The zither's music spreads across the lake in gentle waves, a quiet sigh for how fate—not we—decides our meeti…
The zither's music spreads across the lake in gentle waves, a quiet sigh for how fate—not we—decides our meetings and farewells. In the capital, old bonds run deep, and through each lingering note, the stories of the past are softly told anew.
Jiang Yi, though barely twenty, is already a virtuoso on countless instruments. By all rights, he could be arrogant—but he's not. To him, music is simply another language. What words cannot fully express, melodies carry with graceful ease. So naturally, he spends his days immersed in music, only gradually realizing others regard him as a "musical prodigy." Yet this language he speaks is rare, a dialect known to few, and most days, Jiang Yi feels like a wanderer far from home.
That's why, when Velvet Shade invited him to perform at Revelry Hall and enjoy a night of music, Jiang was genuinely delighted. He knew Velvet Shade was closely connected with Grace Pavilion—a place famed for its masterful musicians and exquisite instruments—and so he hurried over without a moment's delay.
It was a perfect day. On the flower-laden boat approaching Revelry Hall, Jiang could hardly contain himself; he stood at the bow, and the moment they reached shore, he leapt off the boat. Guided inside Grace Pavilion, he hadn't even caught sight of anyone before the sound of a flute reached his ears.
His senses sharpened, yet a weight settled in his chest. The flute's tone was crystal clear, the technique flawless, and its timbre brilliantly radiant. But beneath that shining clarity lingered a profound sorrow, a hidden ache. Jiang didn't know who the player was or what trials he had endured, but the sadness in that music touched him deeply.
He stood quietly behind the flutist, watching in silence as the melody unfolded. The man was slender, yet the breath behind his flute filled the room with a power that seemed to pierce through the skies. When the flutist finally turned and caught sight of Jiang, he startled, asking softly who the newcomer was.
He had meant only to say, "I'm Jiang Yi, invited to perform at Revelry Hall," but the words caught in his throat, swept away by a sudden surge of emotion—like the quiet thrill of a boat drawing close to shore. Instead, he rushed to a nearby zither and let his hands speak for him. As the melody unfurled, the quiet ache he had heard in that flute earlier wove itself naturally into his playing. When the final note faded, he finally raised his head. The flutist was already seated opposite him at the zither bench, asking, "Does this piece have a name?"
Jiang found his voice. "I just played what came to me."
"There's the delicate longing of someone returning home, the vast breath of mountains and seas; a touch of the beauty in the moonlit sea, and the freedom of life flowing on through countless generations. What do you think of calling it ‘Dream of Mountains and Seas'?"
Jiang considered it and then nodded. "It's a beautiful name."
The man suddenly added, "So, you are Jiang Yi."
"I am. And you, sir?"
He didn't answer. He only smiled. "I named your piece. Shouldn't you name mine?"
"I'm not good at naming things. I'm not good with words at all. That's why I let the music speak."
"Ah. And you speak it well." The flutist tapped lightly on the hand Jiang still rested on the strings.
"Master, how can you tease an honored guest like that!" A lively young voice cut in. A girl, still with a touch of youthful innocence, stepped into the room. "Master Jiang, you disappeared in an instant—I see you found the pavilion master all on your own."
Jiang suddenly realized, "So this is the master of Grace Pavilion—no wonder the flute sounded so captivating."
The master smiled, "Do you think you're on equal footing with me, Master Jiang?"
Jiang quickly cupped his hands respectfully, "Far from it, Master Han."
"Please, no need for such formalities—just call me Han Wei. Yuming, has Master Jiang's lodging been arranged?"
"All taken care of," replied Ling Yuming, raising an intrigued brow. "Earlier, I caught the sound of a zither downstairs—bold and free, quite unlike your usual style. So it was Master Jiang? Truly exquisite."
Han chuckled, "Are you implying my playing is stingy?"
Ling teased gently, "Not nearly as grand as Master Jiang's."
Blushing, Jiang hurried to interrupt, "You flatter me too much. I simply happen to know more instruments... As the young master of Grace Pavilion, Master Han outperforms me by far."
Ling sighed with a smile, "Listen to that—‘just happen to know more instruments.' Hearing geniuses speak so modestly can frustrate the rest of us."
Jiang's eyes widened as he waved his hands nervously, "No, no, not at all! Miss, your fingers are long and graceful—perfect for playing. You could never be ordinary!"
Han laughed heartily, "Master Jiang may master many instruments, but he sure is shy of his words!"
Taking their teasing in stride, Jian smiled softly, "Still, it's your flute, Master Han, that truly speaks—the words music cannot express."
Han fell silent, a thoughtful look crossing his face.
A delicate floral fragrance drifted through the hall. Before Jiang's arrival, rain had swept through the capital. Now, under clear skies and a gentle breeze weaving between the tall buildings, the lingering echoes of music filled the air. At this moment, the promise of the legendary "Ten Ballads of Pearlglow Lake" had yet to be made; Han was not yet withdrawn from the world; Jiang had not yet retreated into seclusion; and Ling was far from the wistful Flower Messenger she would become. Those unmatched melodies were still nameless, spontaneous creations, and the shadows of inevitable loss and sorrow lay quietly in wait, claws yet concealed.
It was, in truth, a perfect day.