Chapter Three: Hearing the Melody of Guangling for the First Time, Unaware That the Song Would End and the Player Depart

At first hearing the Melody of Guangling, one could never foresee that when the music ceased, the performer would be gone as well.

People arrived one after another, gathering in a neat square around the execution platform. Soldiers exuding authority and a chilling murderous intent kept order. The once lively commotion was crushed by a single resounding command—“Silence!”—and the atmosphere became eerily still, broken only by the banners snapping in the wind at the four corners of the execution stage.

On the platform sat a middle-aged man with red hair and a thick beard, his round, fierce eyes sweeping over the assembled crowd. His deep crimson robe seemed to press the air with its gravity, and from beneath it emanated a sense of barely restrained violence, as if he were poised to act at any moment.

After a few breaths, the man stepped to the judge’s table and sat. His voice was low and solemn: “These four are assassins who attempted to murder Lord Liang. Disguised as musicians, they sought his life, but he saw through their ruse and captured them along with their accomplices. In half an hour, at the third quarter of midday, the execution will commence!” With those words, he fell silent.

Of the four at the center of the stage, some shouted protests at the executioner, their cries, curses, and pleas blending in a tumultuous chorus. Yet one figure, dressed in a reddish prison uniform, hair unbound, knelt with quiet composure amidst the chaos, untouched by fear or sorrow, as though the turmoil around him belonged to another world. He glanced up at the sky—clear and vast, the sun shining fiercely. There was still half an hour till his death. His heart was unstained by regret. Having lived with freedom and grace, he felt no resentment at failure; his only lament was that his own composition, “The Guangling Melody,” would perish with him. He thought, too, of the friends with whom he would never again share a cup of wine, and that, in the underworld, only the oblivion of the afterlife awaited him. Sorrow and anger welled up within him. His gaze drifted around the crowd, pausing, almost deliberately, upon Bai Qi. A faint, knowing smile touched his lips—a gesture lost beneath his disheveled hair, unseen by any.

“Executioner, grant me a final request. Let me play one last melody. A dying man asks for no more. I hope you can understand a roving musician’s longing,” the man in the red prison garb called out loudly.

Some scoffed at his plea, whispering among themselves.

“Hah, he still thinks of playing music at death’s door?”

“Could it be the fabled final performance... the Guangling Melody?”

“What a shame. Such talent, yet he stooped to assassination.”

“Silence!” barked the executioner, and order was restored. He continued, “I’ve heard, Master Yin, that your Guangling Melody is rich with subtle modulations, filled with sorrow and resentment, as if the voices of ghosts and gods. When struck, its sounds are clear and cold, surging with passion, at times hidden and thunderous, like a storm or a battlefield. Some, upon first hearing, are unsettled, while others, upon understanding, discover themselves within the music. It is truly mysterious and profound.” He paused, then asked, “Yin, why not teach me this melody? I shall plead with Lord Liang for your life in return.”

Yin replied with a faint smile, “Soul Sparrow, there’s no need. This melody is fated only for those with affinity. You and it are strangers; if you force it, it will perish in your hands.” The words, light yet mocking, suggested a disdain for Soul Sparrow’s ignorance of music.

Soul Sparrow’s face darkened, and he snorted coldly, “I may not know the secrets of music, but I know how to treasure a masterpiece. They say this instrument is the work of a great master—how did it come to you? Since you wish for a final performance of the Guangling Melody, so be it. I will not deny a man of your talent his last wish.” With a gesture, he ordered his men to unshackle Yin.

Freed from his bonds, Yin massaged his wrists and let out a soft breath. With a flick of his palm, a silver radiance burst forth, startling the crowd—many thought the condemned man was making one final attempt to resist. Soul Sparrow, standing only a few paces away, merely narrowed his eyes and signaled his men to remain calm.

Soul Sparrow remarked blandly, “So, Lord Liang has long wondered where you hid the Guangling Zither. Turns out it’s a thing of the void, bound by blood—a true treasure.”

Yin offered no explanation, only murmured, “Perhaps… its next master has appeared.” The words seemed meant more for himself, his gaze once again drifting, intentionally or not, to Bai Qi, as if conveying a silent message. Bai Qi was startled. Though he stood some distance from the execution platform, hearing the talk of the Guangling Melody, he recalled that in his own world, there was a zither piece by the same name. Could someone from his world have crossed into this one? Doubt gnawed at him. He turned to look for Kun, but found no trace of him.

