Wen Ruchun, a native of Shaanxi, hailed from a distinguished family. He possessed an intense passion for the qin, dedicating himself to its study day and night with tireless diligence. One day, Wen Ruchun traveled to Shanxi on official business. Passing an ancient temple, he tethered his horse outside and went in to rest. Inside, an elderly Daoist priest, clad in a simple robe, sat recuperating in the corridor, his staff leaning against the wall, a yaoqin placed before him.

Upon suddenly spotting the yaoqin, Wen Ruchun was overjoyed. "Does the venerable Daoist master also excel in this art?" he inquired.

The Daoist replied, "While I wouldn't claim mastery, I have gleaned some understanding. I would be pleased to exchange notes with the young master." As he spoke, he picked up the yaoqin and offered it to Wen, saying, "Please favor me with a demonstration."

Wen Ruchun took the instrument, stroking its surface; the touch was smooth, warm as jade. Concentrating, he observed the exquisite grain of the qin—it was clearly a rare treasure. Delighted by this discovery, his excitement spurred him to immediately play a piece. The melody that flowed out was exceptionally clear and resonant, betraying profound skill.

The Daoist listened intently, a faint smile playing on his lips, though his expression hinted at a subtle disappointment. Unconvinced, Wen Ruchun poured all his ability into the performance, playing with unrestrained passion. When the piece concluded, the Daoist offered no explicit praise, merely stating coolly, "The young master's skill is commendable, but it is not yet sufficient to instruct this humble monk."

Seeing the Daoist's self-assuredness, Wen Ruchun felt a surge of displeasure and scoffed, "Since the Daoist master is so confident, you must surely be a virtuoso of the qin. Would you perhaps play a piece and enlighten this humble junior?"

The Daoist readily agreed. His fingers danced across the strings, and the resulting music surged and flowed, penetrating the very depths of the listener's soul. The initial notes felt like a spring breeze against the face, followed by a gathering of a hundred birds, flocking in a sudden rush. Wen Ruchun was struck dumb with awe and admiration, utterly humbled by the Daoist's artistry. Overcome with sincere respect, the idea of becoming his disciple took root. He immediately bowed low, imploring the master to share his profound insights. After a moment of contemplation, the Daoist nodded his assent, personally instructing Wen in the intricacies of the qin, answering every question and emptying his entire store of knowledge.

Several days later, Wen Ruchun's skill had advanced remarkably. The Daoist instructed him to play. When the final note faded, the master remarked, "With such skill, there is no equal left in the world." With those words, he vanished without a trace.

From that day forward, Wen Ruchun devoted himself meticulously to the Way of the qin. Blessed with exceptional natural talent and driven by rigorous discipline, his proficiency soared within ten days, becoming virtually unmatched.

Months later, Wen Ruchun completed his assignment and began the journey home. When he was still dozens of li from his village, night had fallen, and a torrential downpour began, leaving him nowhere to seek shelter. Looking around desperately, he spotted a small hamlet by the roadside and rushed towards it, seeking lodging. In his haste, he failed to distinguish the proper entrances and hastily slipped through an unmarked wooden door.

Entering the main hall, he found no one and felt a rising sense of unease. Suddenly, a young woman emerged from an inner room, appearing about seventeen or eighteen, beautiful as an immortal. She looked up and gasped upon seeing him—a stranger’s visit was utterly unexpected. Startled and alarmed, she swiftly retreated.

Wen Ruchun, unmarried at the time, found his heart stirred by the sight of the beautiful woman, his emotions surging uncontrollably. Just as he was lost in thought, he heard footsteps, and an old woman walked out slowly, inquiring, "Who is there?"

Wen Ruchun announced his name and politely requested shelter. The old woman replied, "Lodging is no problem, but we are short on beds; you will have to sleep on a straw mat. If you don't mind, please stay." As she spoke, she lit a lamp and retrieved straw, spreading it on the floor. Wen Ruchun glanced briefly at the bedding; it was damp, thoroughly soaked by the rain, causing him to subtly frown.

The old woman invited him to sit, and they exchanged polite small talk. Wen Ruchun asked, "Madam, what is your family name?"

The old woman answered, "My name is Zhao."

"And who was that young lady just now?" Wen Ruchun inquired.

"That is Huan'niang; she is my daughter."

Wen Ruchun continued, "Your daughter is as beautiful as a celestial being. I dare to presume upon your good nature to propose marriage between us. What are your thoughts, Madam?"

The old woman frowned. "I fear I cannot agree."

Wen Ruchun pressed, "Why not?"

The old woman retorted, "Ask no more. Simply put, it cannot be." With that, she swept out of the room.

After the old woman left, Wen was alone again, accompanied only by the lonely lamp, feeling profoundly desolate. Outside, the rain pattered steadily, and the wind howled fiercely. In this atmosphere, sleep was impossible.

Wen Ruchun sat up straight, placed his qin across his lap, and began to play, drawing the strings to dispel his loneliness. The music was clear and sustained; even against the roar of the storm, it sounded firm and vibrant, audible within the four walls.

