The Charred Zither
An ancient zither sounds of itself each night after its poor master Zhou dies; the zither-fanatic Tong buys it and hears Zhou's soul speak of wishes unfulfilled. Tong teaches widely in Zhou's name; one night the zither sounds gentle, a string breaks, and it falls silent.
The Charred Paulownia was an ancient zither, cut from a scorched tail-piece, passed through many owners. Its last master, Zhou, played well but was too poor to marry; he plucked this zither thirty years and never missed a day. When Zhou died, the zither was put in a case, and each night it sounded of itself, clear and mournful as weeping.
A zither-fanatic, Tong, heard of it and bought the instrument. He set it on his desk at night; each deep hour the strings trembled of themselves, as if speaking. Tong listened quietly: it was Zhou's soul, telling of wishes unfulfilled in life — that he had not tended his parents to their end, that he had passed on this art to no one. Tong pitied him; by day he studied the score, and in three years mastered it all, then set up a school and taught, passing on all that Zhou had left.
One evening the zither sounded a tune of itself, warm and smooth, no longer mournful. At dawn he found one string broken; the zither was silent. Tong knew the soul was comforted and buried the zither by Zhou's grave.
The Chronicler of the Strange says: That an object sounds is not the sound but the feeling. Zhou plucked thirty years and the zither knew his will; after death the strings spoke to finish what was left undone. Tong did not hide the art but spread it widely, and so comforted the lone soul. Today those who hold a skill sometimes hoard it like a secret, dying without passing it on — set beside this zither, can they not blush? The zither lives through the man, the man through the zither; an art endures because someone carries it on.