Thousands of miles from America, in eastern China, lies a city called Yangzhou, neither especially large nor especially small.
It has a history stretching back some 2,500 years. It stands near the Yangtze River, with the Grand Canal running through the city. Here is a street that has been bustling for centuries: Dongguan Street.
For a moment, imagine walking here with me. We turn from the street into an alley and slowly make our way inward. The bustle recedes behind us. Even our footsteps grow softer.
29 Jiandao Lane.
Today, this is the Mei Yueqiang Memorial Hall. Standing at the doorway, it feels as though a thread of qin music still reaches us from another time.
In 1991, Mei Yueqiang came to Jiandao Lane and bought two rooms. His studio, Yiyun Zhai, found a home in Yangzhou. The music had somewhere to settle.
He taught the qin here. A demonstration, another attempt; a piece passing from the teacher’s hands to a student’s. The rooms were small. Within them, Yangzhou’s qin tradition found renewed continuity.
He was the father of my teacher, Mei Shijun. To me, his name belongs not only to music history, but also to the finger movements I have learned and the phrases I have played.
We stand in the alley today, yet seem to hear something of the past. The man is gone. A trace of his music remains.
Our story of Yangzhou begins here.
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