Before we speak of Liu Shaochun, we should speak of a qin.
Its name was Longyin — “Dragon’s Voice.”
Liu Shaochun was Mei Yueqiang’s fifth teacher, and, in Mei’s life, the most important of them. He was not simply another master added to a long list. He was the teacher through whom Mei entered the deepest part of his Guangling learning.
In his later years, Mei Yueqiang went to his teacher’s native place to teach the qin. It was his way of answering a lifetime of instruction: not with words, but by allowing the music to continue.
A Song-Dynasty Qin in the Luoxia Form
Longyin is a Song-dynasty qin in the Luoxia form. It had already passed through several hands before it came into Liu Shaochun’s possession. Like many old qins, its history is not a straight line. It is a trail of encounters, separations, and returns.
In the beginning, the qin was acquired in Xin’an by Shen Xingyuan of ancient Yue. It later belonged to Xu Zhuoqing of Xiuning.
After that, the Yangzhou monk Guangxia carried it to two important qin gatherings: the Yiyuan gathering in Gusu, and the Chenfeng Studio gathering in Shanghai. There he played Three Variations on the Plum Blossom Theme and Longxiang Cao.
From that time onward, Longyin’s reputation began to rise. Its name travelled through the qin world before its body travelled any farther.
One Performance, One Name
In the summer of 1936, the Jinyu Qin Society gathered qin players from Jiangsu, Zhejiang, and Shanghai to celebrate the eightieth birthday of Li Zizhao.
Liu Shaochun brought Longyin to the gathering and played Qiao Ge, “The Woodcutter’s Song.” One piece was enough to make his name known. By then, Longyin had already become his qin.
This is where the history of the instrument and the history of the master meet.
Before Liu, Longyin had been carried by Shen Xingyuan, Xu Zhuoqing, and Guangxia. In Liu’s hands, however, it acquired a new musical identity. The qin did not make Liu famous by itself. Liu gave the qin another life in sound.
From then on, to speak of Longyin was also to remember Liu Shaochun playing Qiao Ge.
The Qin Changes Hands Again
The following year, Longyin was purchased by Shen Qinkan of Xiaoshan, known by his style name Caonong. He paid a generous price for it and cherished it deeply. He named his studio Zhenxiage, “The Pavilion of Cherished Rosy Clouds.”
He also wrote a poem:
Through the bond between things and self, I awaken to this floating life;
Once I hear “Dragon’s Voice,” the whole room leans toward it.
May we cherish it together beneath the old blue felt;
Though our hair is white, may we still play its long and lucid sound.
Do not be surprised that no instrument has one permanent master;
To love the old is not to follow fame.
It is enough to know that something beautiful lives within it;
For that reason alone, I dust it and try its new voice.
The poem understands a truth that collectors often forget: a qin may belong to someone for a time, but it belongs to no one forever.
“Do not be surprised that no instrument has one permanent master.” In the years ahead, those words would prove prophetic.
Forty Years of Silence
In his later years, Shen Qinkan grew old and could no longer play. He died in 1973. Longyin then passed into the keeping of his cousin, Wu Hanchu.
For approximately forty years, the qin remained with the Wu family.
It would be easy to call those decades a period of silence. But silence is not disappearance. An old qin may go unplayed and still remain alive in memory. It can rest inside a family as an object of care, waiting for someone to understand what it carries.
The Return to Liu Shaochun’s Lineage
In the autumn of 2020, Tao Yi, a younger descendant of Liu Shaochun’s family, completed the work of establishing and caring for the Liu Shaochun Memorial Hall.
The descendants of the Wu family were moved by his sincerity. They brought Longyin out and presented it to him.
After more than forty years away, the qin returned to the lineage of Liu Shaochun.
Those who heard the story praised the descendants of the Wu family for preserving an old spirit of honor, rare in the present age. Their act added another beautiful page to the history of the qin. This was not an ordinary sale, nor a transaction made for profit. It was a return made possible by trust.
Longyin had once moved from musician to musician because people wished to possess its sound. In 2020, it moved again because someone believed that its rightful place was not simply with the highest bidder, but with the lineage to which its most famous voice belonged.
The Qin That Came Home
A qin can outlive its maker. It can outlive the player who made its name. It can disappear into a family collection and emerge decades later, carrying every hand that protected it.
Longyin is therefore not only the story of a Song-dynasty instrument. It is the story of memory moving through an object.
For Liu Shaochun, a qin was never merely an antique. For Mei Yueqiang, Liu was never merely another teacher. The music had to be received, practiced, and passed on. That is why, late in life, Mei went to his teacher’s native place to teach the qin. A student returned to the source, not to collect the past, but to make it live again.
A qin can leave a family, wander through the world, and still find its way home.
Longyin did exactly that.
About Xue Guoan
This article is translated and lightly adapted from an original Chinese essay by Xue Guoan, a Nanjing writer, qin historian, and qin player. The English translation is by William Xu.
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