When he was five years old, his father taught him to play the erhu–a Chinese spike fiddle. Over the years the fiddler built up his talent, playing song after song in genre after genre. He even composed some of his own music in his teenage years. He played and played until his fingers could produce any tune in the world from that erhu, though villagers couldn't help but notice he had an affinity for low, haunting tunes echoing of mystery and magic. 

One day, the fiddler sat by the grand lake, staring out to the mountains on the other side. He began to play, enchanting notes floating from his instrument and drifting across the water like a midnight breeze. Creatures began to nestle around him; birds, squirrels, deer, even the fish in the lake all began to surround him, drinking in his music as he drew his bow melodically back and forth along the strings.

The fiddler's music was so serene it caught the attention of the Time Goddess, listening from her palace outside the pockets of reality. She appeared before the fiddler by the lake as he finished his song, the animals scattering at the sight of her. 

"You," the Time Goddess whispered, "I want you to play for me in my palace."

"I typically don't allow myself to be requested," the fiddler said. It was true, as many villagers had asked him to play at their parties, weddings and other special occasions before. He'd always refused, preferring the freedom of playing for himself and only himself. 

"It wasn't a request," the Time Goddess hissed, suddenly hostile. She wasn't used to being turned down, not getting what she wanted. Before the fiddler could try and escape, the Time Goddess was upon him. She snatched him from his perch by the lake and whirled away into her palace, far from the folds of reality. 

The fiddler begged and begged the Time Goddess to release him back to his village. Back to his friends, his family. The Time Goddess refused, no matter how the fiddler promised to worship her back home, what he offered in return for his freedom. She wanted his music for herself, and only herself. 

The fiddler refused to play his erhu until the Time Goddess agreed to let him go at some point in the near future. The Time Goddess grew heavily annoyed at the stubborn fiddler, at the talent he was withholding from her. Days passed and not a single beautiful note echoed from the erhu. Eventually, the Time Goddess caved. She struck a bargain with the fiddler: if he played in her court for at least four hours a day, she would release him back into the world in a year's time. 

So the fiddler finally raised his bow and played. Four hours each day, just like he promised. Months rolled by and his melodies graced the Time Goddess's court, whether it be joyful and lively for balls, quiet and soothing for meditation, dark and somber simply for the vibes, and everything in between, whatever the Time Goddess requested. He was at her mercy. 

All he could think about during his time in the Time Goddess's palace was his family. His father, whom he loved so dearly. His father, who had taught him how to play the erhu all those years ago. Even though it was precisely that flame in which his father had sparked that landed the fiddler in this current predicament, the fiddler found it hard to resent any moment he spent playing. Even under the Time Goddess's watchful eye, it was impossible to hate the music. He found himself enjoying the erhu, even when forced to play for his freedom. 

Finally, a year crept by devastatingly slowly. The fiddler's sentence was up. He bowed before the Time Goddess with his erhu, the only possession he had in this palace other than the clothes on his back. The Time Goddess stared upon him with a mixture of sadness, anger, and relenting. 

"Your Highest Majesty," the fiddler said, "I have played every day for four hours in your court for a year, it is time for me to return to the world."

The Time Goddess debated refusing. Revoking the deal and holding him and his precious music for herself for eternity. But she wasn't a deceitful goddess. She was a goddess of honor, so she nodded solemnly. "Very well, fiddler. It is as we agreed."

Before he knew it, the fiddler was standing by the lake. It was the exact same spot he'd vanished from exactly a year earlier, with the rippling lake and towering mountains on the other side. His erhu remained in his hand. It was like he'd never left, never been held in a palace outside time itself for a whole year. 

He ran into the village, but something was off. All the villagers watched him with cautious, confused expressions, as if they no longer knew him. And when he looked closer, he realized he didn't know them either. It was impossible; he knew everybody in this village. So who were these unfamiliar people? 

As he dashed through the town, he realized the people weren't the only things unfamiliar. Several new buildings had been erected, too many to have all been built within a year. Alternatively, many houses and neighborhoods were now gone, replaced by new stores or town squares. The entire layout of the village was different, and he didn't understand. How could all of this have happened in one year?

When the fiddler knocked on the door to his house, he almost attacked the unfamiliar man who answered the door with his erhu. "Stranger!" The fiddler shouted. "What are you doing in my house??"

"This is my house!" The strange man argued. "Who are you??"

"I-I don't understand," the fiddler said, his hands beginning to shake. "Where is my family? What happened to this place? I was only gone a year!"

Slowly, the strange man's eyes lit in recognition. His jaw dropped. "Are you... you're the fiddler, aren't you?"

"I- yes, that's me."

The man shook his head. "Impossible. You went missing so long ago... you're an urban legend. How are you alive??"

"I was taken by a goddess. It's only been a year."

"A year?" The man barked a laugh in disbelief. "My friend, you went missing a hundred years ago."

Time seemed to freeze. The fiddler's erhu dropped from his hands. The world began to spin as he tried to process this new information. His head dropping to his palms, his body shaking uncontrollably. 

"No, no, no, it can't be... it can't be..." 

But it very well could be. The Time Goddess existed outside of time itself. What had seemed like a year for him in her palace... was a hundred years for the real world. 

Overtaken by grief and desperation, the fiddler ran back to the lake. With no more living family or friends, only an unfamiliar village who'd moved on without him, he began to play the erhu. He played and played and played by the lake until his dying days, the air filled with enough haunting melodies to last centuries. 

Legend has it that if you listen closely enough in the silent hours of the night, you can still hear his melancholy tunes echo through the darkness.