THE PATH: CHAPTER 3
Auditory Possession- Sound and sorrow
Long ago, the ancient kingdom of Yelang was a formidable opponent against the Han Empire’s expansion throughout the middle country. Even after several attempts to conquer the southwestern regions of China, the persistent king of Yelang, Mo Yi-Tu managed to keep the Han forces at bay. Due to its remote location, the people of the Yelang Kingdom developed their own culture and language that provided a communication barrier towards the Hans. However, General Li Guang, who commanded the Han army was just as persistent as the Yelang forces. With their well-organized empire, their access to military technology was much greater than that of Yelang, and soon enough the victory of the Han dynasty was coming to completion.
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As the dawn broke over the emerald hills encircling a secluded hamlet of Miao Zhou, the villagers stirred from their slumber and emerged from their dwellings, eager to embrace a new day. This tranquil corner of the Yelang Kingdom was a haven of simplicity and tradition, where the Miao people reveled in their customs with unbridled pride. Every aspect of the village exuded a vibrant reflection of their identity, from the kaleidoscopic threads of embroidery adorning their garments to the piquant fragrance of their renowned hotpot. The tribe's people were well versed in agriculture farming and were well known for producing various items from bronze and porcelain. Here the men and women wore clothing of various colors and patterns, with jewelry made of turquoise and jade.
In this small dwelling of Miao Zhou lived a man named Jiu-Lang. Although he was a poor villager, he was an exceptionally talented musician, and his instrument of choice was nothing more than a single leaf.
For most of his days, Jiu-Lang would pluck a short branch from a bamboo tree, and from the branch, he'd select a soft leaf from the stem, and with the thin blade against his lips, he would whistle a harmonizing tune for his beloved wife --who was mesmerized by the tunes and melodies. The windows of all the villages would be left open during the warm summer nights, allowing the sweet sounds to bring calmness and restful sleep to all the families. Birds would flutter nearby and sing along to the delightful songs as they perched on the roof of Jiu-Lang’s house. The most honoring of all occasions was when the grand master of the Coursing Rhythm Sect, a school that specialized in combat and enchantments through musical instruments would often catch the sound of Jiu-Lang’s melodic leaf whistling.
With each encounter, the grandmaster claimed that Jiu-Lang was the most soulful musician he had ever heard and that none of the disciples of the Coursing Rhythm Sect could reflect their feelings and emotions through the sound of their instruments as well as Jiu-Lang. Seeing such prodigious abilities exhibited, the grand master coerced Jiu-Lang to become a disciple of the Coursing Rhythm Sect many times. But seeing that his livelihood was prioritizing his beloved wife, Jiu-Lang would always decline the offer. To him, the simple lifestyle and the company of his wife were enough to fulfill his contentment.
One day after returning from the mountains, Jiu-Lang found his wife alone in their house. She appeared to be lamenting in a sullen mood. Quickly Jiu Lang realized that his wife was cradling a small bird in her hands. The lifeless body of a tiny swallow lay unmoved in her palms. Its wings fell between her fingers and its delicate head rested lifelessly in her palm.
Jiu-Lang could not help but feel heartbroken at the sight of his miserable wife. He went outside and plucked a reasonable-sized leaf from a bamboo tree, and began whistling a gentle tune. A warmth fluttered into Jiu-Lang’s heart as the music flowed from his lips. It took only a few moments before his mood brightened and so did his wife. Shockingly, amongst Jiu-Lang’s tasteful whistling, the little swallow in his wife’s hand jumped to its feet with a lively vigor. Surprised, Jiu-Lang’s wife also sprang to her feet and called out to Jiu-Lang to show him the energetic bird. But once Jiu-Lang ceased playing his leaf whistle and entered the house, the swallow fell into its deceased slumber. Witnessing a second death of the swallow, his wife shed tears as the small bird slipped out from her hands and onto the ground. Puzzled by her odd behavior, yet saddened to find her in tears, Jiu Lang decided to stay beside his wife and resume playing the leaf whistle. However, this time as he began playing a gentle harmony, he witnessed the little bird rise from its lifeless position.
