Chapter Ninety-Three: The Wind Whispers Again, the Rain Sobs Softly

Suddenly, I felt a gust of wind sweep past me, striking my head several times before I realized it was my father hitting me.

I crouched down in pain, opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

Cong Xuan Shu was terrified, hesitated for a moment, then grabbed my father, but his strength was overwhelming, and he kicked out with a powerful blow.

Even though Cong Xuan Shu tried to shield me, I had no time to dodge. The kick landed squarely on my left ear.

Have you ever heard the sharpest sound in the world? It was as if I were inside an enormous glass factory, countless workers scratching at glass with all their might, yet unable to break through. Only a piercing noise rang out. Those workers clutched their ears, collapsed on the ground, convulsing, and then the entire factory exploded into shards.

With a thunderous boom, the world fell silent—utterly silent.

Before I lost consciousness, I vaguely saw Cong Xuan Shu kneeling beside me, holding me tightly. Warm drops fell on my face.

He was crying, shouting something, patting my face, but I could hear nothing. I didn’t even have the strength to close my eyes.

When I woke up, I was already in the First People's Hospital of Kang City. A nurse was injecting me; her badge bore the hospital's name.

I was in a deluxe single room, the kind with a kitchen—almost like a presidential suite in a five-star hotel.

I saw the colorless liquid dripping into my veins, a gentle breeze lifting the pale yellow curtains, a beautiful perfume lily on the coffee table, my grandfather sitting on the sofa tilting his head to put eye drops in, and Cong Xuan Shu standing on the balcony, talking on the phone.

So this is what it’s like when the world is muted—you can see everything, but none of it belongs to you anymore.

When I opened my eyes, the nurse said something to that side. My grandfather quickly stood up, and Cong Xuan Shu’s phone slipped from his hand, falling to the floor.

They rushed to my side, both looking anxious and hesitant, staring at me as if wanting to say something.

Finally, Cong Xuan Shu wrote something on a small whiteboard. I couldn’t read lips, so I just stared blankly, then shook my head.

My grandfather’s eyes reddened. Perhaps afraid I would be upset, he turned away and covered his mouth before rushing out.

I tried to sit up but was held down by Cong Xuan Shu, who seemed prepared for this. He pulled a small whiteboard from the drawer and wrote: “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. You will be fine.”

I nodded, wanting to say I wasn’t scared, but my tongue felt as if it had been cut off—I couldn’t utter a single word.

I tried to make sounds, but nothing came out. A sudden fear gripped me—had that kick from my father not only deafened me but also made me mute?

I grasped my throat, repeatedly probing downward. After a while, I opened my mouth again but still couldn’t speak.

Seeing me dig inside my mouth, Cong Xuan Shu panicked and embraced me, patting my back with words of comfort I couldn’t hear.

I finally broke down, opening my mouth wide and crying.

Hearing my voice, my grandfather rushed back in. The nurse spoke to him, and tears streamed down his face as he knelt and repeatedly struck his head in anguish.

Soon, I was pushed through a series of tests—X-rays, blood draws, urine tests, examinations by ENT, dentistry, neurology, and many other departments.

That night, I barely slept, terrified of the results. Nowadays, everyone seems healthy until they enter a hospital, where all sorts of ailments suddenly emerge.

What started as deafness in one ear had now become complete deaf mutism. Panic overwhelmed me—I feared the next moment might bring blindness, paralysis, or death; I dreaded losing every sense.

As dawn broke, a doctor came in with a colorful booklet, flipping through its pages and speaking to me.

I glanced at it, suddenly realizing it was the color blindness test booklet I always saw during check-ups.

Before I could react, a nurse wheeled in a cart filled with various bottles and jars.

She picked up delicate, beautiful little bottles, removed their stoppers, and held them under my nose, demonstrating a deep breath.

My anxiety peaked. It wasn’t just my imagination—doctors also feared I might lose all sensory functions.

I took a deep breath, but no words came out. Luckily, Cong Xuan Shu was quick, already handing me paper and pen.

The tests lasted half an hour. At the end, the doctor gave a victory sign, probably meaning my other senses were intact.

Perhaps the medication contained a sedative, or maybe the reassurance of my other senses being fine helped me relax, but I soon fell asleep.

In my dream, someone strangled me and pressed a pillow over my face. Another held my hands. My neck and above were immobilized. I could only kick my legs, trying to push the blanket off the bed.

The sensation was both familiar and foreign—a fiery burn in my throat, a blazing fire inside my chest. Soon, my mind grew hazy. I tried to cough, to wake, but couldn’t.

Fearing I would die in the dream and never awaken, I suddenly opened my mouth wide and bit the person covering me, trying to drive them out of my nightmare.

I bit their hand hard—the strength was great, and they slapped me away. My head struck the bed’s headboard.

