Asking for the way to the heart through music
Ever since the brief conversation about the "dream" that night, the atmosphere in Zixu Temple seemed to have undergone an indescribable change.
Gongsun Sheng still spent most of his time in seclusion, but he no longer completely ignored me. Occasionally, when we met in the courtyard, his gaze would linger on me for a moment, no longer a pure scrutiny, but a thoughtful inquiry. The young Taoist boy, Qingsong, grew increasingly friendly to me, perhaps because he felt I was knowledgeable, good-tempered, and helpful, unlike his master, who was always aloof and unapproachable.
I knew that the fragmented descriptions I threw out that night about "tall buildings," "lights," and "iron boxes" were like a few pebbles dropped into a deep pond. Though they failed to stir up a storm, they did create a few ripples in Gongsun Sheng's calm mind. His view of my "oddity" status shifted from "a nuisance to be managed" to "a phenomenon worthy of observation."
This was good, and progress as I had planned. But it wasn't enough. I needed a more formal, legitimate excuse to engage with him consistently and positively, rather than relying solely on chance encounters and sporadic conversations.
My eyes fell on the pipa in my arms again.
Music was our first connection, and so far, the only thing that seems to have piqued his interest. He described my work "Ten Sides of Ambush" as "the sound of the future," capable of "disturbing fate." So, is there truly some mysterious connection between music and the laws of nature? This might be a perfect starting point.
A few days later, one morning, the weather was fine. Figuring Gongsun Sheng would have finished his morning breathing exercises, I took my pipa and walked outside the quiet room where he was meditating. I took a deep breath and gently knocked on the door.
"Come in." His calm voice came from inside.
I pushed the door open and entered. The quiet room was simply furnished: a cushion, a low table, and an incense burner, from which curled a wisp of incense. Gongsun Sheng sat cross-legged on the cushion, his eyes clear, as if he had anticipated my arrival.
"Miss Bu, is there something wrong?" He raised his eyes and looked at me, his gaze falling on the pipa in my arms.
I bowed, my posture extremely humble, but my tone held just the right hint of confusion and curiosity. "Master, I'm sorry to bother you. Recently, while I was in seclusion at the temple, I recalled what you said the other day: 'Music can connect to the Way of Heaven,' and 'The sound of the future disturbs destiny.' I'm clueless and can't understand why. Music is merely a technique for entertaining people. How can it be connected to the ethereal Way of Heaven? And how can it... disturb the predetermined destiny?"
I raised my head and looked at him earnestly, "Master, you are a master of the Tao, and you can see through the mysteries of heaven. I dare to ask you to help me solve my doubts."
This was my carefully prepared "question." It was humble enough, and the reasoning was compelling enough—for an "outlier" perplexed by his own unique abilities, it was perfectly logical for him to seek guidance from a master who might possess the answers. It satisfied his curiosity and paved the way for subsequent contact.
Gongsun Sheng looked at me quietly, without answering immediately. The smoke from the incense burner swirled before him, making his face appear hazy.
After a long pause, he slowly spoke, his voice as clear as a mountain spring, cold and distinct: "Everything in the universe has its own laws. The movement of the sun and moon, the changing of the seasons, the growth and withering of plants, even the ups and downs of human hearts—all follow this pattern. Music is simply the embodiment of these laws of nature and human relations through sound and rhythm."
He paused, then continued, "Gong, Shang, Jiao, Zheng, and Yu—the five notes correspond to the five elements, and the ebb and flow of the melody implicitly reflects the rise and fall of yin and yang. Music of the purest and most natural kind can stir the spiritual energy of heaven and earth, resonating with the hearts of all living things. Therefore, the ancient sages created rituals and music not to entertain people, but to harmonize yin and yang, regulate human relations, and connect with heaven."
His explanation, imbued with a strong Taoist influence, elevated musicality to the level of philosophy and cosmology. This was completely different from the modern music theory I was familiar with, yet it formed its own logically rigorous system.
"As for 'disturb fate'..." His gaze narrowed slightly, resting on my face, as if trying to discern my true inner thoughts. "Fate is like a long river, flowing forward with its own momentum. Yet, within that river, there are waves and whirlpools, seemingly accidental, yet in reality, they are an inevitable part of it. The music you played that day, both its tone and its meaning, were not meant to exist in this world. It was like throwing a foreign stone into a calm river. While it might not change its course, it was enough to stir up waves and trigger previously hidden uncertainties. This is disturbance."
My heart was shaken. His explanation was both profound and persuasive. The metaphor of my identity as a "time traveler" being likened to an "alien stone" thrown into the river of fate was perfectly apt.
"So... my existence and that song are already the 'variables' that the Taoist priest mentioned, right?" I asked, following his words, with just the right amount of realization and uneasiness.
Gongsun Sheng acquiesced to my statement and said calmly, "It's a variable, but not necessarily a disaster. The laws of nature are unpredictable, and variables also contain vitality. The key lies in the intentions of the person holding the stone."
Was he warning me not to abuse this ability to "disturb"? Or was he suggesting that my identity as a "variable" could also bring about positive changes?
I suppressed my suspicions and continued to play the role of the seeker: "Then, Taoist Priest...should I stop playing this kind of music in the future?"
"It's better to release than to block." Gongsun Sheng's answer surprised me. "If you force yourself to suppress it, it will only breed inner demons. Now that you have this ability, you must understand its principles, know its harms, and understand its benefits. Using music to enter the Tao, and using the Tao to control music, is the right path."
Enter the Tao through sound, and control sound through the Tao?
My heart skipped a beat. Was he... giving me advice? While it might just be to prevent me, this "variable," from getting out of control, this was undoubtedly a positive sign!
