At three in the afternoon, the temperature at Yuyuan was around 24°C (75°F). There was a sweetness in the air, drifting from the osmanthus blossoms across the city.
The humid heat of summer had receded, and maple leaves were turning red. October is one of the most comfortable times of year in many parts of the Northern Hemisphere. In Nanjing, a city of hills, water, and gardens, it is particularly pleasant.
On Sunday, October 11, 2026, we gathered at Yuyuan Silk Society (愚园丝社), spending the afternoon talking about the qin, playing, and listening in Qiushui Jianjia Hall (秋水蒹葭馆).
Beyond the wooden window, maple leaves were taking on autumn colors. Inside, there was tea and qin music.
Autumn beyond the wooden window, Yuyuan, October 11, 2026.
Before playing, we often talk about the instrument. That afternoon, Xue Guoan spoke about his historical research into the Jinling school, bringing his study of its history to the qin table. We listened to the scholarship before listening to the music.
I introduced the background of Xiao Xiang Shui Yun (Clouds and Waters of the Xiao and Xiang Rivers). I also questioned an assumption that, in my view, deserves reconsideration: that a fast performance is the only correct way to understand the piece. Speed can be one expressive choice, but it should not be the sole measure of an interpretation.
Speaking of clouds and water, I found an echo between the landscape of the piece and the garden before us.
I imagined the waters and clouds of Xiao and Xiang centuries ago, then looked at the water and reflections of clouds at Yuyuan today. The light still shimmers; the clouds still move with the ripples. The world has changed, and the people of those earlier times are gone. Yet people in different ages can still encounter that landscape through the sound of the qin.
Playing and listening together at Qiushui Jianjia Hall.
The afternoon's program drew on different score collections and lines of transmission:
- Xie Kunfang: Wu Ye Wu Qiu Feng (Wutong Leaves Dancing in the Autumn Wind), transmitted by Liu Shaochun and compiled by Liu Zhengchun.
- Xue Guoan: Yang Guan San Die (Three Refrains at Yang Pass), following Mei Yueqiang's Yiyunzhai Qinpu.
- Guo Simiao: Yi Gu Ren (Remembering an Old Friend), following the version in Jinyu Qinkan.
- Hongni: Yu Qiao Wen Da (Dialogue Between the Fisherman and the Woodcutter), following Qinxue Rumen.
- Liu Su: Huo Lin (The Capture of the Qilin), reconstructed by Liu Su from Shenqi Mipu.
- Wei Xu (William): Xiao Xiang Shui Yun, following Ziyuantang Qinpu.
These sources tell us something of each piece's journey. Sitting together, we heard not only different compositions, but different players' understanding of their sound.
Liu Su's Huo Lin came from his own dapu work on Shenqi Mipu. Dapu involves studying the finger techniques and positions recorded in historical notation, exploring them through playing, and shaping rhythm and phrasing so that the written record becomes music we can hear today.
But the afternoon was not all serious research and performance.
When it was my turn to play Xiao Xiang Shui Yun, the third string had loosened. I smiled and apologized:
“It seems the tuning peg wants to loosen up, too.”
We had come to relax. The qin had joined in.
This is one way we spend a weekend.
We each have our own busy lives. Here, we can set unfinished tasks aside for a while. Drink tea, talk, listen to a friend explain qin history, hear a piece, and look at the maple leaves outside. Attention finds somewhere else to go. The mind need not keep circling its daily affairs.
If you feel like playing, play a piece. If you feel like listening, sit and listen.
Rest does not always mean doing nothing. Spending time on something we enjoy, with familiar friends and sounds we love, can be a way of renewing ourselves. Talking seriously about music and playing attentively need not conflict with a relaxed afternoon.
A glimpse of the room: warm light, wooden beams, calligraphy, and tea ware.
Autumn outside, tea among friends. The afternoon had found its place.
When the gathering ended, we stepped out of Qiushui Jianjia Hall. Visitors were still passing through the garden, their voices and laughter filling the air.
The sun was sinking toward the west. By the time we reached Hongchu Xiang (红厨巷), a restaurant serving Weiyang cuisine, diners were beginning to take their seats. The warmth of everyday life met us at the door.
A moment ago, qin music. Now, the aroma of dinner.
Art and everyday life are not so far apart.
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