Ardashir's clansmen and their servants were settled in a post station east of the city. Although the place was not luxurious, it was clean and bright, and every detail showed great thoughtfulness.
As for Ardashir and Mithrana, they were personally invited by Pang Duo to reside temporarily in the Grand Residence of the Protectorate.
It was a complex of deep courtyards and buildings, set against the mountain, with red bricks and green glazed tiles, and a high, wide entrance gate. The main alley was paved with blue stone slabs, lined with long-leaved scholar trees typical of the Western Regions, whose swaying branches cast dancing shadows, and from which the song of cicadas sometimes rose. The central courtyard was covered with gravel, and wind chimes were hung from the eaves in the corners; at the slightest breeze, they emitted a light tinkling sound.
Ardashir had never seen such constructions.
Different from the white stone palaces of the Gönoks, and also from the caravanserais of the desert oases, the layout of these covered galleries, screen walls, water pavilions, and kiosks near wells appeared to him like an orderly and mysterious script, each stroke, each line, pertaining to an Oriental order and rhythm that were still unknown to him.
That evening, the light of the setting sun passed through the galleries. Mithrana wore a fine silk robe the color of wine lees that the ladies of the Xu kingdom had prepared for her. The wide sleeves, embroidered with intertwined foliage motifs in gold thread, trembled like butterfly wings with her every movement. Curious, she leaned over the railing of the water pavilion, observing the golden carp swimming in the pond. At times, she would approach the gallery columns, rising on tiptoe to examine the relief carvings of the chīwěn (mythical creatures adorning roofs) on the eaves, or caress with wonder the hair-fine intertwined lotus patterns on the door frames.
The interpreter was a man from the Xu kingdom, about forty years old, dressed in an impeccable blue robe. He spoke the Gönok language with a strong Xu kingdom accent. Ardashir had to concentrate intensely to understand three-quarters of it.
Through the interpreter, Ardashir gradually understood the power of the Pang family. Pang Duo was a young general; his father was the Jiedushi (military governor) who commanded several prefectures on the western frontier, holding a considerable army in his hands; he was the true master of these lands. As for Pang Duo's mother, her status was even more eminent: she was the sister of the emperor of the Xu kingdom, and her position in this residence was clearly very high. In the hall, guests would rise, military officers would deliver their speeches, all greeting her first.
Pang Duo's mother appeared to be barely forty years old. She wore a simple long robe the color of lotus root, with only a few lotus flowers embroidered in dark thread on the collar. She sat in the place of honor, her round face sketching an affable smile, as she listened to Ardashir recount the perilous tale of their exile – from the fall of Passar, the farewell to his father King Iskandar, the hardships and sandstorms endured on the road, to their final arrival at this place.
When Ardashir mentioned how his sister, in the middle of the night, clutched the silver casket of the Sacred Fire while sobbing, Madame Pang, who had been listening in silence, suddenly rose, the rustle of her skirt on the blue stone slabs making a slight sound. She approached Mithrana, and gentle waves of emotion filled her dark eyes as she delicately took the young girl's slightly trembling hand.
Mithrana opened her large amber-colored eyes. Faced with this warm and unfamiliar contact, she instinctively squeezed back the hand that wore a pale green jade bracelet.
That night, a banquet was given in their honor at the residence.
The table was set in the small hall of the east gallery. After passing through a corridor with pomegranate flower motifs and two vermilion wooden doors, one reached this elegant courtyard.
The cold night was just beginning, the night sky lowering like a curtain, a fine layer of frost had settled on clothes without melting. More than twenty lanterns were arranged outside the hall; the bronze lampshades were carved with clouds and cranes brushing against branches. Their pale golden light reflected on the water of the pond in the courtyard, drawing shimmering patterns.
Ardashir contemplated, thoughtfully, the surrounding decorations: the seats covered in fine-striped brocade, the silverware and blue-green jade cups, the incense rising in wisps. In the braziers, hot coals crackled; the hangings were lowered, and the lantern light tinged the roof beams a warm yellow.
In green jade dishes, Sichuan pepper lamb, pigeons stewed with jujubes, steamed clotted milk cream and pastries, as well as hot flatbreads and fermented milk had been arranged. The aromas of spices and the sweetness of ewe's milk intertwined, filling the room with an exotic warmth.
The interpreter explained in a low voice that these dishes had been specially ordered by Madame Pang, in the hope of soothing the homesickness of the travelers from afar.
As for Mithrana, she was already surrounded by a group of court ladies, who were busy having her try on various hairpins, laughing in front of a bronze mirror. The young girl's silvery laughter and the crystalline tinkling of pearls and jades mingled.
