He hung it on the wall beside his bed, like an artwork. It gradually became an abstract piece that seemed untouchable to him.
It was not just an ordinary Er hu. It made him wonder why there was so unreasonable an abandonment of a unique thing that the beggar had used for making a living. It was the dark magic that awakened a passion in him, a passion that had once lived in his hideous past but was now locked behind his life. It evoked an obscure anger that had been sleeping in his memory. It not only reminded him of his own long lost Er hu but was a solace to him. After all, it was his favorite musical instrument that he could enjoy playing with his eyes closed, and he had encountered one strangely, where his native soil was cut away from his feet.