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墨書 Inktalez
The sound of cicadas pierced through the summer heat, and chalk dust danced in the sunlight. In Classroom 2 of Year Three, Li Xiaoming clutched a crumpled exam paper, his nails digging deep into his palm. Suddenly, someone poked him from behind, the pressure on his spine reminding him of the fear he felt last week when he was trapped in the equipment room.
"Still reading that mute's story?" The ink-printed picture book, "Growing Towards the Sun," was yanked away, crumpling Xiao Ya's smile on the cover between fingers. Li Xiaoming looked up to find Wang Hao grinning widely, revealing his tiger teeth. "With such admiration for her, why not learn how to be mute yourself?"
A dull thud echoed from the back wall of the classroom. The newly transferred Teacher Lin slammed her lesson plan onto the podium, the metallic prosthetic limb producing a resonating sound. "Wang Hao, I heard you threw Li Xiaoming's homework into the boys' restroom last week?" She walked to the last row, her mechanical joints emitting soft clicking sounds. "Should we go retrieve it now?"
As the sunset painted the corridor in a honeyed hue, Li Xiaoming held onto the reclaimed picture book and saw Teacher Lin leaning against the railing. Her prosthetic limb reflected warm orange light, resembling some futuristic armor. "Fifteen years ago, on the day I lost my limb, they were broadcasting Sister Xiao Ya's award ceremony on television." She rotated her metal ankle joint with a crisp click. "Now it's my turn to tell you this story."
The dome of City Hall showered down starlit specks of light as Xiao Ya smoothed out the hand-embroidered bamboo leaf patterns on her qipao. Her husband knelt beside her, adjusting her hearing aid with warm breaths brushing against her neck. "Feeling nervous?" His fingers traced smooth arcs in the air. "The last time I saw you so serious was when we named our daughter."
Suddenly, a wave of soft lights flickered like fireflies from below as deaf children in the front row raised their phones with flashlights on. Xiao Ya recognized a girl with a purple bow—three months ago at Art Foundation's Art Studio, this child had splashed bright sunflowers across a wall with oil paint, colors flowing like golden rivers from her external cochlear implant.
"This trophy today should bear many names." Xiao Ya's sign language fluttered like a dove taking flight, while the male voice translating simultaneously created a wonderful resonance beneath the dome. "It bears the hands that pushed me down the stairs and those that helped me up."
The glass facade of Pompidou Center shimmered with reflections from the Seine River as Curator Annie adjusted the angle of an exhibition sign for the third time. In front of the "Silent Growth" series of paintings, a blonde boy suddenly tugged at his mother's trench coat hem. He pointed at the intertwined thorns and roses on the canvas and touched his implant behind his ear; his azure eyes lit up.
"Mom!" His clumsy French mixed with electronic sounds. "These colors are singing!"
In front of a giant poster at a Tokyo subway station, office workers slowed their hurried steps. Beneath a canopy of transparent umbrellas blooming in the rain, Xiao Ya's silhouette merged with sign language teaching illustrations. Girls in JK uniforms leaned in for a closer look; their skirts brushed past glowing words for an anti-bullying hotline, creating faint rainbows in the damp morning mist.
In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows at Art Foundation's Art Studio, ten-year-old deaf boy A Jie was tearing up his fifth sheet of drawing paper. Xiao Ya held his trembling wrist and dipped indigo paint onto the discarded draft with forceful strokes. The once-fractured lines suddenly transformed into stormy seabirds; A Jie stared blankly as tears splashed into the palette, creating tiny cobalt blue stars.
The live comments for the Award Ceremony suddenly erupted with excitement. The camera swept over the VIP seats where an elderly principal was teaching a nearby diplomat sign language; their fingers clumsily intertwined to form the shape of "love." In the back row, a sleeping baby in a volunteer's arms unconsciously grasped at her clothing, pudgy little fingers perfectly mimicking a gesture for "thank you."
Xiao Ya looked towards the back of the audience, where her husband held up their three-year-old daughter. The little girl wore a hearing aid adorned with crystals, and her small hand drew a crooked heart above her head. The pearl hairpin swayed gently with her movements, reflecting rainbow-like spots of light that fell upon the honor medals, which had once been stained with dirt and tears.
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