Few people would ever choose to accumulate all their pressing tasks until the last minute, only to clear them all at once, leaving the remaining time blissfully free. Thus, everyone watched Elder Hou's smug display of benefit with intense envy, jealousy, and resentment.

The water had boiled by then, meaning the delicate act of preparing the tea could no longer be fully automated.

Of course, for some, the brewing process itself was a rare delight. Automation would ruin the beauty of it all. After all, plunging fresh, tender tea leaves into boiling water, watching them dance and swirl within the pot as waves of fragrant steam wafted up—a scent that was both sharp and refreshing—offered a pure, inherent joy.

At least, that was how Elder Hou felt. Tea preparation and tasting were his dedicated time for mental resetting and relaxation; he always handled it personally, never delegating the task.

This time was no exception. After brewing, Elder Hou poured a cup for each guest and smiled. “Taste this. It’s wild tea from the mountains around Hanzhong. It might not be famous, but it possesses a unique flavor all its own.”

Wang Guan and the others nodded slightly, raising their cups to take small sips. As the tea touched their palates, everyone instinctively frowned—a sharp bitterness washed over them, leaving them unprepared. Yet, no one spat it out; they swallowed instead. But moments later, the lingering flavor on their taste buds suddenly transformed into a deep, mellow sweetness, causing their furrowed brows to relax unconsciously.

Just then, Elder Hou chuckled softly. “How about that? I didn’t lie to you, did I? The taste of this tea: bitter first, sweet later. Quite good.”

“It is very good…”

They savored the aftertaste, admitting Elder Hou was correct. However, after that initial shock, no one dared take a second sip immediately. The bitterness was simply too intense, nearly numbing their tongues. Even the subsequent sweetness couldn't entirely mask that initial harshness. Most people harbored a slight psychological block against willingly inviting such an ordeal upon themselves.

Yu Feibai was one of them. After licking his lips, he decided to let the flavor settle. He carefully placed his cup onto the tray held steady by the slender hand of an attendant maiden. Finding this display utterly fascinating, he couldn't help but laugh. “Elder Hou, I recall a passage in Romance of the Three Kingdoms—when Zhuge Liang hosted Lu Su, didn't a mechanical figure emerge to offer wine?”

“Did it?” Elder Hou paused in thought, then admitted frankly with a smile, “I’ve forgotten. But there certainly must be a precedent. I’ve seen things like it before, and this was made by imitating the model.”

“Can you make one for me?” Yu Feibai asked hopefully, utterly devoid of ceremony.

“Certainly.”

Elder Hou agreed readily, then smiled again. “No need to make a new one. I have an extra one lying around. If you like it, just take it with you when you leave.”

“Ah, thank you, Elder Hou!” Yu Feibai felt a surge of pleasant surprise, which also filled Wang Guan and Fang Mingsheng with envy. They had entertained the same thought but hadn't dared ask. This just proved that in this society, the thick-skinned often reap the greater rewards.

In high spirits, Yu Feibai no longer feared the tea’s bitterness. He raised his cup slightly toward Elder Hou in acknowledgment and downed the entire serving with a grimace. Seeing him stick out his tongue in a manner utterly unconcerned with appearances, Wang Guan and Fang Mingsheng immediately felt much more balanced.

Just then, a young man knocked lightly at the door outside and called softly, “Elder Hou.”

“Xiao Qin, what is it?” Elder Hou looked up and immediately beckoned him over. “Finished with your work? Come in, have some tea, and I’ll introduce you to a few people.”

“…Alright.” Xiao Qin hesitated briefly before entering with a bright smile.

After the introductions, everyone exchanged names and became acquainted. At the very least, Wang Guan and the others learned Xiao Qin’s status: one of Elder Hou’s apprentices, an Associate Researcher at the institute, with good prospects of becoming a full Researcher soon.

Of course, that didn't mean Associate Researchers were temporary staff. In fact, they were the backbone of the institute.

Generally, full Researchers like Elder Hou only stepped in for truly critical matters; otherwise, their role was advisory. This wasn't laziness, but rather the established custom: if they handled everything, the younger generation would never gain the necessary training or accumulate sufficient jīngyàn (experience). There was no such thing as wanting experience without putting in the labor.

After some pleasantries, Elder Hou, whose perception was keen, saw that Xiao Qin likely had business with him. He cut straight to the point. “Are you still working on the Yú Fán zhī Lè Zhāo Huá zhī Guǎn? How is the progress?”

“It’s repaired, but we ran into a small issue,” Xiao Qin said quietly, sounding somewhat hesitant.

“What issue?” Elder Hou asked casually.

“It’s just…”

Xiao Qin scratched his head in frustration, unsure how to explain. While he struggled for words, Yu Feibai, intrigued, asked immediately, “Elder Hou, what exactly is the Yú Fán zhī Lè Zhāo Huá zhī Guǎn?”

