The oxcarts kept heading north, leaving the vast expanse of West Lake behind them. At around four in the afternoon, the middle of the shen hour, the three oxcarts, along with Lai De on foot, reached Maple Forest Ferry on the southern bank of the Qiantang River. Qiantang County lay on the northern bank, so Chen Caozhi's party had to cross the river.
There were two ferryboats here, one large and one small. The larger boat was about six zhang long and could carry carts and horses; the smaller was only three zhang long and could take a dozen or so people at a time.
At present, both boats were on the northern bank. The banks were three or four li apart, so they would have to wait quite a while for a boat to come over.
Everyone got down from the oxcarts to rest. Zongzhi and Run'er had both napped in the cart earlier, and now rubbed their eyes and asked, "Are we there, Uncle Chou?"
Chen Caozhi smiled. "Not yet. We still have to take a boat."
Zongzhi and Run'er both loved riding boats, something they only got to do once a year. At his words, their spirits soared, and together they imitated the Ding Household's two tenant farmers, waving toward the opposite bank. "Boat, come over-boat, come over-"
Since this place was called Maple Forest Ferry, naturally it had many maple trees. Not only were there many, but they were all large, deep-rooted trees with luxuriant foliage, several zhang tall. Their slender-stemmed leaves, shaped like three-pointed, double-edged blades, turned easily, swaying ceaselessly in the slightest breeze with a rustling sound. Maples were truly trees of the wind.
It was early summer, and the maple leaves had not yet turned red. Only the tiny flowers scattered among them showed little flecks of red.
A crooked willow also stood beside the bank, its trunk twisted into the strange zigzag shape of the character "之." The bark along its slanting stretch of trunk was smooth; people waiting to cross the river must often have leaned against it to gaze into the distance.
Seeing that the ferry would not be coming over anytime soon, Chen Caozhi fetched the purple bamboo xiao from Lai Fu's oxcart. Leaning against the crooked willow with his face toward the broad river, he began to play its low, murmuring notes.
Xiao Chan and Qingzhi both opened their eyes wide. "When did young Master Caozhi learn to play the Recorder? And so well, too!"
The current ran gently along this stretch of river, which was why the ferry crossing had been established here. A short distance downstream, near the southern bank, lay a small isle with a pond on it. Dark water caltrops grew all through the pond, their deep-green leaves reflecting the slanting sunlight in a vivid wash of purple. The locals therefore called it Purple Lotus Isle.
Chen Caozhi remembered a piece from the television series Dream of the Red Chamber called "Song of Purple Lotus Isle," composed by Wang Liping. Rich in classical charm, it had no particularly high or low notes and suited the dongxiao. He had often played it during his travels in his previous life. Now his fingers stretched and curled over the holes as he began the wistful, melancholy "Song of Purple Lotus Isle"-
The river burbled onward, the slanting sunlight spreading over its surface as golden snakes danced wildly. An ornate black-canopied boat came downstream, then swung its bow across midriver and rowed toward this ferry landing. Five zhang from shore, it was held in place with a long pole and remained there. Two men stood at its bow. One, about thirty, wore a silk headcloth and a single-layer white silk jacket; his brows were fine, his eyes narrow, and his bearing handsome and spirited. To his left stood a man in his fifties, slightly shorter, with his hair arranged in horn-shaped topknots, round cheeks, and phoenix eyes that slanted upward. His wide sleeves fluttered, and he too possessed considerable elegance. Both silently watched the handsome youth leaning against the crooked willow on the riverbank, listening intently to the notes of his Recorder, absorbed in them.
By then, Chen Caozhi had finished his piece and was about to put the xiao back in its cloth bag when the scholar of about thirty called from the boat, "Wait a moment. I have a Keting Flute to give you."
The black-canopied boat pulled up to the landing. Without disembarking, the scholar handed down a long, narrow blue cloth bag from the bow and asked, "What is the piece called?"
By the etiquette of the time, the scholar's behavior was rather abrupt and discourteous. Yet nothing in his speech or bearing felt intrusive; he seemed entirely unaffected, free and natural. Was this the famed bearing of the Wei-Jin era?
Chen Caozhi accepted the cloth bag without offering thanks and replied, "The piece is called 'Remembering an Old Friend.'" Then he slowly drew the long xiao from the bag. It felt heavy in his hand, heavier than an ordinary bamboo xiao. Its body was blue-green, its grain fine and straight, as though it had been made from freshly cut bamboo, still carrying the fresh scent of green bamboo. He curled a finger and tapped its body, producing a hollow, resonant sound.
