The bridle bells jingled. The large horse stopped in the middle of the road and refused to move. Its hairy tail lifted, and steaming-hot clumps of horse dung dropped to the ground.
The half-stench, half-neutral smell of livestock drifted out. The dung quickly froze solid, but the odor lingered for a long time. Zha Qing took it all in stride, snorted from his nostrils, and carried half a rack of mutton home.
Half a year of living here, studying diligently. It was impossible to have no accent, but as long as the locals slowed their speech and avoided technical terms, communication in daily life was no problem at all.
Creak.
Pushing open the courtyard gate, Zha Qing caught a rich whiff of spices and felt a flash of displeasure.
“I’m not back yet, how come you’ve already started eating?”
“What’s he mumbling about?”
“He’s asking how we started eating already. My lord, before you came, in order to learn the Snow Mountain tongue as fast as possible, we’d been using it every day for conversation. Today, Brother Zha Qing went out to buy meat.”
Hearing the familiar dialect from his homeland inside the house, Zha Qing was shocked. He strode forward and pushed the door open. The room was bustling and lively.