Eyes growing wide like an owl, Jiu-Lang looked at his wife in amazement as he continued to rest the bamboo leaf against his lips and allowed the whistling tunes to flow about in the small room. His wife was just as amazed as she watched the swallow begin to flutter along with the rhythm of Jiu-Lang’s melody. Standing side by side, the pair watched the swallow flutter out of their bedroom window and into the fields nearby. When the song came to an end, Jiu-Lang turned to see that his wife's gloomy expression was filled with joy.
When the golden sun began to set in the late afternoon, Jiu-Lang went out to gather some water by the nearby river. On his way, he stumbled across a small object along the grass path. He picked it up and realized it was the small bird from earlier. The swallow remained unmoved in his hands and was once again pronounced dead. Tension grew in Jiu-Lang's heart as the unexplainable event left a disturbance in his mind. At this hour the light faded from the sky quickly, Jiu-Lang decided to tend to his errands and leave aside this matter for lingering in the fields in the late evening would lead to troublesome obstacles if he were to return home in the dark. Jiu-Lang quickly wrapped the swallow in a cloth and placed it in his pocket.
The next morning Jiu-Lang rose early and headed to Huang-Yin temple to find the grandmaster of the Coursing-Rhythm sect. It didn't take long until he found the grandmaster at the front entrance sweeping the ashes that had fallen from burnt incense sticks. To his surprise, besides his disciples, the grandmaster did not expect to see any strangers within the temple district so early in the morning, but when he saw that it was Jiu-Lang he felt delighted to encounter the man.
However, when Jiu-Lang entered the courtyard the grandmaster noticed that he had carried a worrisome expression. Jiu-Lang quickly relayed the events that had occurred the day before to the grandmaster, he then enquired if it was possible to bring back dead animals from the sound of music. The grandmaster gave a hearty laugh and told Jiu-Lang that the dead could no longer hear and that it was impossible to bring the deceased to life from the sound of music. Jiu-Lang took out the small cloth from his pocket and unwrapped the swallow inside. He then picked up a small bamboo leaf that had fallen nearby and proceeded to whistle a harmonizing melody. The grandmaster stood silently and listened to Jiu-lang play a spontaneous tune, but his eyes watched the swallow closely.
At first, nothing unordinary was evoked by Jiu-Lang’s music playing. The beginning of the tune was quite mediocre, but after a few moments, the string of notes that passed from Jiu-Lang’s lips soon became a dancing harmony. His heart slowly sunk into each note with a sincere passion and a delicate embrace. It was at that moment that struck the lifeless bird with a spell that caused it to rise to its feet and ascend into the air. It fluttered about as energetically as it did the previous day. The grandmaster flinched when the swallow jolted into the air and landed on his shoulder. When Jiu-Lang felt he had revealed enough of this odd mystery, he removed the leaf from his mouth.
Once the final note left his lips, the swallow collapsed from the grandmaster’s shoulder, and onto the newly swept floor. At first, the grandmaster was struck by amazement, but soon after a lurking fear shrouded his mind. He brought Jiu-Lang to the main meditation hall where the two sat below a statue of the Eastern Heavenly King. Seeing that the grandmaster's delightful smile had turned into a curved bridge and his eyes became narrow with seriousness, Jiu-Lang asked the grandmaster if he had upset him. The grandmaster shook his head and simply asked Jiu-Lang what he imagined when he played the leaf flute. Jiu-Lang told the grandmaster that he imagines various kinds of things whenever he plays music, each time his imagination is different as it varies on his emotions and the sound of the tune that he plays. The grandmaster then asked Jiu-Lang what he was imagining as he played the leaf flute when the swallow bird rose from the cloth onto his shoulder. Jiu-Lang replied that he imagined a joyous moment where he was to peer over the mountains full of swallows flying over his head. The swallow birds were energetic and full of life which naturally led him to play such an energising tune. The grandmaster nodded and just as he had done occasionally in the past acknowledged Jiu-Lang's profound expression of emotion in his music. But what surprised Jiu-Lang was when the grandmaster replied that he hoped that his emotions would always remain joyous and pleasing whenever he played the leaf flute. Jiu-Lang became uncertain of his comment and asked the grandmaster to help him comprehend.