"Do you know the origins of the Keting Flute?" asked the older scholar in his fifties, with the horn-shaped topknots.
Chen Caozhi said, "The Jiaowei Qin and the Keting Flute—elegant tales of Cai Zhonglang. How could I not know?"
The slightly plump older scholar and the scholar who had given him the flute exchanged a look and chuckled.
Chen Caozhi said, "Since you have so kindly given me this flute, allow me to repay you with a tune." With that, he tested the notes of the dongxiao made from Keting bamboo and began to play. The melody wound round and returned upon itself, seeming full of deep feeling, seeming sorrowful, its lingering, inexhaustible mood offering profound savor.
Deep feeling and melancholy were common sentiments among the people of the Wei-Jin era. This was the melancholy of an awakening to life, sorrow at the fleeting nature of family affection and friendship. The tune Chen Caozhi played could be said to go straight to the hearts of the people of Jin.
When the piece ended, the two scholars at the bow remained silent and wistful. After a long while, the scholar who had given him the flute said, "This piece is finer still. May I ask its name?"
Chen Caozhi said, "'Song of the Red Bean.'"
The scholar asked again, "Who composed it?"
Chen Caozhi smiled. "If you eat an egg and find it delicious, must you ask which hen laid it?"
The scholar burst out laughing and immediately ordered the boatman to cast off.
The black-canopied boat followed the current and was several dozen zhang from the landing in the blink of an eye. Looking back at the handsome youth on the bank, the scholar who had given him the flute said feelingly to the older scholar, "Only Wang Yishao and Xie Anshi in their younger days could compare with this lad's bearing and conversation. Brother Quan, having such a fellow townsman is an honor you share in."
The older scholar addressed as Brother Quan said, "I do not know who this lad is either. If the gentry of Qiantang had such an outstanding young man among their sons, how could I not know?"
The scholar who had given him the flute raised his long brows. "Could he be not a son of the gentry, but from a humble commoner family? That would be such a pity!" He gazed at the surging river in silence for a while, then added, "Brother Quan, as Regular Mounted Attendant and an Adviser to the Minister of Works' Office, you have a duty to seek out overlooked talent in the villages. If the opportunity arises, perhaps you could offer this youth some encouragement and support. The Grand Marshal Tao Kan also came from humble origins. Brother Quan, do not look down on this youth."
The older scholar surnamed Quan smiled. "I know you disregard family standing and cherish talent as dearly as life itself, Brother Yewang. You simply took the one and only Keting Flute in the world and gave it to a youth you happened to meet. Such freedom of spirit is far beyond me. How about this: I will not deliberately advance this youth, but we shall see whether chance brings him into my hands. Ha ha."
Chen Caozhi did not know who these two scholars were, nor did he care. The Keting xiao he had received was simply exquisite. Ordinarily, a dongxiao had a slightly narrower range than a qudi, but the range of this xiao made from Keting bamboo was actually no less than a transverse flute's. Naturally, its tranquil, elegant tone was even further beyond a transverse flute's reach. It could truly be called the finest of xiao.
Seeing Uncle Chou receive a fine xiao out of nowhere, Zongzhi and Run'er were both delighted. Zongzhi declared that since Uncle Chou now had the Keting Flute, the purple bamboo dongxiao belonged to him. Run'er refused to agree, and in the end the brother and sister negotiated joint ownership.
Xiao Chan had served Ding Youwei for many years and could also read. Curious, she asked, "Young Master Caozhi, is the Cai Zhonglang you mentioned Cai Yong, Cai Wenji's father?"
Chen Caozhi smiled. "Yes."
Xiao Chan asked again, "Then what does the Keting Flute have to do with Cai Yong? Is there a story behind it?"
Chen Caozhi said, "Cai Zhonglang was unrivaled in his age in rhapsodies, music, and calligraphy. It is said that while traveling through Wu Commandery, he spent a night at an inn in Keting, in Kuaiji. As he listened to raindrops striking the roof, he suddenly slapped the bed and shouted, telling the innkeeper to hurry and replace the sixteenth bamboo rafter under the eaves and give it to him. Cai Yong made a Recorder from that piece of bamboo. That was the Keting Flute."
The way Xiao Chan looked at Chen Caozhi changed again. She truly could not fathom this young master. She had only gone a year without seeing him-how had he changed so much!
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