Cherished Clouds

Autumn deepens. A cup of tea, moonlight spilling over the ground, a breeze rising. A figure in plain robes trails onto the flagstones, her long hair unbound, flowing over her shoulders like water. The ancient qin shimmers faintly in the moonlight, its thirteen markers like thirteen warm, lustrous jades. The music wakes like dew at the edge of a flower petal, falling into a night that has waited so long. A breeze sweeps through, lifting her hair. The strings quiver, her hair drifts, and she seems about to dissolve into the flowing melody, yet the stubborn touch between her fingertips and the strings keeps her tethered, making her the courtyard’s most vivid sight. When the piece ends, she sits quietly amid its lingering notes, as if she had never disturbed the night. Suddenly, a sound rings out in the distance.