A Music Teacher Transmigrates to Ancient Times

By the Qinhuai River outside Jiankang, willow catkins drift like snow that will never stop falling, settling on Jian Da'e's official robe. He stands at the entrance to Wuyi Alley, unconsciously rubbing the jade belt at his waist with his fingertips. It's a “prop” he borrowed from the Langya Prince's residence three days ago. Beneath the cool jade, his skin still remembers another sensation: the hard chill of metal and circuitry. The memories of three days ago are still like shards of glass, lodged painfully in his mind. He remembers sorting through ancient texts in his office when the “Jiaowei Qin” that had accompanied him for ten years suddenly began to buzz piercingly. Fine blue light, like a spiderweb, appeared across the instrument's once-smooth paulownia wood surface, resembling circuit patterns he couldn't understand. As a deputy director of the provincial Department of Culture in charge of safeguarding intangible cultural heritage, he knew ancient musical instruments inside and out. But he had bought this qin by chance at an antiques market six months earlier. The seller had said it was “a little strange,” but hadn't mentioned that it would light up on its own in the middle of the night.