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墨書 Inktalez
I played "Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix" again, but still couldn't find the right feeling.
An aged voice came in, "Do you really have to hang yourself on that one tree?"
I gave up my stubbornness, "Auntie..."
Her voice echoed in my ears, "You’ve been blowing your horn so aimlessly; is that the only piece you know?"
Just then, a flood of messages came pouring in—some giving thumbs up, some sending flowers, some making silly faces, and many more bowing in respect...
Hmm, why aren’t these folks cursing this time?
"Stop messing around. We’re all your neighbors; I live right across from you. I hear you play every day, and it’s driving me crazy... That day everyone took money from you, so we won’t curse you anymore!" the Auntie said.
Oh my goodness, I must be encountering ghosts.
What’s so great about ghosts? Who do you think you're looking down on? I have plenty of pieces up my sleeve.
I didn’t engage in their banter and lifted the Suona instead.
First came "Hometown Melody," expressing my longing and nostalgia for my hometown.
The phone fell silent.
As the piece ended, comments flooded in one after another:
"Is that it?"
"Pretty average..."
I started playing " Yuxi 28 Beat."
A bent rose emoji popped up on my phone.
No, two, three...
I lost count.
Next was " Single Blossom."
A thumbs-up emoji appeared upside down on the screen.
Before more comments could come in, I quickly stopped.
Standing by the window, I shouted loudly: "Do you really have good taste or are you just trying to make fun of me?"
Only the sound of wind rustling through the leaves answered me.
Fine then, let me give you something unique.
The Suona in my hands exuded an ancient aura, as if carrying endless sorrow.
As the sound of the Suona began, the mournful melody of " Funeral Music " wept and lamented.
The Suona's notes soared high and bright at times, piercing through the silent night; at other times, they were soft and winding, telling tales of life's brevity.
Grandfather once said that Funeral Music could serve as a bridge for people to communicate with the deceased.
As the music came to an end, the phone screen lit up after a long pause. A crying emoji floated across the screen, followed by another, and then another.
"You really know how to set the mood!" came the old and unrestrained voice, thick with nasal tones.
Indeed, what else could I play for the spirits but Funeral Music? But they weren't my future examiners for the Master of Ethnic Instruments; I couldn't just entertain them. I continued with my rendition of "Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix." Yet, I still couldn't find that deep, soul-stirring feeling.
Every time I played this piece, they protested by banging pots and pans, and the comments on my phone were filled with mockery and disdain:
"If this mess could turn into something real, I wouldn't need to be reborn!"
"Play that tune again and I'll show myself!"
...
I clasped my hands and bowed in circles: "Dear uncles and aunts… If it weren't for my studies, I wouldn't be here disturbing your peace… Oh, pardon me! If it weren't for my grandfather, I wouldn't dare intrude upon your tranquility… This poor girl is suffering too…"
The phone screen brightened again:
"On a rainy day, hitting kids is a pastime; why not listen to what little Girl has to say to fool the ghosts?"
"Not very old, but those big eyes are spinning; who knows what she's concocting in her belly!"
"Finally a living person has come; let's listen just for fun."
...
I gathered a cushion and sat on the ground.
Years ago, an opera troupe from afar set up a stage in our village. The Suona Master was assigned to stay at my Great Lord's house. At just seven years old, Grandfather not only admired the Suona in his hands but also became friends with a little girl he brought along.
The Suona Master taught Grandfather how to play a few notes, and Grandfather picked it up effortlessly. The Suona Master immediately recognized him as someone with potential and asked Great Lord if he could let Grandfather learn the Suona.
At that time, our family was poor; although actors were considered "lowly," they at least had food to eat. Great Lord agreed. When the opera troupe left, the Suona Master took Grandfather with him.
Eleven years later, eighteen-year-old Grandfather returned home. He had learned his master's true teachings and won the heart of his master's daughter, Xiao Fang. Just as his master was preparing for their wedding, he was suddenly diagnosed with a serious illness, spending all his life savings without improvement.
The Theater Troupe Leader came to visit and quietly told the master that if Xiao Fang could marry his son, he would pay for the master's medical expenses.
The son of the Ban Master is a troublemaker, often harassing the actresses in the troupe, indulging in drinking, gambling, and all sorts of vices. Moreover, he refuses to acknowledge my grandfather as his long-accepted father-in-law, even after his master’s death.
When Xiao Fang was born, her mother bled to death, turning her daughter’s birthday into a day of mourning. To ensure that his daughter would not suffer and to allow his late wife to rest peacefully in the afterlife, her master never remarried.
Seeing her father in such a state, Xiao Fang could not bear it. She wept bitterly in her grandfather's arms and proposed to sacrifice herself to save him. On the day of her wedding, her grandfather escorted her as a brother would.
With a long suona in hand, he puffed out his cheeks and played, the sound rising higher and higher… until it twisted into a turn at its peak, soaring upward until the suona nearly broke its pitch. The tune of "Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix" was played with such elevation that only Xiao Fang could discern the sorrow, endless sighs, and desolation behind the cheerful melody. She understood that this melody was played just for her; only she could comprehend that off-key high note.
Afterward, when Qian Liushui was married off, it still could not save her master’s life. In his final moments, he grasped her grandfather's hand tightly as he knelt by the bedside, tears streaming down his face: “Master, I’m sorry!”
After burying his master, her grandfather returned to his hometown, married again, and had children. The suona was only played for funerals and never for weddings. For dozens of miles around, whenever there was a funeral, his suona would be present.
The "Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix" was only played when applying for "Intangible Cultural Heritage." First at the county level, then at the state level, and finally at the autonomous region… The golden certificates and shiny plaques cast an intangible glow over our humble stone house.
However, later on, the plan to advance to national-level Intangible Cultural Heritage suddenly fell silent; when asked about it, Village Head Uncle stammered and couldn’t provide a clear answer.
On his deathbed, my grandfather entrusted this heavy responsibility to me. I finished telling the stories passed down from the older generation. I could see no one but heard sigh after sigh echoing around me.
After a long while, an aged voice spoke up: “Playing that tune about a flock of birds chirping has no future; change it!” The words were stubborn and left no room for disagreement. Perhaps this matter truly did not rest in my hands anymore.
Here, “she” and “they” do not allow me to play "Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix," leaving me in confusion. Moreover, I need to consult with Duty Elder.
On the night of July 15th, I heard a sound from across the door. Peering through the peephole, I saw Duty Elder entering with a bundle of incense and paper offerings. When the lights came on, I noticed that the black-and-white photo on the offering table directly opposite seemed to depict a kindly old lady.
Women love gossip; I wanted to know who she was and what connection she had with him.
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