A couple of days ago, I played a piece of music titled "Moon Reflected on the Second Spring," composed by Hua Yanjun. While the piece was originally written for the Erhu—a Chinese two-stringed fiddle, I played it on the xiao.
The composer, Hua Yanjun, was the illegitimate son of a Taoist abbot and the wife of a rich man. Abandoned by his mother’s family, he was raised and trained in music by his biological father, who kept their true relationship a secret from everyone—including Hua Yanjun himself—until just before his father’s death. Shortly after his father passed away, Hua Yanjun became the temple's abbot. However, he later contracted sexually transmitted infections from frequenting prostitutes, which severely damaged his vision and eventually left him blind. Later he turned to begging and busking on the streets every day.
Originally, this musical masterpiece had no title; the composer simply described it as a reflection of his inner mind. Because of the immense hardships he endured, most listeners believe the music expresses a profound sadness. I look at it differently — he’s in fact using music to pursuit the inner calmness that countered life's chaotic disturbances.
Ultimately, once the mind finds true peace, the weight of all suffering fades into nothingness.
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