Then the grandmaster explained that music was a divine art in the ancient era. It was believed that music was able to influence the natural world and connect humans with spirits and gods that held dominion over the sounds of the universe. But most importantly music was a rhythmic expression of one's emotion. Strong emotions had the same interconnectedness energy to all things as music did. Like music, it was a language that needed no words. However, the power that emotions yield through music like Jiu-Lang possessed was just as dangerous if they were to be dominated by negative ones such as anger, vengeance, and hostility. Later that evening, the grandmaster and his disciples left Miao Zhou to attend provincial duties in the next city, but before leaving the grandmaster warned Jiu-Lang that it was best not to use music to influence the dead as it was considered a taboo method that resembled the demonic arts of evil spirits and devils. For his own sake and the safety of others, it was best to forbid himself from using such methods. Jiu-Lang complied, but the warning soon made him reluctant to play any music entirely.
As the days passed, the people of Miao Zhou were greeted by the sound of rustling leaves and the cawing of the birds. The evenings were silent with crickets chirping, yet the whistling of Jiu-Lang's leaf flute went unheard. This soon became a concern for the villagers as they began enquiring why Jiu-Lang had not played any songs recently. Many complained that they began to have trouble sleeping at night as some could not rest well without the soothing tunes, while others struggled to calm their crying children at night. Jiu-Lang felt a profound guilt when his wife requested him to play her a song, but each time he politely refused. This dilemma soon caused Jiu-Lang to suffer from insomnia himself, for he knew that it was not the difficulty of playing a tune for the villages, but for him to play the leaf flute without expressing such intense emotion was impossible. In his heart, if he was devoid of emotion whilst playing the leaf flute, it would bring no effect in soothing the troubled feelings of the Miao Zhou villagers.
A week had passed since the grandmaster of the Coursing-Rhythm sect had left Miao Zhou. As for Jiu-lang, his days continued to be disturbed by the needy villagers. To avoid them, he had confined himself to his home and refused to step foot outside. His wife became concerned with his sudden isolation and avoidance. Like any other concerned wife, she began questioning her paranoid husband.
However, one day Jiu-Lang's wife became ill and bedridden, leaving Jiu-Lang no choice but to go out and gather medicine. On the break of dawn, he went into the mountains, during the hours he knew when others would surely succumb to exhaustion. Although it took him until the late afternoon before he finally found the correct medicinal ingredients.
Upon venturing into the wilderness, the tension in Jiu-Lang's mind began to ease and at last, he felt relaxed. With no one around to pester him besides the sound of rustling leaves amidst the gentle wind, Jiu-Lang could not resist the urge to play an eager tune that had tortured him the past few days. He decided to take a rest near several boulders on a hilltop and from his pocket he placed a small leaf to his lips.
As Jiu-Lang peered over at the vast landscape, the mountains and hilltops appeared lush and serene. At this very moment, he felt at peace as the sun began setting in the distant horizon. His body relaxed and his breath was full as the soulful tune whistled to the wind. His mood lightened immediately, as he finally indulged in this joyous moment he dearly longed for. Jiu-lang began to wonder if depriving the villagers of recreational music was appropriate for such a warning given by the grandmaster. If his music provided peace of mind and a soothing sleeping aid to the people of Miao Zhou, what harm could he possibly inflict on them?
