The Zither

Clear water streamed from the high, rocky mountain.

Near the top, a man stood.  He looked about twenty years of age, wearing a silk robe that was scarlet red.  In his country it was supposed to be good luck, but the crimson robe almost seem to glint the color of blood, which made the robe seem more bone-chilling rather than eloquent.  

A mahogany zither was strapped to his back. It let out a calm, fragrant waft of wood that could only come from expensive instruments.

The child servant standing beside the man trembled.  "Master Zhao, should we get back to our mansion?  It is getting cold on top here....."

The man in scarlet raised a hand to silence the boy.  "No.  We shall stay."

The boy looked up, revealing his large, doe-like eyes.  "Master Zhao....why are we up here in the first place?"

Master Zhao smiled.  "You'll know soon."

The boy screamed as Master Zhao hurled himself down the rocky mountain, right at the direction of the waterfall.  

Everything was silent for a while, except for the chirping of crickets.

"Xiu. I'm here."

The serving boy turned around; Master Zhao was there, except he was standing right on the cliff-edge, his foot hooking slightly to the end, his body half-suspended.  

Master Zhao pulled himself up and stood.  He took out his zither and began to play.

After playing three songs, he smiled a sincere smile.

"Xiu, let's go home.  Today we have jasmine tea and wonton soup.  Your favorite. "

Xiu grinned from ear to ear as they set off home.