“That’s hard to say, because the item hasn't been officially named yet,” Elder Hou mused, then suddenly smiled. “I’ll take you all over to see it. Once you see it, you’ll understand what it is.”

“That would be wonderful.”

Wang Guan and the others certainly weren't going to refuse. They followed Elder Hou out to another room.

Several other people were already in the room. Seeing Elder Hou enter, they all greeted him respectfully. Elder Hou waved them off and bent down to examine the object placed on the floor, asking, “What seems to be the problem?”

As Elder Hou inquired about the issue, Wang Guan and the others looked closely. Spread on the floor were twelve small metal figures, each holding something that resembled a musical instrument. It looked very much like a miniature orchestra.

These twelve metal figures were arranged artfully within a bronze platform. Furthermore, two pipes extended from beneath the platform—one pipe was empty, and the other contained a length of rope whose exact function was unclear.

At first glance, the object appeared mottled, bearing the patina of long years; it had clearly endured the ravages of time without succumbing to decay, suggesting good fortune.

Wang Guan looked closer and noticed faint inscriptions near the openings of the two pipes. Although the characters were blurred and too distant to read clearly, he surmised that one pipe likely bore the four characters Yú Fán zhī Lè, and the other, naturally, Zhāo Huá zhī Guǎn.

“Elder Hou, the device is repaired, but it won’t produce any sound,” Xiao Qin reported, frowning. “We checked it meticulously, but we cannot pinpoint where the problem lies.”

“Is that so?”

Elder Hou nodded and gestured. “Take it apart and let’s look.”

Upon hearing this, Xiao Qin and his team quickly set to work, expertly disassembling the bronze platform. Inside, they revealed numerous silk strings, dozens of tiny bells, and neat rows of metallic plates.

Elder Hou then crouched down and lightly plucked one of the silk strings. A clear, melodious tone immediately resonated out.

“What do you think this is?” Yu Feibai nudged Wang Guan and whispered, “It feels like some kind of musical instrument.”

“Yes, very likely,” Wang Guan confirmed. “And one that can play automatically, similar to a modern music box.”

“Not quite that advanced, but close,” Xiao Qin interjected from the side to explain. “See the two pipes? If the mechanism were working normally, one would simply blow into the empty pipe while pulling that rope. Then, the device would sound as if a Qin, Zhu, Sheng, and Yu were playing in unison—the music indistinguishable from that played by living musicians.”

“Did you try that?” Yu Feibai asked curiously.

“We did, but we don’t know where the fault is—it simply won't sound,” Xiao Qin admitted, visibly frustrated. The repair had been their responsibility, and they had handled it independently. They had hoped to showcase their success, but instead, they were back to relying on Elder Hou, which felt like a failure.

Elder Hou examined the tension briefly and then instructed, “The strings are wound too tightly. Too much effort is as bad as too little. If they are too tight, they catch the internal mechanisms, which isn't helpful. Loosen them slightly, and then try again.”

Hearing this, Xiao Qin quickly fetched his tools and made the adjustments exactly as Elder Hou described. His movements were swift; the process took only a few minutes. He then replaced the casing, and without waiting for a second instruction, he began pulling the rope while gently blowing into the empty pipe.

Instantly, a beautiful sound poured forth, and the music seemed to emanate directly from the twelve metal figures on the platform. Elder Hou explained that tiny, hidden apertures were built into these metal figures; they not only produced sound but, being hollow, also acted as resonators, making the resulting tone exceptionally crisp and loud.

“A pity, though,” Elder Hou remarked, shaking his head gently. “There must be a specific pattern to how one blows air and pulls the rope. If that pattern is mastered, it could certainly perform an entire melody.”

“When the artifact was unearthed, it was heavily coated in earth rust. After cleaning, we managed to restore its general appearance. Xiao Qin and his team did well; they studied it for several months and finally brought it back to its original state. The tragedy is that the method of playing has been lost. We can never again experience the grandeur of the High Tang era.”

“High Tang?”

The others might not have cared about Elder Hou’s wistful sigh, but they could not ignore that keyword.

“Indeed, the High Tang,” Elder Hou clarified. “This artifact was excavated from a Tang Dynasty tomb, so we can confirm it is from that period.”

“It’s from the Tang Dynasty? I assumed, like the Ancient Bell of a Thousand Years, it was Ming Dynasty,” Yu Feibai exclaimed, filled with surprise and a touch of regret. As Elder Hou noted, having the object without the instruction manual was inherently incomplete.

Even if they hired master musicians to study it, perhaps they could discern some rules and play modern compositions. But who could guarantee that any rediscovered method would be authentic? And even if the method was correct, it would surely lack the resonance of the grand, ancient music of the Tang Dynasty.

“There is something from the Ming Dynasty as well…”

As he spoke, Elder Hou turned and pointed casually. “Look, that coiled dragon lamp is from the Ming Dynasty.”