In this sea of doubt, Jiu-Lang realized a despairing loneliness inhibited his heart, although he felt at ease to play his leaf flute freely towards the empty plains and mountain. He asked himself, what joy could such delightful music provide if there was no one to listen to its rhythm? For it is like a wandering spirit that goes unnoticed in the lively world. In the end, it seemed as though he had brought nothing but suffering to the villagers and his wife. He felt shameful and distraught. Moreso a fool to turn so cowardly by the words of the grandmasters. Perhaps it was a mistake to enquire about the dead swallow. Even though his music appeared to bring life, he found it most ironic that the man who was most fond of his music was the one to claim his musical talent could foment danger. Was it really all that wicked? The melody of his leaf flute came to a somber end, and in the east, the sound of thunderclouds gathered over the endless plains. Jiu-Lang convinced himself that it was time to cease his cowardice and embrace his passion.
"I must return," he said to himself, "I must return to my wife and the people of Miao Zhou, I shall give them a grand performance, one that will lighten their hearts and ease their minds.
The descent from the mountain came unsettling like the approaching storm. The evening air was infiltrated with the smell of ash, though it seemed reasonable for it was around this time when the villagers would begin to light their stoves for supper and heat water for their baths. But it was the plume of smoke that rose from the direction of Miao Zhou that caught Jiu-Lang’s attention. In a state of panic, he quickly hastened his pace down the mountain path. As the sky darkened, the village in the distance shone an amber glow. The earth trembled to the discerned galloping rhythms of stallion hooves and the sky filled with retreating birds. Jiu-Lang’s legs dashed madly and his arms swung back and forth like a fish’s tail. However by the time he had exhausted his stamina and his limbs had gone numb, a disastrous scene awaited him upon his arrival.
Ember sparks danced above the ablaze buildings, the pilgrims and villagers had been trapped in their homes and burned alive. Small bodies that could only be discerned as children lay scattered onto the fields, while noticeably the feathered tails of relentless arrows protruded from their bodies. While the geese flailed wildly over the roads and the goats bleated madly as they rushed from their crumbling stables. Jiu-Lang was paralyzed when the horror before him intruded into his vision. In the far distance, his eyes spotted a large group of armored men approaching quickly on their fierce horses.
He quickly dove under the rubble debris and prayed to be unnoticed. The men arrived like giants coming to scour the meat off their enemy's bones. Jiu-Lang listened closely under the rubble as the men shouted amongst each other in a language he could only distinguish as Chinese. His eyes remained wide open until the men had finally passed through the main road of Miao Zhou, and as their silhouettes disappeared into the ashen field, their red banners waved like snakes in the wind.
When Jiu-Lang finally reached his house, he immediately entered the disarranged bedroom where had discovered the true horror. A figure fell against a wall stained in fresh blood. The body was beaten, clothes were torn and their skin was severely paled. When he looked closely at the ghostly body he discovered the source of the bleeding came from a laceration on the person's throat. Jiu-Lang's mouth quivered as a magnifying shock buckled his knees to the ground. He trembled as he reached out to hold his wife dearly.
The world outside faded into darkness and the clouds began to drop like stones. Thunder roared continuously in a now-forgotten village, the people's voices had disappeared and the burning houses had been drowned by rain. Yet amid the rampant storm, Jiu-Lang's wailing cries pierced throughout Miao Zhou.
In the depths of sorrow, misery flooded every corner of the heart. However, Jiu-Lang's attention returned when a sudden tightness embraced his arm. Weakly, Jiu-Lang’s wife began to stir as her sunken eyes cracked open. Her spirit had suffered and her strength had waned severely, but she drew every last breath to move her arm upwards. Her shoulder seemed to betray her, though her hand moved just enough for her finger to point in the direction of the wooden shelf settled near the window. When Jiu-Lang realized she was still conscious, he tried to calm his hysteria. He moved his ear close to her mouth but her words were drowned out by the blood pooling in her throat. Without a voice, she continued to desperately point in the same direction. Jiu-Lang's tear-stained eyes followed the path of her finger until they landed on something in the dark room.
