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墨書 Inktalez
The first lecture of the specialized course at the Provincial Art School was given to us by Director Xiao.
“‘Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix’ is the most famous traditional Suona piece in China, and it is an irreplaceable classic in Suona solos. It holds significant importance in our culture and is a representative work of Chinese music... It is often said that ‘with one song in hand, the world is mine!’”
Although many students had never experienced it firsthand, they had all heard of it. Thus, ‘Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix’ became a required and deeply studied piece for every student majoring in Suona.
In my fourth year, while others were interning, I rented a place outside under the guise of an internship to prepare for graduate school. The Yanjing Music Academy only accepts one graduate student each year for its Folk Music program in our province.
I practiced ‘Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix’ repeatedly. At first, my neighbors praised my playing and cheered me on, but over time, no one could tolerate hearing the same piece day in and day out, aside from eating, drinking, and sleeping.
There were complaints and grievances from neighbors… From A Community to B District… then to F, G, H… I became like a rat crossing the street.
Now here, I no longer had to consider others' feelings.
At seven in the morning, there were no early risers exercising, no dog walkers, no one out buying groceries, no one grabbing breakfast, and no hurried commuters.
Under the Wisteria trellis, I held my Suona and began to play.
The sound of the Suona was crisp and bright, like a lonely phoenix singing high in the sky, its voice echoing through the clouds. As the melody progressed, it seemed that other birds were also drawn in, joining this wonderful musical feast.
In an instant, a hundred birds were chirping together in a harmonious chorus. My fingers moved swiftly over the sound holes, producing short and cheerful notes as if the birds were dancing and playing. The various bird calls intertwined—some clear and melodious, others soft and lingering; some high-pitched and passionate, others deep and resonant—creating a vivid scene reminiscent of ‘Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix.’
I wasn’t sure if it was just my imagination, but I thought I heard many windows opening.
At that moment, I closed my eyes.
I felt as if I were standing center stage with countless gazes focused on me. I became even more inspired as I played the climactic section with fervor and intensity, like waves crashing against the shore with great momentum. It felt as though thousands of birds were singing simultaneously.
“Cough cough cough…”
The sudden sound of coughing jolted me from my reverie.
The Guard Uncle stood behind me clapping his hands.
One person’s applause can easily be misinterpreted as approval or mockery.
“You’re brave to live here alone!” he remarked. “But playing this piece here isn’t appropriate.”
I ignored him. "What do you know, old man?"
"Your breath control and pitch rhythm are good, but you can't express joy, warmth, and harmony..."
Was he challenging my expertise? For twenty years, apart from my grandfather, no one had pointed out any flaws in my performance on the Suona for this piece!
"Sir, why don't you demonstrate a section for me to learn from?" The expression on my face must have been what they call a "smile that doesn't reach the eyes," humble in words but disdainful in gaze.
"I can't do that," he replied innocently.
I packed my things and went upstairs, not even leaving him a single puff of smoke. In a huff, I shut the door and windows tightly, lying on my bed with the covers pulled over my head.
What a world it is—so many different kinds of people!
I had started secretly practicing my grandfather's Suona at the age of three. By five, I could play dozens of complete pieces, and by eight, I was showcasing my skills at funerals within miles around with my grandfather. The county television station had aired footage of me receiving thunderous applause at a village fair, and the City Newspaper's Cultural Section had dedicated half a page to me. And now this gatekeeper who knows nothing dares to say there are flaws in my playing!
It's laughable—truly laughable!
I spent the entire day in a bad mood. Before I knew it, night had fallen, and only my light was on in the entire neighborhood.
Are locusts supposed to stop farming just because they sing?
After calming down, I placed the Suona to my lips once more. Outside was silent. Only from my window did the melodies of humanity emerge.
After playing three continuous rounds, my head began to spin. Where was the joy, warmth, and harmony I wanted to express? It seemed like there was none! My playing was indeed "pleasant," but it felt limited to just that—pleasantness!
I wasn't afraid of discovering my shortcomings; I feared knowing I had them without any way to improve! After splashing some water on my face in the bathroom to steady myself, I returned to the window and raised the Suona again.
It still doesn't work!
The birds leap and frolic, their various calls intertwining—some are crisp and pleasant, others melodious and lingering, some are high-pitched and passionate, while others are deep and resonant...
Yet there is none of that heartwarming, joyful rhythm.
I feel like I'm going crazy.
The old man at the gate is nothing but a nuisance.
I tossed the Suona aside and went to bed.
In my dreams, Grandpa sat at the Percussion Instrument table outside the Spirit Pavilion, the sound of the Suona rising like a lament, as if it were telling the tales of human joys and sorrows.
Beneath the Spirit Pavilion, not only did devoted sons and daughters weep bitterly, but even the onlookers wiped away their tears.
The image of Grandpa playing "Hundred Birds Paying Homage to the Phoenix" was somewhat hazy.
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