Ji Qingwu lowered her gaze, her eyes falling on the guqin in a corner by the tea table.
She mulled over what Old Mrs. Wei had just said. 'Wei Ting is like his father? In what way?'
'What happened back then? What did Old Mrs. Wei regret?'
Silence lingered in the tea room for a long moment.
"This was Ting'er's mother's zither."
Old Mrs. Wei had already composed herself, and her voice was now devoid of emotion.
Ji Qingwu had already examined the instrument closely.
The strings were a little loose, but the body of the zither was in excellent condition. The lacquer was bright and glossy, without a speck of dust. It had clearly been wiped often, yet there were no water stains. Anyone could see it had been lovingly cared for.
'When Wei Ting's mother was alive,' Ji Qingwu mused, 'she must have been cherished, just like this zither.'
Old Mrs. Wei said, "In the past, even when Ting'er was away on military campaigns, he insisted on keeping it by his side."