Presently, the rain subsided. Wen Ruchun stood, packed his qin, and departed into the night.

In the county town lived a retired official named Ge, who cherished scholars and artists. Wen Ruchun occasionally visited the Ge residence, where he was invited to play the qin. Faintly, someone could be heard listening from behind a curtain. A slight breeze lifted the beaded drape, revealing a young maiden inside, perhaps fifteen or sixteen years old, unmatched in beauty.

This girl was none other than the daughter of Magistrate Ge, known affectionately as Liang'gong. She was accomplished in poetry and prose, her reputation for talent and beauty renowned far and wide. The moment Wen Ruchun saw her, his heart stirred. Upon returning home, he spoke to his mother about the matter and asked her to arrange a matchmaker. The matchmaker visited the Ge residence, but Magistrate Ge, disapproving of Wen's poverty, remained unmoved and flatly refused the proposal.

Liang'gong, having heard Wen’s qin playing, had developed a deep affection for him and constantly hoped for another meeting. But fate intervened; after Wen's marriage proposal was rebuffed, he grew disheartened and ceased visiting altogether.

One day, Liang'gong found a letter in the garden. Inscribed upon it was a lyric poem titled Sorrowing for the Spring: "Hatred turns to obsession, leading to ceaseless yearning; every day I am maddened by love. The crabapple is drunken, the willow mourns the spring—both hearts share the same affliction. So much new sorrow piles upon old, yet no sooner cleared than it sprouts anew, just like green grass. Since we parted, I exist only in this realm of despair, enduring day and night. Today my spring brows are furrowed, my gaze pierces the autumn water, thinking I have already resolved to give up! The bridal quilt fuels jealous dreams, the water clock startles the soul—how can I sleep well? Let alone saying the long night equals a year; to me, one year seems shorter than a watch period: after the third watch, it is already three years, and who among us does not age?" The poem’s sentiment was one of deep melancholy, the brushstrokes brimming with longing.

When Liang'gong read these words, they resonated deeply with her own feelings. She recited the verse repeatedly, her heart overcome with emotion. She tucked the letter into her bosom and returned to her chamber. Several days later, the letter vanished. Liang'gong thought, "Perhaps the wind carried it away," and paid it no further mind.

Coincidentally, Magistrate Ge passed by the doorway and picked up the discarded letter, unfolding it to read. After only a few lines, his brow furrowed deeply. He mused, "This daughter of mine, Liang'gong, truly has no sense of shame, to write such wanton prose. Ah, a maiden's burgeoning feelings—utterly senseless." With this thought, he resolved to secure a husband for his daughter quickly, to prevent her from dwelling on such fantasies.

The news was spread, and suitors flocked to the house without end. Handsome, talented young men eagerly presented themselves. Among them was a man surnamed Liu, the son of Governor Liu from the neighboring county. He was exceptionally handsome and came from a prominent family. Magistrate Ge was extremely pleased upon meeting him. He hosted a banquet in Liu’s honor. During the meal, Young Master Liu conversed with elegance, greatly winning the magistrate's favor.

When the feast concluded, Young Master Liu rose to depart, but suddenly, with a sharp pa, an object fell from his waist, clattering onto the floor—it was a woman's embroidered shoe. Magistrate Ge’s face darkened with displeasure, and he said coldly, "A fine interest you have, Sir, to bring an embroidered shoe along to a meeting. Such romanticism, such taste!" His words were sharp, his anger barely contained.

Young Master Liu vehemently defended himself, crying out that he was being framed. He insisted he was a scholar, not a dissolute rake, and was clearly the victim of a trick. However, no matter how earnestly he pleaded his case, Magistrate Ge would not listen. He waved his hand and commanded, "Guards, escort this guest out." Thus, the possibility of marriage was shattered.

Prior to this incident, Magistrate Ge cultivated a variety of rare green chrysanthemums, a unique strain he guarded secretly, refusing to share them. Liang'gong, fortunately, shared a passion for flowers and cultivated many fine varieties within her own secluded garden.

As it happened, Wen Ruchun was also a fellow enthusiast. His garden was filled with chrysanthemums, blooming profusely in cheerful clusters—delightful to behold. However, his varieties were common, lacking any truly rare or peerless specimens.

One morning, Wen Ruchun opened his window to admire his flowers. For some unknown reason, a transformation swept through his entire garden; all the blossoms turned a vivid emerald green. The green chrysanthemums burst open, their fragrance filling the air. Looking out across the vista, it was as if he stood within a sea of jade.

This event quickly spread. Neighbors and acquaintances learned of it. Magistrate Ge, being a devoted admirer of chrysanthemums, mused, "Green chrysanthemums are certainly an unusual species; I did not know the Wen family possessed any. I must go and see them." He personally called upon Wen Ruchun.

Upon entering the garden, he beheld an astonishing sight: countless green chrysanthemums growing like a forest. Magistrate Ge was overwhelmed with joy, carefully appreciating each bloom, lingering among the flowers, lost in contentment. As he was thus entranced, his foot suddenly snagged on something. He bent down and picked up a letter—it was that very poem, the Sorrowing for the Spring.

