IN a loose linen dress, 36-year-old Zhu Ying gently puts her hands on the guqin, a seven-stringed ancient Chinese instrument, and plucks the strings as told.

Hearing the profound notes sound in the room, Zhu feels peace filling her chest, which calms and soothes her after a stressful work week.

The human resources manager, who tried the instrument out of curiosity four months ago, is now in love with it. “The feeling of an unimpeded mind while playing is so great,” she says.

The instrument is undergoing somewhat of a renaissance today with many like Zhu, citing the tranquility the melodies bring as the reason for learning how to play.

The guqin has long been revered by ancient scholars but now seems as though it is destined to be a more mainstream instrument.

Its revival is considered to have started in 2003, when it was listed by UNESCO as a world intangible cultural heritage.

Xiang Wei, a guqin teacher at Yixin Shuyuan, (literally “one-heart academy”), a training center providing guqin, tea ceremony, calligraphy and Chinese
chess classes in Shanghai, says the number of people who play the instrument has risen dramatically.

“It is said that there were only about 200 people who could play a guqin in the 1950s,” Xiang says. “Now there are 700,000 to 800,000 across the country either playing or learning the instrument.”

Xiang says she started learning the guzheng, Chinese plucked zither, at the age of 6 and didn’t become attracted to the guqin until 2005.

“I didn’t know much about the instrument at the time except that it was similar to guzheng and there were not many people learning 10 years ago,” says Xiang.

“When I was preparing for the entrance exam for music conservatories, my teacher advised me to shift to guqin as there was much less competition, though I didn’t take her advice at the time.”

Accidentally coming across a guqin performance in Hangzhou while studying at the Zhejiang Conservatory of Music, Xiang recalls being attracted by the profound sound of the instrument and decided to take it as her second instrument.

“It sounds very different from guzheng, though many people tend to think of them as the same,” Xiang says. “Guzheng playing, as I understand, emphasizes more external expressiveness and exaggerated movement; while guqin helps the player and anyone listening enter a world that is so peaceful and quiet.”

Few guqin houses existed a decade ago in major cities and there were even fewer professional instructors at conservatories. But Xiang is happy to see things are changing. She herself has already taught 200 to 300 people since starting to teach at Yixin Shuyuan in Shanghai five years ago.

Gu Jianfeng, who teaches the instrument in Shanghai, says only three guqin houses existed in the city in 2006 but now there are about 20.

Gu says he started teaching the guqin while working for a trade company, but quit upon realizing the market to learn the instrument was growing quickly.

“It was very difficult for a guqin major to make a living years ago, but the ‘spring of guqin’ is arriving,” Gu says.

He says the instrument now appears frequently in television productions, at parties and in advertisements.

A scene in which the hero plays a guqin in last year’s TV series “Legend of the Ancient Sword” triggered Zhu’s interest in the instrument, she says.

“The hero looks like a peaceful immortal while playing,” says Zhu. “I wanted to be like that, too.”

She remembers finding herself more irritable after 11 years in the field. She says she signed up for a guqin course in order to force herself to slow down.

Unsure if she would truly like it, Zhu says she decided she would only purchase a guqin once she had mastered six pieces. With one course a week and two hours of practice every other day, Zhu is now working on the fourth piece.

“I am already looking for my instrument,” Zhu says, proudly.

Most of Xiang’s students are adults ranging from 30 to 45 years old. Enriching their lives, cultivating their mind and learning more about Chinese culture are among the most frequently mentioned reasons for picking up the instrument.

The guqin is not suitable for young children since it requires strong fingers and deep understanding of Chinese culture, according to Xiang.

“It is an instrument that is easy to learn, but difficult to master,” Xiang says. “Not many children can persist through the difficult practice sessions.”

Xin Manqi, an 18-year-old Shanghai high school student, is a fan of the ancient instrument. With huge interest in traditional Chinese culture, Xin has been playing the guqin for the past six years.

“I often imagine myself like an ancient reclusive scholar, you know, like the ones we read about in books, while playing the guqin,” Xin says. “I find all my worries are gone when I play.”

Even when entering grade 12, Xin says she found it hard to quit playing every day in order to focus more on her studies. She now keeps the instrument in her teacher’s office and goes there to practice for a short time during her lunch break.

“Even if it’s only 20 minutes, it frees me from anxiety about the college entrance examination,” she says.

Rather than aiming at becoming a professional, Xin plays in order to rest and relax.

The instrument’s present popularity, however, has confused some professional musicians, who feel it’s a commercial fad.

“To be honest, I don’t understand why it’s so popular,” says guqin musician Dai Wei, who graduated from the Shanghai Conservatory of Music and now teaches there as an associate professor.

Though recognizing some may be trying to emulate the lifestyle of ancient scholars, Dai admits the sudden popularity isn’t entirely altruistic. “There are too many commercial elements involved now. It’s not just about the purity of art anymore.”

The associate professor prefers playing in the privacy of his home and shies away from the so-called “guqin communities.”

Dai Xiaolian, also a guqin professor at the Shanghai Conservatory of Music, believes the goal of guqin players should be to contribute to the art, not just make money.

“Guqin teachers may see themselves as quite successful with promising incomes,” she says. “But shouldn’t all those years of practicing with sweat and blood be worth something more? Isn’t it their responsibility to contribute to the development of guqin music?”

Dai Xiaolian adds the ideal career for guqin majors still lies in the orchestras and conservatories, where they can keep exploring the art. However, such opportunities are reserved only for rare talents with elite skills.

As the instrument’s popularity grows, teachers agree that there is a mounting problem about the qualifications of instructors. With no official system to indicate an instructor’s proficiency, there are a number of unqualified teachers in the market, according to Xiang.

Students with no guqin experience often can not distinguish a good instructor from a poor one.

Gao Shan, one of Dai Xiaolian’s students, says she tried a guqin at a luxuriously decorated quqin house and found the strings were not even tuned properly.

“I still believe that a good anvil does not fear the hammer,” Xiang says. “Though it takes time, the market will be regulated eventually.”