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The spring rain fell gently, brushing against the mottled brick walls of the orphanage. Xiao Ya held her husband's hand as they paused at the end of the corridor. The damp scent of moss mingled with the smell of disinfectant as she gazed at the small figure curled up in the corner of the activity room—the three-year-old deaf-mute girl known as Nameless, who was currently coloring a rainbow on the glass with crayons.
"Look at the colors she's painting on the fogged glass," her husband said, lightly tapping the window frame. "The deep blue layered over orange-red reminds me of that sunrise you painted on the wall of Deaf-Mute School years ago." Suddenly, Xiao Ya felt a warmth in her breath; the image of her mother squatting beside a bucket of paint, teaching her how to mix colors, overlapped with the girl’s fingers smeared with oil paint.
The adoption process went surprisingly smoothly. As Xiao Ya gestured for "home," the girl suddenly leaped into her arms, warm tears soaking into the sunflower embroidery on her chest. That night, Xiao Ya stayed in the nursery until the moon set, watching as the child she named Xiao Xing fell asleep clutching a crayon, its tip still dusted with glitter like a galaxy.
Teaching began with scrambled eggs and tomatoes at the dining table. Her husband demonstrated how to flip them with a frying pan while Xiao Ya's fingers danced in the steam: "This is the temperature of fire, and this is how eggs turn into clouds." Xiao Xing's eyes sparkled brighter than morning stars as she suddenly grabbed ketchup and smeared it across the tiles, a vivid red whirlpool gradually revealing the outline of three figures holding hands.
The sign language teacher stormed out for the third time. "This child's world doesn't need language at all!" In the chaotic Art Studio, Xiao Ya noticed that fragments of abstract color blocks littered the floor. She picked up an indigo paper stained with tears and suddenly recalled an afternoon when she was eight years old, covering an entire box of blue crayons over the iron gate of Deaf-Mute School.
A turning point occurred on a snowy morning. Xiao Xing pressed her frostbitten fingers against the window, and amidst her breath's white mist appeared swirling colors like an aurora. When Xiao Ya trembled as she handed over watercolor pens, the girl painted an entire galaxy on the floor-to-ceiling window—using cinnamon powder stolen from the kitchen to create gold, torn rose petals to add red, and even broke her mother's cherished pearl necklace to embellish it with starlight.
Under the bright lights of an art gallery, the award-winning painting "Mom's Eyes Can Sing" spun around. On a 360-degree acrylic canvas, sunflowers bloomed in Xiao Ya's pupils through different seasons, each petal morphing into a sign language vocabulary word. A reporter’s microphone surrounded them like a forest when Xiao Xing suddenly raised her award certificate and made a gesture that silenced everyone: "My voice lives in colors."
In the office of an art foundation, twenty deaf children were molding starry skies from clay. Xiao Ya caressed the design plans for a new campus, where a large graffiti area was reserved under a glass dome. When her husband entered with coffee, she was gesturing towards a video conference camera: "What my mother taught me to paint was not just patterns but also the magic that makes silence bloom..."
As night fell over the Art Studio's bay window, three generations held onto a single golden paintbrush together. Xiao Xing painted a moon on her grandfather's palm and then turned to draw a sunflower on her grandmother's hand. In the colorful whirlpool of their paint palette reflected outside was an art school under construction, where steel outlines gradually blossomed into vines of light against the twilight sky.
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