A piano teacher asked me which song I was working on. I showed her the notation. She asked what language it was, and I said it was Mandarin Chinese, but written in the Wade–Giles romanization system. She then asked the name of the song. I answered, “Secret Fragrance.” “Sha Baoliang’s?” she asked. “Jiang Kui’s.” “Such an old song,” she said. “From the Southern Song dynasty.” Indeed. Every single winter, I can’t help myself from reciting Jiang Kui’s “Secret Fragrance.” “I sigh that the road is too long to send a blossom, and the evening snow begins to pile up.” She asked what instrument he had originally composed it for. I said, “The xiao flute.” “Jiang Kui was truly talented,” she said. “But it’s rare for someone as young as you to admire him so much.” “You can’t fully understand his lyrics,” I said, “unless you’ve experienced the life of an unemployed wanderer.” “He Xun now is gradually aging, And entirely forgets the lyric brush inspired by the spring wind.” Then she played another score that Jiang Kui had rediscovered (Nishang Zhongxu Diyi). I especially love the lyrics to this one, which he wrote when he was nearing his end. However, this classical music had seriously declined.