On the platform, the music began. The seven strings sang beneath fingers marred and broken by torture, the notes rising and falling in wild succession—now plaintive, now heroic. The intensity of the music struck the listeners to their core, sending their spirits soaring and plummeting. Yin’s playing was forceful and resolute, and on this day, his melody moved all who heard it. Each listener found their thoughts stirred by the trembling strings, as if the music painted their souls with strokes of fate—sometimes clumsy, sometimes sublime.

It was like walking a mountain path after rain, unable to fully perceive the quiet beauty, the peace and depth within the stillness, the surging rhythm and harmonies. As the music soared and struck, it was as if flocks of autumn geese took flight to the south, a secret heard but not spoken, suddenly turning grand and bold, like a warrior marching to his death.

Floating clouds and willow catkins have no roots; the world is vast, and they drift as they please. Amidst the clamor of a hundred birds, only the phoenix will not nest where there is no parasol tree.

As the melody drew to a close, every eye revealed the deepest truths of the soul. When the spell was broken, many realized how much they had revealed in their faces.

Bai Qi had listened, half in thought, but his heart was set on finding Kun. On his first day in this world, he had been lucky enough to meet someone familiar, only to lose them again so suddenly. The brief tumult of hope and loss was enough to drive even the strongest mind to despair.

Bai Qi pushed his way through the crowd, desperately shouting, “Grandpa Kun, where are you?”

No one paid him any mind; his strange attire drew only curious glances.

“Child, would you like to inherit the Guangling Melody?” Suddenly, a peculiar voice sounded in his mind. Bai Qi looked around, but aside from a few odd looks, no one addressed him.

“Kun, perhaps this child is the one we have been seeking. My time is nearly up. Liang Sui has poisoned me; the venom has already reached my heart. I hope this legacy does not die with me.” The voice echoed in Bai Qi’s mind, and when he heard Grandpa Kun’s name, a faint comfort settled within him.

“Yin, I will avenge you. Liang Sui is ruthless; he killed my son, drove my wife to disappear while fleeing his assassins, and holds my sister-in-law as leverage, demanding the Guangling Zither. She chose death over betrayal. If this vengeance is not repaid, how can the dead rest? As for this child, he is… peculiar, not simple at all.” Kun’s once-aged, raspy voice turned deep and cold. Their thoughts communicated in silence, while those present were still lost in the lingering echoes of the music.

“Kun, we have been friends for a lifetime. May we live long; the days of drinking and laughter across our vast land are gone forever. In the days to come, on the anniversary of my death, bring me a few jugs of wine. Even in the underworld, I will be content. As for this thing, I entrust it to you now.” Yin, seated cross-legged atop the platform, suddenly radiated intense light. For all but Kun and Soul Sparrow, the brilliance was blinding. Within the radiance, a shaft of silver shot straight into Bai Qi’s body.

With a muffled groan, Bai Qi coughed up black blood, the sudden force overwhelming him. He fainted, and at the same instant, a figure swept him up and vanished without a trace.

It was Kun who took Bai Qi away. He had wanted to save Yin, but Yin, poisoned by Liang Sui, had urged him not to make futile sacrifices. Now, with everything happening within arm’s reach, Kun could only watch as his friend faded away. In his grief, he wept—tears carving channels down his weathered face, mingling helplessness, rage, and sorrow.

After wiping his tears, Kun took a swig of wine, his voice muffled. He turned to look at Bai Qi lying unconscious on the grass nearby, his own tumultuous heart gradually calming.

He thought of his newly found grandson—how fate had brought them together. Before Yin died, he had entrusted the Guangling Zither to Bai Qi, recognizing something extraordinary in the boy’s nature and words. Perhaps, with this legacy, old mysteries could be unraveled.

Kun considered carefully. The future was unknown, but perhaps it was best to follow Yin’s example and take a chance: if they won, all would be worthwhile; to lose was unthinkable. He placed his hopes entirely on the boy.

Gazing at Bai Qi’s youthful face, Kun’s eyes softened. He had spent his life in struggles and lost too much—he would not let tragedy repeat itself with this child.

He looked up at the sky, blue and vast, a few wisps of cloud hanging like the strings of a zither. Memories came unbidden of days drinking and listening to Yin’s music beneath a pavilion.

The first time one hears the Melody of Guangling, one never imagines that, when the song ends, the musician is gone. In this world, life and death weave their stories; people recall them over tea or at the dinner table, yet seldom grasp the meaning within the music or the fate of those it describes.