Chapter Forty-Four: Who Plays the Zither Beneath the Tower of Grace

They arrived at the base of the Fengcai Tower, the three of them each dressed in their own unique style, forming a striking scene. People flowed in and out beneath the tower, vehicles weaved through the streets, and for this reason, the old monk had specially reminded Jiang Ni to bring her painting tools and paper, as well as a guqin.

Jiang Ni wore a flowing light green dress. Since she had not taken monastic vows and could return to secular life at any time, she never fussed over her attire. She wore clothes suited to any occasion, as long as she liked them.

After admiring the Fengcai Tower, they returned to the statue of Zhang Jiuling, paying their respects to the influential Tang dynasty official and scholar. In front of the statue was a park square where many locals and tourists strolled. Stone tables stood nearby, where some people played poker, while others enjoyed snacks as they took in the scenery.

They approached a table, and the monk said, “What a rare moment of leisure. Let me play a tune for you.”

“All right,” Jiang Ni replied. She wiped the table with a piece of paper and set the guqin upon it. The monk sat down, hands poised above the strings.

A small crowd soon gathered, quietly waiting for him to begin. The monk took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Suddenly, he opened them, sharp and bright, and his hands moved across the strings in a motion as smooth as drifting clouds and flowing water. The resonant notes of the guqin rippled around them like a gentle stream, at times whispering, at times rushing, at times echoing the patter of raindrops falling from leaves.

Those playing cards nearby set down their hands and listened. Passersby stopped in their tracks, enchanted. Around them, everyone—elders, uncles, aunts, young men and women, children—drifted closer, hoping to hear such beautiful music up close. In the city’s clamor, the clarity of the guqin’s notes brought a rare serenity, captivating every listener.

The monk’s white beard looked especially distinguished as he tilted his head back, eyes half-closed, playing in a state not unlike that of the immortal who gives a mountain its spirit or the dragon that enlivens the depths—a mood recalling the saying that the pleasure lies not in the wine itself. He transcended himself; the music and the musician became one.

Suddenly, the melody shifted, bursting forth with a fierce, resounding high note, like a thousand galloping horses roaring and tearing in every direction. The sound struck so powerfully that it seemed as though hearts might shatter, breath might fail.

Even cars passing by nearly collided as drivers, jarred by the music, lost control and slammed their brakes, drawing curses from those behind. Only then did they realize—the monk was channeling his inner energy into the music. The sound carried far and true, with a penetrating force that left no room for impurity or noise, creating an all-encompassing, stunning auditory experience.

After half an hour, the monk had played several pieces. When he finally stopped, it took a few moments for He Zhixing and Jiang Ni to come to themselves, while the rest of the onlookers remained spellbound, still lost in the lingering echoes.

By the time everyone returned to their senses, the monk had already adjusted his breathing and called for Jiang Ni to bring out the painting tools, brushes, and paper. He was ready to seize the moment and paint on the spot.

He Zhixing could hardly believe his luck—having just heard such exquisite music, he was now about to witness the master’s painting skills. What surprise would the monk bring this time?

Jiang Ni and He Zhixing assisted the master, grinding ink and carefully laying out the paper, preparing the colors. The monk stood firm as a mountain, seized a brush, dipped it in ink, made a small adjustment, and pressed the first stroke onto the paper, thus beginning his painting.