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The most elegant of the Ten Wonders of Changjing was no more.
The once-bustling Hexian Pavilion, frequented by nobles and high-ranking officials, had closed its doors after the funeral of Miss Wanjiang.
Situated at the border between the eastern and western districts, the pavilion was often passed by dignitaries and refined scholars. Former regulars couldn’t help but pause as they walked by, glancing at its now-desolate entrance.
Memories of drinking fine wine and listening to the ethereal melodies played there would resurface—of that transcendent music, like it descended from the heavens, and the unparalleled grace of the fairy of qin herself. A sigh inevitably followed.
Neighbors occasionally claimed they could faintly hear the sound of a zither from the Hexian Pavilion at night. The music was as beautiful as ever but could only be heard in a dreamlike state, half-awake and half-asleep.
Once fully awake, no matter how hard they listened or searched, the sound was nowhere to be found.
At first, a single account could be dismissed. But as more neighbors shared the same story, unease began to spread. Some wondered if something supernatural was at work.
Conversely, a few literary types took comfort in the notion, imagining that Miss Wanjiang’s spirit still lingered, guarding the...
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