"Thank you, Taoist priest, for your guidance!" I expressed my gratitude and willingness to learn at the right time. "It's just that... I am really ignorant about the way of 'Tao'. I don't know where to start with this 'entering Tao through sound'? Taoist priest, could you... give me some more pointers?" I cautiously made a further request, my eyes full of expectation.
Gongsun Sheng was silent for a moment, as if weighing his options. Finally, he spoke, "If you're truly interested, you can come to this quiet room for an hour every day at noon. I can explain to you the chapters in the Book of Music and the Tao Te Ching concerning music and the relationship between heaven and man."
Done!
My heart leaped with joy, but I maintained a respectful and grateful expression on my face: "Thank you, Taoist Priest! I will study hard and live up to your teachings!"
From that day on, my life in Zixu Temple had a new fixed content.
Every day at the hour of Chen, I would appear in Gongsun Sheng's quiet room to listen to him explain those profound ancient texts. He didn't say much, usually just explaining a few core concepts, such as "great sound is silent," "music is the harmony of heaven and earth," and "reaching the ultimate emptiness and maintaining deep stillness." Then he would let me understand it on my own or ask questions.
His teaching style, like his personality, was cool and efficient, with no unnecessary words. But I could sense his earnestness in his explanations. He would occasionally reflect on some of my unique perspectives based on modern thinking (carefully packaged by me), and even engage in brief discussions with me.
Our communication finally rose from the trivialities of life to the level of ideas.
Although he was talking and I was listening most of the time, this kind of continuous, positive contact involving core concepts was exactly what I had dreamed of.
During this process, I also observed him closely. I noticed that when he immersed himself in the exposition of Taoist principles and the profound mysteries of musical rhythm, his sense of detachment from the world would slightly diminish, replaced by a pure focus on scholarship. At this time, he no longer looked like a dragon overlooking the world from the clouds, but more like a scholar immersed in his own field.
Of course, he was still the calm, rational, and unapproachable Gongsun Sheng. After an hour of teaching, he would ruthlessly "send the guests away" and continue his own practice or meditation, as if the person who had just taught him earnestly (albeit in a cold tone) was not him.
But I'm not discouraged. Just as water drips through stone, a rope saws through wood. I believe that as long as I persevere, I will eventually carve deeper marks on this frozen ice.
That day, after the lecture ended, I didn't leave immediately. Instead, I hesitated for a moment and said, "Master, I've benefited greatly from listening to your lectures for so many days. I seem to have some understanding of 'The Way of Music to Heaven,' but it's ultimately illusory. I wonder... could you please demonstrate what 'pure and natural joy' and 'attracting spiritual energy' mean?"
I wanted to see for myself what the combination of "Taoism" and "Rhythm" in this world looked like. This was crucial to my understanding of the power system of this world.
Gongsun Sheng glanced at me with a deep look in his eyes: "You want to see it?"
I nodded vigorously, my eyes full of curiosity and desire.
He was silent for a moment, but did not refuse. He just stood up and walked to a corner of the quiet room where a lyre that looked quite old was placed.
He washed his hands, burned incense, and then sat down in front of the piano, holding his breath and concentrating.
After a moment, his slender fingers gently fell on the strings.
There was no complicated fingering, no passionate melody, he just plucked an extremely simple note.
“Zheng——”
A clear sound of the piano, like a stone thrown into a quiet lake, instantly spread throughout the quiet room.
Strangely, the sound of the zither seemed to carry tangible ripples, visibly (or perhaps it was my imagination?) creating faint ripples in the air. The straight stream of green smoke from the incense burner began to gently sway and swirl as the sound waves spread.
Then, the second and third notes flowed out. The melody was extremely simple, peaceful, even a little monotonous, but each note seemed to strike a chord with the heart, unlike any music I had ever heard. It didn't seek to be pleasant, but rather a kind of... harmony.
I seemed to hear the whisper of pine trees, the gurgling of flowing water, and the tranquility of moonlight casting its shadow over the earth. The anxiety, restlessness, and calculations within me were gradually soothed and washed away by this peaceful, almost primitive music.
What shocked me even more was that the birds that had been hopping on the branches outside the quiet room window suddenly stopped singing and quietly perched on the window sill, their heads tilted, as if listening. Even the leaves of the few medicinal herbs in the courtyard seemed to stretch out a little more and grow a little greener.
Is this... attracting spiritual energy? Resonating with all things?
Although it is far from the level of calling the wind and rain or thunder and lightning, this strange phenomenon that moistens everything silently has completely overturned my cognition.
The song ended, its lingering sound lingering, and a peaceful atmosphere settled over the quiet room and beyond. The birds fluttered away, and I was still lost in that wonderful resonance, unable to recover for a long time.
Gongsun Sheng withdrew his hand and looked at me calmly: "Do you understand?"
His voice brought me back from my shock.
I took a deep breath and sighed in awe, "I understand." I understood the potential heights of musicality in this world, and I also understood that Gongsun Sheng's cultivation of the Dao was far beyond my comprehension. My previous petty "strategy" seemed so ridiculous and insignificant in the face of this power, which was close to the Dao.
But at the same time, a stronger thought came to mind.
What if... what if I could truly master this power? What if I could combine modern musical concepts with the "sound of Tao" of this world?
Then perhaps, it will no longer be a trivial "disturbance", but will truly have the ability to change something.
I looked at Gongsun Sheng, and the thirst for knowledge in my eyes was hotter than ever before.
"Master," I bowed solemnly, "Please... continue to teach me."
Gongsun Sheng looked into my eyes, and those calm, still pupils seemed to finally reflect a light unlike before. He nodded slightly.
"Can."
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