Magistrate Ge was consumed by suspicion. "This Sorrowing for the Spring was clearly written by my daughter. How has it ended up here? Could it be... that the little miss has disregarded propriety, secretly meeting with Wen, and their relationship has become intimate?" The thought filled him with both anger and fury. He abandoned his appreciation of the flowers and hurried away.

Returning home, he summoned his daughter, Liang'gong, and severely reprimanded her. Liang'gong, unjustly scolded and bewildered, could only weep, saying, "Daughter has always observed propriety and never acted improperly. Whether Father believes it or not, this is my only statement."

His wife intervened, attempting to soothe him. "My lord, calm your anger. Since matters have come to this, to protect our daughter’s reputation, we might as well marry her to Wen; that would settle everything."

Magistrate Ge sighed deeply. "It seems there is no other way. Yet, I, a former Magistrate, must marry my daughter off to a mere commoner. It is a slight to her." He immediately selected an auspicious date and sent his daughter to be married.

Wen Ruchun was beyond delighted to take Liang'gong as his wife. On their wedding day, a grand feast was held, entertaining guests until late into the night. The couple retired to bed, but suddenly, from the study, the sound of a qin could be heard. The melody was dry and awkward, clearly the work of a novice struggling with the fundamentals.

They quickly donned robes to investigate, lighting candles. The study was empty, not a soul in sight. Yet, the gentle sound of the qin still resonated in their ears—how could this be explained?

Wen Ruchun pondered for a moment, muttering, "Could it be a fox spirit?"

Liang'gong shook her head. "The music is too mournful; this is not a fox spirit, but a lonely soul. I possess a family heirloom—an ancient mirror that can reflect the Three Realms. Whether it is a ghost or a fox, one look will reveal it." Saying this, she produced a bronze mirror. With a flick of her wrist, as the light flashed, the image of a woman appeared.

The woman wore a white gown, her unbound hair drifting gracefully. Wen Ruchun stared intently, startled yet joyful, crying out, "It is you?" The woman was none other than Huan'niang, whom he had met that day when seeking shelter from the storm.

Huan'niang’s face flushed with shyness, and she smiled. "It is I. I am surprised you still remember me."

Wen Ruchun asked, "Who exactly are you, young lady, and how did you come to be here?"

Huan'niang replied, flushing, "I sincerely tried to bring you two together, and you offer no thanks? The moment you see me, you interrogate my origins. Is this how you treat a matchmaker?"

Wen Ruchun looked confused. "Matchmaker?"

Seeing his genuine bewilderment, Huan'niang laughed. "Let me tell you the truth. I was the daughter of a Provincial Governor, and I died a century ago. I loved the qin and zheng since childhood, a passion that did not cease with death. When I heard the young master playing that day, I was captivated by the exquisite sound and deeply drawn to it. However, the boundaries between the living and the dead are vast, and I dared not presume. I secretly sought a suitable partner for you to repay the kindness of your music. Young Master Liu’s embroidered shoe and the verses of the Sorrowing for the Spring—all were my doing."

Hearing this, Wen Ruchun was sincerely grateful and offered repeated thanks.

Huan'niang then said, "The young master's qin skill is superb, but observing from afar, I could not grasp its deepest essence. I dare to ask you to be my teacher—you must not refuse."

Wen Ruchun replied, "You wish to study the qin with me? That is easily done. I promise to teach you everything I know without reservation." He immediately took up his instrument, pressed the strings, and taught her with care. Huan'niang possessed keen intelligence and grasped the lessons instantly. After several days, her skill had vastly improved, and she had mastered the true spirit of the music. She smiled and said, "It is done; I am ready to graduate." She rose as if to depart.

Wen Ruchun felt reluctant to see her go and asked, "Are you leaving?"

Huan'niang replied, "Yes. Parting and reunion are natural states; there is no need to grieve."

Wen Ruchun remained silent, turning to look at his wife, subtly asking her to stay the spirit. Liang'gong understood and persuaded her, "Sister, please do not leave. I am not an envious woman. In ancient times, Empress Ehuang and Lady Nüying shared one husband; though I am humble, I wish to emulate the ancients."

Huan'niang smiled gently. "Sister’s kindness is appreciated, but I must decline. The paths of the living and the dead are separate; forcing our proximity would harm both your bodies. You must not be willful." She paused, smiled faintly, and continued, "This parting is final. Before I go, allow me to play a gu zheng tune for you, sister, so you may judge it." She adjusted the strings, composed a melody, and played an ancient air whose rhythm was ethereal and utterly soul-stirring—a masterpiece unmatched in heaven or earth.

When the piece concluded, Huan'niang stepped away to bid farewell, saying, "Sister, your nature is kind; you will surely receive blessings. May you two enjoy marital harmony, bound together in heart for all lifetimes." From her sleeve, she produced a scroll painting and handed it to Wen. "This is my likeness. If you do not forget our acquaintance, you may hang it in your bedroom. In moments of happiness, light a stick of incense, play a piece on the qin, and though I dwell in the netherworld, I will feel it as if I were present." She stepped out and vanished, lost to sight.