The Excited Lute

Young Wen was descended from an ancient family of scholars. However, he had never shown the slightest interest in legal matters and had failed all the exams to be a peer among hers.

Since he was little he had been passionate about music and spent hours playing an old lute that he had found forgotten in an attic. Some time later, harassed by the claims of his father, who wanted him a Mandarin, he left the family home and began to wander from one place to another as a traveling musician.

One afternoon, Wen was playing a very hackneyed tune in a town square when he saw old Tzu, the most renowned lutemaster in all of China, among the listeners.

“Master, what did you think of my music?” Wen asked, eager for a compliment, even a small one, from a master of his stature and fame.

“You have talent,” replied the old man, “although it has not yet blossomed.” Your song may cheer a few villagers, but it won’t captivate the birds.

That night, Wen followed the old man to a clearing in the forest where the man brought out his own lute and sang a song.

The melody brought tears to the eyes of young Wen, who thought he saw the creatures of the forest among the trees, who had stopped to listen, captivated by the music.

After that, Wen approached the old man and begged him to accept him as a disciple.

The old man accepted and Wen spent the next few years with him, studying and practicing alongside him, patiently receiving his corrections and scolding.

Until one day the teacher told him:

“I’ve taught you everything I knew.” I have taken you to the threshold of our art. Now you must go through it. Search your music within yourself.

As an answer, Wen took the lute and asked permission to play a song in honor of the coming winter. The master accepted the offering and Wen began to play.

After a few minutes, the master snatched the lute from his hands and smashed it into a tree, smashing it to pieces.

“I hear the notes, they are perfect … but your music is empty!” You move your fingers, but nothing happens in your soul.

For a few minutes they were both silent. It seemed like the two of them were holding back crying.

“The failure of a student is above all the failure of the teacher, ” the old man continued. I will not play again … Take my lute and practice your song to winter. Sing to the snows and ice, not to me, I don’t deserve it.

Unable to speak a word, Wen watched his master walk toward the lake, determined. Could it be that he would drown? The prospect that his musical ineptitude would cost a teacher like Tzú his life was devastating.

He imagined a world without his teacher, without his music, a world plunged into eternal winter … Almost without thinking, he picked up Tzú’s lute and began to play.

Sadness had invaded him, tears were streaming down his face, and Wen began to feel colder and colder.

The icy wind hit his cheeks and some snowflakes began to fall, bleaching the entire landscape.

Still playing, Wen looked up: his teacher seemed to be walking on water. But that was not what was happening.

The surface of the lake, listening to the young man’s music, had learned that winter had come and frozen.

A second later, the teacher was no longer there; in its place was a beautiful white crane.

When the young musician met his gaze with that of the animal, it took flight and began to move away with a cawing that, from the shore of the lake, seemed like laughter.