Pain surged, and I realized this wasn’t a dream but reality: someone was trying to kill me.

I quickly grabbed a pen from under my pillow, wildly stabbing as the hand reached for me again.

I knocked everything off the cabinet onto the floor, then found the wall lamp.

The attacker was injured; blood oozed from his hand, but he wore a doctor’s cap, mask, and white coat. I couldn’t see his face clearly, only that he was a man.

I grabbed his hand, thinking my grandfather lived next door and must have heard the noise. I wanted to see who dared come to the hospital to harm me.

The man was bold. As I held him to prevent escape, he cunningly flicked his sleeve, brandishing a scalpel at me.

When he raised it, I froze in terror, turning my face away and closing my eyes.

There was no expected pain. Opening my eyes, I saw fragments of shattered porcelain on the floor and my furious grandfather, steaming with rage, chasing the wounded assailant.

A trail of blood snaked from my bedside to the ward door—a grim sight.

Police came to take my statement, asking if I had offended anyone recently.

Did Luo Ange count?

A deep red-purple mark remained on my neck. I didn’t know when it would fade.

Cong Xuan Shu ushered the police out, leaving only my grandfather with me. Somehow, he found some comic books I used to read as a child and sat across from me, flipping through the pages.

As I looked, I hadn’t cried yet, but he began weeping first.

Cong Xuan Shu entered, his expression grave. I tugged his sleeve and looked at him.

He wrote on the whiteboard: “We’re going to Beijing.”

I was stunned, not understanding why we needed to go to Beijing. Suddenly, it dawned on me—the person trying to kill me was so powerful that even the son of the provincial party secretary couldn’t protect me. My only hope was to be sent to Beijing.

I screamed, flinging everything in front of me to the floor, yanked out the IV, and jumped from the bed, running toward the door. A few steps in, he caught me.

I couldn’t push him away, so I bit his hand fiercely, drawing blood and even tearing his shirt.

Doctors rushed in and injected me with something. Slowly, I calmed and lost consciousness.

When I woke, it was the dead of night, pitch black; I couldn’t see a thing. It was cold, so I hugged the blanket tighter. A breeze brushed my face—I realized it was raining outside.

I sat on the bed, hugging my knees. In the courtyard of the old house stood a few banana and cherry trees. Whenever it rained, I loved to imitate my grandfather, standing at the window with my hands behind my back, reciting:

“A piece of spring sorrow awaits the wine’s pour. The boat rocks on the river, curtains sway upstairs. Autumn Maid at Tai Maid Bridge, the wind drifts again, the rain patters softly. When will I return home to wash my travel robe? Silver words of flute tunes, incense burning with heart’s fragrance. Fleeting time easily casts people aside, reddening the cherries, greening the bananas.”

Back then, I only thought the verses were melodious, never understanding the melancholy behind “the wind drifts again, the rain patters softly.” Now, as a deaf mute, I truly felt it.

Time really does cast people aside. In just a few days, I had changed so drastically.

I turned from hearing the rain to just watching it, my thoughts wandering wildly. Perhaps Heaven, like me, was wronged but could only weep silently.

When it cried, it rained.

Thinking this, I felt less alone—Heaven kept me company.

The rain grew heavier; the curtains fluttered in the wind, the screen shook. I struggled to get up and closed the window.

Turning around, I was startled by a flickering light near the sofa.

Someone was smoking there. I thought it might be Cong Xuan Shu or my grandfather, but I couldn’t speak or hear if he spoke. I only sensed a gaze locked firmly on me.

I knew my condition was terrible and that they worried. I wanted to tell them I was okay, to say something, but I couldn’t.

Someone stood and approached. Suddenly, a familiar yet strange scent reached me.

Realizing, I turned and ran, but someone grabbed me from behind. He twisted my face, his lips pressing down.

I struggled, but he restrained my hands and pinned me against the window.

His kiss carried the ominous weight of a brewing storm. In my struggle, I grabbed something and struck him wildly on the head.

He finally let me go. Under the moonlight, his face bore a chill colder than the raging storm outside, though the corners of his mouth curled slightly.

I shivered in fright and pushed him away, running to turn on the lights.

Where there is light, there is no darkness—that’s what my teacher taught me as a child. So I stood by the door, ready to run at the first sign of threat.

If he made any move, I would immediately flee for help.

Luo Ange held two comic books—the very things I had struck him with moments ago.

He waved them and said something with a smile, then walked toward me.

Terrified, I dashed out. Though I couldn’t call for help and was covered in wounds, I could still run.

Unfortunately, I miscalculated and was caught after a few steps.

He hoisted me and threw me onto the bed, pressing his whole body down. I couldn’t move, curling my arms to shield my chest.

His fingers brushed my lips a few times. Leaning close to my ear, I thought he would blow on me as before, and I hunched in fear.