After three rounds of wine, the atmosphere of the banquet became increasingly lively. Pang Duo loosened the collar of his brocade robe and joyfully toasted with his father, Jiedushi Pang. Ardashir discovered with surprise that these Orientals could hold their liquor just as well as the Gönok warriors, renowned for their drinking capacity.
He also took out from his luggage two small flasks of grape wine and pomegranate wine that he had preciously kept during his journey, explaining that they were the last vintages from a winery in the western city of Passar, his capital.
Jiedushi Pang took a flask, swirled it for a moment, then smiled: "This fragrance... it is no different from the tributes of yesteryear." With that, he raised his cup and toasted Ardashir.
That night, the songs were not too loud, the lights not too bright; everything was perfect.
In this Protectorate residence, backed by mountains and facing the desert, they seemed, for the first time, no longer to be treated as refugees in exile, but as guests from afar.
Late at night, the banquet over, the guests dispersed. Ardashir stood alone under the gallery, contemplating the night sky.
He took out the small silver casket, knelt, took the sacred resin and, imitating his father's gestures as he remembered them, threw it into the fire. As the flame danced, he pressed his hand against his heart and murmured a prayer:
باشد که ایزدِ باد فرود آید و آتشِ پاکیزه فروزانتر گردد
(May the god of wind descend, and may the pure fire burn more ardently.)
The following days passed slowly, like golden grains of sand falling one by one in an hourglass.
Pang Duo rose early each morning to inspect his troops and, in the evening, he would invite Ardashir to practice archery with him.
In the Grand Residence of the Protectorate, there was an archery training ground, built on the mountainside, with wooden targets and sandbags.
That day, Pang Duo drew his bow, aimed, holding his breath. But as he was about to release, the arrow veered slightly and stuck diagonally into the edge of the target. He frowned slightly and turned to Ardashir, who stood motionless beside him.
Ardashir's golden-brown locks floated lightly in the wind. He slowly raised his hand, his five fingers closing into a loose fist before relaxing, indicating that the bow should be held without tension. Then, he extended two fingers, touched his chin, and pointed straight towards the center of the target.
Pang Duo understood and adjusted his stance.
This time, the arrow split the air and, although it did not hit the red center, it was already much more stable than the previous one.
Ardashir tilted his head slightly, looked at the target with a smile, drew his bow like a full moon, and loosed three arrows in succession. The wooden target split under the impact, splinters flying everywhere.
Before Pang Duo could express his admiration, Ardashir had already taken a delicately crafted, openwork wooden sphere and a short bow from his bag. He pointed to Pang Duo, then to the wooden sphere on the ground, and made a gesture of shooting from horseback. Immediately, he knelt on one knee and swiftly threw the sphere into the air.
The wooden sphere spun, light and shadow playing through its openings. The adolescent shot an arrow with a reverse draw; the shaft, like a shooting star, precisely pierced the center of the sphere.
Pang Duo raised his eyebrows slightly, a glint of admiration shining in his eyes.
One evening, after a downpour, as the sky began to clear, a black and white game board was placed on a stone table under the gallery. The pieces, resembling pebbles, black and white, faced each other, lined up in order.
Pang Duo squatted down to sit and beckoned Ardashir to approach.
He took two handfuls of game pieces from a bamboo box, one color in each hand. He first handed the white pieces to Ardashir, then tapped the upper left corner of the board, pointed to himself, then to Ardashir, indicating for him to start.
Ardashir sat down, his gaze slightly hesitant. He contemplated this game board with its nineteen intersecting lines, seeing it as a strange map.
Pang Duo took a black piece and placed it on the board with a sharp click. Then, he opened his palm, drew a circle in the air, pointed to the opposite diagonal, before bringing his hand back to his heart and closing his eyes for a moment.
Ardashir half-understood. He imitated the gesture and placed a piece.
They played thus, taking turns, slowly at first. Pang Duo made gestures meaning "entry forbidden," then tapped a few "ko points" (contested vital points) with a stone, repeatedly explaining the concepts of "encirclement" and "capture." With each move, he showed extreme patience, his gaze shining with the same serious application as when he taught archery or tactics to his soldiers.
Ardashir watched these surrounded black pieces slowly die, and suddenly remembered the night of Passar's fall, the city of gold engulfed in flames...
He stared at the board, then suddenly placed several black pieces in three consecutive spots.
Pang Duo was surprised for a moment, then raised his eyebrows with a smile and nodded slightly.
"You're rather intelligent," he said in a low voice, knowing the other did not understand, as if talking to himself.
Ardashir did not hear these words, but he read a certain approval in Pang Duo's gaze. He lightly tapped the board with his fingertips, carefully observing that completely encircled and captured corner.
The wind brushed across the game board, carrying away the residual warmth of their fingers. They had not exchanged a word, but between the intertwined black and white pieces, a tacit understanding had gradually been established.