The music spoke like a confession, and all the most peaceful moments, the brightest trials weathered, and even the way things had first been began to flow gently through it.
The music spoke of watching the years clarify the heart after countless sails had passed, of letting every mighty surge settle when an ocean lay between two people.
Once understanding came, beneath every note lay a heart that was calm yet resilient.
Everyone felt their spirits rise.
This was what the hardships of life meant.
Life's hardships were perhaps just as Jun Wangchen played them, seemingly without end.
When you scrolled through your contacts but did not know whom to call.
When you gazed at the lights of countless homes but could find no sense of belonging.
When you walked through a crowd alone but felt no sense of security.
You closed your eyes, remembered what you had held fast to at the beginning and why you stood where you did, then lifted your head again and bravely kept walking, kept living.
In the end, every hardship would reach its end.
The Guqin continued to resonate, like a spring breeze brushing over lush green grass, sometimes like a few thrushes singing sweetly on the branches, sometimes like the rustle of autumn rain, mournful and desolate, stirring the soul.
Another story unfolded before their eyes.
The coolest old man in our village died in the end.
I called him cool because he was unlike every other old man.
He never rambled on endlessly, never used his age as an excuse to lecture the young, and never changed his temperament just because he had little time left.
In my memory, he always stood at the entrance to the village, solitary as a tree, his eyes revealing feelings I could not understand.
He