hands fussed with his horse's reins, it looked as if he would reach to accept the flower as well. But then he simply clicked his tongue and wheeled his horse aside.
He pressed through the field without once looking back, Mongolia watching after his receding figure as he pulled ahead. The yellow flower fluttered in Mongolia's hand as he held it still in unreciprocated offer.
A gulf grew once more between them.
Wrote a quick MonChu based on the flower garden scene from House of Flying Daggers. I also had Jackie Evancho's version of the theme song playing in the background as I scribbled.
Because Zhang Yimou films and MonChu are my guilty pleasures.