A pale flash illuminated the room as lightning struck through the dark clouds. It was in that brief moment of visibility that Jiu-Lang managed to catch a glimpse of a pile of bamboo leaves resting on the wooden shelf. A weak cough left his wife's mouth and at last, her arm fell limply and her eyes sealed shut.
The world outside the house was a cold and vicious nightmare. But nothing felt more like hell than the tragedy in the bedroom. Jiu-Lang carefully lifted his wife and placed her body on the bed. Although, he was convinced that his life had come to the edge of its meaningful path. He still had one final duty that was yet to be fulfilled. Slowly, Jiu-Lang moved to the shelf and plucked a leaf from the tender branch. As he placed the soft leaf to his lips, the thunder began to calm, as though the world had waited long to listen to the voice of a lost soul. It would be the last song. The last song for the ears of Miao Zhou, one that would leave them in an eternal slumber.
The leaf flute cried with anguish as it did in Jiu-Lang's heart. Each note embodied a deep sadness and the lamenting pain embedded in the string of tunes spoke of tragedy that had befallen the people. The tears that dripped from Jiu-Lang’s face were sullen like the crying sky. The golden wheat fields, the dusty roads, and the lively people represented a mundane life he dearly treasured that was now tarnished and destroyed, Jiu-Lang could not bear the loneliness that he had feared on the hilltop, and in his broken heart he cursed the world:
“Amidst the unyielding grip of fate, how can a life that had been brimming with joy and contentment meet an untimely demise of bitter cruelty and sorrow? Such is the hand of my fate, cast by the heavens above, that if it is the harbinger of such calamity to bring despair during the final moments with my only love, then I would rather follow its path to the depths of hell.”
By the time the rain had extinguished the flames of the burning village, the moon had risen, whilst the sun had long set beneath the horizon. Jiu-Lang was a lonesome figure in the quiet and desolate village. Hours passed and yet Jiu-Lang continued to play his leaf flute into the long night. His lungs ached and his lips tired, but he did not stop his musical calamity. He would continue until the souls of the dead no longer starve of his fulfilling melodies.
When the clouds had emptied, the moon was revealed like a single white eye shining above an empty desert. Amongst the sea of doleful emotions, the unpleasant memory of the Han forces crept into Jiu-Lang’s mind. They had taken his world, his purpose, and his love. The grief that consumed him had seeped deep into the marrow of his bones, and his heart was nothing more than a piece of coal that had lost its fire. His soul was buried beneath a mountain of vengeance. Although vengeance could not bring back all that had been taken from him, at least his emotions could receive the retribution they desired. The mirror to the soul came to life as it shone upon Jiu-Lang’s transfixing melody. At first, it came like a gentle breeze, but quickly it was dark and hideous, one that would seize relentless wolves into a shudder.
Outside the house, distant footsteps came from every direction, these steps came in odd rhythms. For some, the ground dragged beneath their feet, while others scurried and tripped upon the gravel. But eventually, the unbalanced steps soon gathered in a unison march. Slowly the bodies of the deceased villagers rose like the flora upon the touch of sunlight. The ending rain had now been replaced with a haunting wind, it was then the air became heavy with a latent pressure sinking upon Miao Zhou, as if one could feel the animosity of the atmosphere by simply breathing. The blinding eye in the sky now appears like a diminishing void in the dark sea. At last, a large crowd had formed outside Jiu-Lang's house, and inside the bedroom where he remained like a beast waiting amongst the shadows, his wife stood beside him.
The lonely caliginous night, quickly transformed into a rageful night hunt. Like a hypnotic spell the piercing melody that contained Jiu-Lang’s animosity, had the power to command the soulless villagers to scavenge the plains and mountains until the Han soldiers were finally discovered camping at a nearby lake.
