The Heart Zither
The river water flowed like cold glass.
Yatienbu dismounted from his horse onto the ground; the boundless water surface seemed to extend into another world.
The banks were covered with pale flowers that seemed one with the river water, akin to a universe of small white blossoms, almost completely covering the pale yellow road surface.
Yatienbu gazed across the river. Aside from pale clouds silently circling, aside from startled birds suddenly skimming by, aside from fishing boats unseen for decades drifting lost in a dreamlike region in the distance, Yatienbu could see nothing.
He saw only a vast expanse of pale white, a vast expanse of pale white, a vast expanse of pale white.
Downstream, two white mountains stood facing each other, clouds lingering upon them like plain silk ribbons. Between the mountains connected a small wooden house, the only yellow in this landscape of cold tones, the only color leaning towards warmth.
Yatienbu turned back in silence. The path behind him was a massive green forest, stretching to distant green mountains; that was exactly where he came from. He had abandoned his hometown, fled his identity as a noble prince, solely to seek the Heart of Piano mentioned in books and by the aged magician on his deathbed—the instrument at the end of the world. The timbre she played could never be compared to the precious Luqi appearing in the verses of Eastern poets. Casting aside the poets’ exaggerations, the Heart of Piano was the true instrument capable of healing sickness and pain. When the Heart of Piano is played by a pure white musician, the sun and moon shall rise together in the East.
Yatienbu immersed himself in memories.
Since the death of his sister and mother, his loneliness had persisted until this day.
Mother died upon that vast golden wheat field. At the time, she was with the people, counting the bountiful harvest in the autumn wind. Then, as the sunlight scattered and faded, in the gloomy moonless night, she vanished from the carriage specifically built to carry her from the palace. Had the two coachmen not sworn repeatedly that they truly did not see how the Empress disappeared in that gust of wind, they would have been executed.
Sister’s favorite place was the palace library. Between the aisles dark as mountains of books, one could see the little girl wearing a gorgeous dress. Her figure and braids constantly swayed as shadows in the lamplight. Her eyes shone in the dark night like cat eyes. On the cover of the book she embraced, the expression of the deceased historian seemed to gradually shift from calm to astonishment, then to madness.
Sister would find a wine barrel somewhere in the library, then sit upon it, reading books by the jumping light of lamps mounted on the marble walls engraved with royal patterns.
Yatienbu would occasionally play hide-and-seek with his sister in the library.
Until one day, when Yatienbu went to the library in the early morning as usual to find his sister who had stayed there all night to rest, she was nowhere to be found.
The God of Strength upon the marble door swore he could feel Sister’s breath drifting within the library all along, and the candles bowed their heads uneasily to Yatienbu to pledge their loyalty, yet none of this could undo the fact that Sister was gone.
What kind of power was it, after all?
Yatienbu sighed long towards the East; his eyes caused the sun to summon thick clouds to hide itself.
The Soul lies hidden in the true East, the Soul holds the Sun most dear,
The Soul is wrought of malt-gold hue, for only thus can it the Sun’s brilliance bear.
The Soul lies hidden in the West, chanting of autumn leaves in yellow decay,
The Soul stands at the terminus of time and ruin, counting the years of solitude and dismay.
The Soul lies hidden in the North, merged with the drifting snow filling the skies,
The Soul transforms into the vastness where mountain and river lies, the Soul delights in the world’s icy chill, the Soul admires life’s white bewilderment, silent and still.
The Soul lies hidden in the South, to touch the blazing sun more near,
To visit the South’s boundless, infinite sphere, to fulfill the yearning of the land so dear.
The Soul slumbers in the center.