The Sound of the Zither by the Shores of Lake Tai Xuan

The sound of the ancient zither drifted across the shores of Lake Taixuan. Although Zheng Fanren’s singing voice was not pleasing, he loved music deeply, and naturally recognized that the piece played by the old master of Taixuan was built upon the seven-note scale. It reminded him of music from his previous life, stirring memories that touched his heart.

Yet within the Gentleman’s Hall of Taixuan Academy, tranquility was nowhere to be found.

Mo Dao’s mood was particularly foul. He disregarded all decorum and exclaimed loudly, “What is the point of me being the examiner? Did he not fail to kill the horse? Did he not miss the target with his arrow?”

A middle-aged man from the Sacred Academy spoke slowly, “As the examiner, how many points you award is your prerogative.”

This only incensed Mo Dao further. “And what was the outcome? The outcome is that you change the scores whenever you please!”

The middle-aged man smiled, “When special circumstances require adjustment, that is my prerogative.”

Mo Dao was left speechless. The man’s meaning was clear: awarding points was Mo Dao’s right; changing them was his. Mo Dao wanted to ask why, but did not, for they were from the Sacred Academy—a place that needed no justification.

...

On the stone terrace, the crowd watched the old master of Taixuan in silence.

Gao Xian had ceased to stomp his foot in accompaniment. Fang Zizai, a lover of the zither, had already moved closer to stand respectfully before the old master.

He asked, puzzled, “I have never heard such a melody before.”

The old master did not answer his question, but instead asked, “Can you recall the strange tune played by Zheng Fanren?”

Fang Zizai fell into deep contemplation, standing motionless for a long while. Many in the gathering were skilled in music, and now all joined in the pondering.

After a while, Gao Xian gave a wry smile, “So it is the difference between the seven-note and the five-note scales. Why did none of us notice?”

The old master rose, speaking gently, “Because we are too obsessed.”

At that moment, Fang Zizai also understood.

His whole body trembled with the realization. For more than a decade, he had been devoted to the way of the zither, playing only five-note compositions. Now, the seven-note scale had been brought forth—a transformation akin to a shift in faith—and how could he accept it willingly?

He shouted in near frenzy, “Is the seven-note scale superior to the five-note? Why has it always been five-note compositions since ancient times? Because they are the most refined!”

The old master set her zither aside, and without playing, she seemed somewhat desolate. Smiling, she said to Gao Xian, “See? We are indeed too obsessed.”

Gao Xian saluted respectfully, and Zheng Fanren followed suit, for she too was obsessed with music—her obsession spanning decades—yet she was still willing to change!

Without further word, she slowly departed, the crowd parting to make way. Her meaning was clear: since Zheng Fanren had discovered the seven-note scale, he deserved full marks.

After a few steps, she turned back to Zheng Fanren and said, “Help them.”

Zheng Fanren nodded lightly in agreement, and her pace quickened.

At this moment, those who understood felt a deep sense of shame, while those who did not hurriedly lowered their heads, fearing greater embarrassment.

Fang Zizai gazed at Zheng Fanren with almost childlike hope, as if he were their only salvation.

Zheng Fanren felt somewhat troubled, thinking silently, “Will you die if I don’t ‘wash your brains’?”

Judging by his demeanor, it seemed he might indeed perish. Zheng Fanren said calmly, “There are thousands of colors in the world—can there be more or less?”

He answered his own question, “No, for they have always existed. Musical notes are the same; they have always been there, merely undiscovered.”

“As for the benefits of discovering them, let me give an example. Suppose you have five treasures you adore, to the point of obsession. Now you are given two more treasures. Regardless of their utility, they certainly won’t harm your original treasures—perhaps they’ll even add to your enjoyment. Why not embrace them?”

“When composing, if you wish to use only five notes, do so. But if you find that seven notes better express the mood, why not use them?”

“In truth, when facing the unknown, we should not judge its utility, but approach it with a spirit of inquiry and awe. As the saying goes, ‘The road ahead is long and winding; I will seek it high and low...’”

Realizing he was becoming verbose again, Zheng Fanren quickly stopped himself.

He concluded his ‘brainwashing’ with a famous line from his former world, bringing his argument to a close. The scene fell utterly silent; the students watched him with awkward admiration by the lake, unsure what to say.

Even those of great talent, like Wan Lixing and Murong Scholar, felt a chill run down their backs.

It was terrifying! Especially since he used the simplest statements, ending with a compassionate verse, leaving everyone too embarrassed to argue further.

At last, they understood why he could achieve perfect scores in all five subjects, and why he said proof was unnecessary.

For any proof would only deepen their humiliation.

Zheng Fanren, of course, was unaware of their thoughts. Those simple, distilled sentences could be spoken eloquently by anyone from his previous world—many were far more capable than he.

Unexpectedly, Gao Xian was also staring at him, and said softly, “Young man, I am about to be wed.”

Zheng Fanren naturally did not understand his meaning, and answered blankly, “Mm, I will attend.”

...

After Zheng Fanren and Gao Xian departed, the others gradually dispersed as well, though fragments of the scene and story lingered in their hearts.

Especially the line: “The road ahead is long and winding; I will seek it high and low.”

It quickly became a classic saying in the Han Empire.

On the stone terrace, a few dark figures remained—Ye Yinghua and his companions, as well as Ling Yun and Wan Lixing.

The abrupt plummet from a great height left their hearts unsettled, more so because they could not imagine a path to victory.

There was once a person whom you believed to be nothing, and you held this conviction, passing it on to others, who soon shared your belief.

Yet one day, that person stood unassailably above you, leaving you powerless to resist, and this scene played out clearly before all—a bitter fate indeed.

Those on the stone terrace did not ask themselves this question, but were enduring the same awkwardness and sense of loss.

Murong Scholar’s mood was even more complicated; Zheng Fanren had never paid him any attention. Regarding the wager, Murong believed he was certain to win, yet lost utterly. More frustrating was that the victor never even glanced at the wager itself!

Gradually, the group gathered together—where the pitiable are found, there are always others equally pitiable and equally hateful.

Wan Lixing, for reasons unknown, murmured to himself, “Since I have already fallen to the bottom, let us all descend together.”

He even mocked, “Zheng Fanren’s scores in the subjects far surpass Gao Xian’s, because I personally heard Gao Xian admit defeat before him.”

The latter half of his statement seemed unnecessary, but it prompted much speculation. Gao Xian was a direct candidate of Taixuan Academy, and naturally confident; for him to admit defeat face-to-face must mean he was vastly outmatched—beyond imagination.

Ye Yinghua recalled his own words of comfort, and in that instant realized how foolish he had been.

Ling Yun looked at his pale face, and disappointment swept through her entire being.

At that moment, Zheng Fanren had no thought to spare for these matters, for a wedding was about to begin in Luoxue Garden.