The moment the soldiers noticed the attacks, it was far too late. The army of ants advanced into the den of a fallen rat. The villages ripped and mauled the soldiers piece by piece, without leaving a single limb intact to their torsos. It was their screams of helplessness that were heard by a group of disciples along with the grandmaster of the Coursing Rhythm Sect. Their return to Miao Zhou came with a shock by the villagers. The eerie melody of Jiu-Lang’s leaf whistle rang loudly, but once the Han troops had been discarded, Jiu-Lang’s melody slowly faded into the wind. The grandmaster and disciples quickly went to investigate the scene. The crowd of villagers had surrounded the area of the horrific sight, and their bodies stood motionlessly in a large circle. In the center, Jiu-Lang sat on the pebble ground, clutching his lifeless wife tightly.
The grandmaster immediately asked Jiu-Lang if he was the one playing the murderous tune. He denied nothing and confessed his crimes. Though his eyes were empty and his body felt hollow, Jiu-Lang could not bear the separation of his wife and requested the grandmaster to kill him. He wanted to join her in the afterlife. Feeling pitiful for Jiu-Lang, the grandmaster was able to decipher the situation. He was not regretful for not returning sooner. But beneath the pity and regret, the grandmaster felt a sense of fear that Jiu-Lang was able to manipulate all the villagers effortlessly.
He ultimately refused Jiu-Lang’s request. Instead, he advised Jiu-Lang to dispose of the leaf in his hand, as the method he had used to kill the soldiers was extremely dangerous, and if he was to continue remunerating within his hateful emotions it could have a calamitous effect on his body and mind.
But the void had already swallowed the poor man into the deepest pit of despair. Jiu-Lang disregarded the words of the grandmaster. When he sensed that no one dared to take his life, he brought forth the leaf to his lips, and the villagers immediately advanced towards the members of the Coursing Rhythm Sec. Panic stirred among the disciples, who quickly drew their swords and laid a fatal blow on Jiu-Lang. Through the provocation the grandmaster saw through the desperate deception, it was clear Jiu-Lang had no intentions of taking their lives but instead pressured the disciples to take his own. The outcome was disastrous as the grandmaster watched Jiu-Lang collapse beside his wife and at last, the villagers were untethered from the sound of the haunting tunes and at last fell into an eternal slumber. When the long night had ended, all that remained was the subtle whistling of a somber melody in the gentle wind.
1*Yelang Kingdom: modern-day western Gui-Zhou province. Before the Han Empire occupied the southwestern region of China, Yelang housed many ethnic tribes that spoke a language that was different from the Han regions. They possessed their own culture and their forces were able to resist the Han army many times before they lost during the battle at Mount Qi. Despite the difference in size and resources, the Yelang army was still a formidable opponent. The Yelang people were known for their military skills, and they had a strong tradition of resisting outside invaders. The Battle of Mount Qi was a fierce and bloody battle that lasted several days, and both sides suffered heavy casualties. However, General Li Guang, who led the Han soldiers, was able to outflank the Yelang army by leading his troops through a difficult mountain pass, catching the Yelang soldiers by surprise. In the end, the Han army was able to emerge victorious, but it was not an easy victory. The Yelang Kingdom continued to resist for several years, and it took the Han Dynasty multiple attempts to conquer and fully integrate the kingdom into their empire. They used a combination of military force, diplomacy, and cultural assimilation to eventually bring the Yelang Kingdom under their control. The Han Dynasty sent officials to the region to establish administrative control and built roads to improve communication and transportation.
2*Miao Zhou: modern-day Leishan country, east of Guizhou Province
3. The Eastern Heavenly king, also so known as Dhṛtarāṣṭra in Sanskrit. He is one of the four heavenly kings that resides in the east direction of heaven or the east gate of heaven. His ancient name 持国天王/Chíguó Tiānwáng represents one who upholds the realm. He protects all beings and carries a stringed instrument, the Pipa.
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