Chapter Two: The Heart of Qin

  Name: Che Xian

  Gender: Male

  Age: 44 years old

  Occupation: Piano Store Owner

  Address: No. 52 Dongshi Street, Bomei District

  There are many vagrants in this world who wander and sleep on the streets, begging for food. Some degrade themselves to gain sympathy, with unkempt hair and dirty faces, but it's all in vain. Others resent society, hate crowds, curse heaven and earth, and only feel happy when they're scolding.

  There are many street performers in this world, smiling in front of people and miserable behind them. Some just want to have a warm meal and a place to return to at night, while others have great talent but are proud and arrogant, and end up dying in despair.

  He is a vagrant, he won't pretend to be pitiful and seek sympathy, nor will he loudly scold and spit.

  He is a performer who refuses to be content with a humble life, unwilling to waste his talent and die with lifelong regret.

  He is a vagrant and also a street performer.

  But he looked down on vagrants and street performers;

  Neither of the two is both and neither is either.

  Neither of the two options appeals to him; neither can accommodate him either.

  He is just a talented but underappreciated musician He tells himself he is a musician!

  "Come and buy hot, steaming buns! Moisturizing the lungs, stopping coughs, activating blood circulation, supplementing calcium, benefiting longevity, and rejuvenating youth! Sir, would you like to have a bun?" The short and chubby owner of the pastry shop was eagerly promoting the food in the steamer. The buns were emitting fragrant steam, making him swallow his saliva involuntarily.

  He patted his pocket and found only one 1-yuan coin and three 1-jiao coins left.

  "The buns at our small store are free." The boss explained with a smile as he looked at his hesitant expression.

  "Really?" His eyes lit up. A musician? Musicians are also human, and when they see food, who wouldn't drool?

  "What would you like to order? We have meat buns, vegetable buns, cha siu bao, and three fresh vegetable buns." The shop owner efficiently opened the layers of steamer baskets. White steam rose up, revealing plump buns that seemed to exude a tender beauty.

  "Really no money?" He didn't believe in deceiving people who had met many scams but who would bother to cheat a vagrant.

  "Of course not." The shop owner still had that carefree and cheerful expression.

  "Then I want five of each kind, no ten, no, no, fifteen meat buns and give me five more."

  "No problem." The shop owner quickly moved his hands and in no time, a stack of paper packages appeared in front of him. "That's 65 buns altogether. Have a good walk and welcome to come again next time."

  The shop owner sent him off with both hands down and began to think about it in his heart.

  No money. "No money" has two interpretations: first, free; second, not taking monetary payment but accepting other equivalent items. A meat bun is worth a month of life, a vegetable bun is worth a month of health, cha siu bao, vegetarian three fresh... This business is a surefire way to make a profit, but the abacus calculations are not done neatly and he loses out on this black shop's signboard.

  "Hey miss, what can I get for you..." The coming and going of a passerby is like a stone on the road to him, nothing more.

  He gnawed on the fragrant meat bun, calculating the total cost of meals for several weeks. He wouldn't sell his art for money to eat, nor would he lower himself to be a butcher's chopping board pig head; going to perform in the streets, his high-pitched and unpopular songs didn't attract joyful tunes, nor did they play popular songs, with no one asking about them. The mountains were poor and the water was exhausted, only his ambitions remained.

  I'm an unsuccessful musician! I'm a musician! He proudly told himself.

  What a wonderful term for musicians! With just this one word "family" identity, temperament and status are revealed. Only he can perform on the streets like Paganini, only he knows what those craftsmen know? Brahms, Beethoven? They only know how to love you, love me, sticky and sweet. Yes, he is far superior to them, perhaps even more so!

  Failed the music academy entrance exam again and again! Listen to what those judges say? Your technique is mature, your emotions are lacking, your melody is too cold. Sorry, please come back next time!

  He is a musician! A frustrated musician! Those who dominate the industry are just outdated antiques, they don't understand that no one in this world understands him. Van Gogh died, Edison dropped out, Copernicus was burned, he is also a genius, geniuses are destined to be lonely!

  "Would you like to come in and take a look, sir? Our store specializes in various Chinese and Western musical instruments, with high and low grades, all available." The middle-aged owner of the store was dressed in a stylish old-fashioned watch chain hanging inside his suit, occasionally flashing silver light, as if time had turned back to the 30s. In that era, Gregory Peck was handsome and elegant, Audrey Hepburn was noble and moving, Vivien Leigh floated around the southern manor, how many people respected musicians! But now...

  "This gentleman, I think you're a musician... " The shop owner said flattering words "Look at those hands of yours, they are the perfect artist's hands, long fingers, clear joints, flexible and full of strength, must be a violinist!"

  He pretended to be nonchalant, muttering: "Hmph, you're pretty close." But how many people could see through the worn-out violin case he always carried with him?

  "You've come to the right place! Our store has just received a one-of-a-kind, unparalleled, and priceless excellent guqin. Many people have come to buy it, but I refused to sell. Look at this worn-out threshold. A precious sword is given to a hero, a good guqin is paired with a good master. What do you think of this guqin?"

  He took out a dilapidated and worn-out zither from the counter, its strings and bow all looking bleak and forlorn.

  His face turned ugly: "Is the shopkeeper deliberately teasing me because I'm poor?" The piano box slammed onto the table, causing the cymbals to vibrate with a loud hum.

  "Buying shoes and choosing a guitar are equally difficult. Can you make a decision without even playing it?" The shop owner handed over the bow and guitar.

  He took the bow and slid into the melody, momentarily entranced. The high notes were passionate but not sharp, the low hums were distant but not dull. When the song ended, he was still deeply immersed, unaware of his surroundings.

  "This zither...". He came back to his senses after a long while, greatly shocked. Such a fine zither would surely cost an astronomical price; if one wanted to buy it, there wouldn't be enough silver to spare even if one were to burn their body.

  "The zither chooses a man, and the man chooses the zither. Since you have a predestined relationship with this zither, I should present it to you with both hands, without taking a single penny." Uncle Qi said, but it was just like that.

  He is overjoyed and thinks that good fortune has been bestowed upon him, with blessings pouring down on him like a never-ending stream.

  "Thank you so much! I will definitely repay Mr. with a generous gift for his kindness in giving me the qin."

  "Easy to say." With a bow and a gesture of yielding, he stepped aside and left. Some families were delighted, while others were worried.

  The zither is a good zither! Those who hold this zither have become famous. The long river of stars is shining brightly, but who can guess the original intention behind it? It's actually just a violin, not a living thing.

  The zither is a good zither! Holding this zither, Rong Yu's reputation rises and falls on the stage. The zither can absorb the talent from one's body, making it burst forth in a shocking display that astonishes the world, but also drains every last bit of energy, leading to exhaustion or even death. Those talents, those emotions, have satisfied the listener's ears and nourished the zither's heart, making it the best zither under heaven. Having sucked this place dry, it seeks another. You use me, I use you - that's all there is to it.

  The shop owner put down the newspaper with a bold headline "Paganini Reappears: The Unparalleled Virtuoso of This Generation" He held his violin, dressed to the nines, with a self-satisfied smile.

  In March, peach blossoms are red for a moment, wind blows and rain hits, all in vain.

  He just passed by.

  "May I help you, madam?" He straightened his attire and walked up to her.