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The morning mist had yet to dissipate, and the dew on the phoenix tree leaves refracted the early sunlight. Xiao Ya's fingers glided over the raised Braille on the Lustrous School Badge, the coolness of the metal spreading from her fingertips to her heart. The scene of her, drenched ten years ago on that Stormy Night, curled up in a corner of her rented room sketching design plans, suddenly became vivid in her mind.
At the ribbon-cutting ceremony, thirty-seven children performed "Ode to Joy" using Sign Language. The hand of an official from the Education Bureau holding scissors suddenly froze— a little girl in a light purple gauze dress was tapping out the rhythm on the red carpet with her toes. Sunlight filtered through the bell collar around her neck, casting tiny specks of light on the ground. "This is our dance class representative," Xiao Ya signed in Sign Language, noticing the official hurriedly taking off his glasses to wipe the lenses.
The scent of turpentine filled the Art Studio. Fifteen-year-old A Zhe, a Deaf-Mute Boy, was copying "Starry Night" when he suddenly squeezed an entire tube of cobalt blue onto his palette. Just as the instructor was about to intervene, he took off his Hearing Aid and placed it at the edge of the canvas—the vibrations brought forth a melody that made him appear enlightened, and his paintbrush suddenly added a lively note to the swirling nebula.
On Christmas performance day, torrential rain flooded half the city. When Xiao Ya splashed into the auditorium, her breath caught instantly: thirty-six children lay neatly on top of the piano's resonance box, their palms pressed against the cold wood. Xiao Xing's fingers played "Clair de Lune," and as the notes trembled along the strings, the children suddenly flipped over and leaped up, their heels striking the floor with precision at the modulation point of the third movement.
The Award Ceremony's live broadcast unexpectedly trended online. The performance of "Thousand-Hand Guanyin" by the hearing-impaired children's dance troupe was supposed to conclude amidst applause, but lead dancer Yuan Yuan suddenly ran to the judges' table. This little girl who often smeared lipstick on her cheeks pulled out a crumpled homework notebook and pointed at her crooked Sign Language annotation for "dream," her eyes shining brightly.
On the day when officials from the Education Bureau came for an inspection, Xiao Ya bumped into three boys sneaking spicy strips. Their hurried attempts to hide their snacks froze when they saw the shiny badges on the inspection team's suits—early the next morning, the academic director discovered a metal relief made from tin foil and buttons in a storage locker, signed with "Wei Long" cut from a spicy strip package.
When the textbook compilation committee came for material gathering, it coincided with A Zhe's solo exhibition. This boy who once spread paint like jam on bread now stood before "Voice of the Sea." In the center of the painting, a whale slapped sound waves with its tail fin; visitors suddenly noticed that each ripple formed different lip shapes. When A Zhe signed "This is my mom calling me for dinner," both professors present turned to support themselves against the exhibition wall.
As sunset bathed the playground in honey hues, Xiao Ya would often lean against that century-old Ginkgo tree in a daze. The varying depths of scratches on its bark recorded children's heights; beside the highest crooked mark was a drawing of a microphone with wings. In twilight, an accordion version of "Jasmine Flower" floated through the air; she didn't need to turn around to know it was Xiao Xing leading the children in "listening" to songs in the Music Classroom—those colorful balloons stuck to the speakers were gently swaying in the afterglow.
On the day when approval from the Education Bureau arrived, rain fell without warning. Xiao Ya rushed into the Art Studio to save artworks but found seven children sitting under a leaking skylight. Raindrops tapped against their raised tin foil boards, splattering tiny halos on sketches of "Rainbow." A Zhe suddenly tugged at her sleeve; words jumped onto his phone screen: "Teacher, we found a new reverb effect."
As cicadas tore through August's heatwave, Yuan Yuan received her acceptance letter from dance academy. The day before reporting, this girl who loved sneaking candy in practice rooms had stuck all her cherished lollipops onto classroom windowsills. "When winter freezes," her Sign Language moved so quickly it left trails behind it, "it'll be natural wind chimes."
On Teachers' Day morning, Xiao Ya received a strange package. As she tore through layers of tape, she revealed a three-dimensional artwork made from old piano strings—hanging from Music Classroom window frames were four hundred twenty yogurt bottle caps, each inscribed with different students' names. An accompanying card vibrated to life, emitting an alarm sound set by Xiao Xing: this was what children had secretly completed during three months of lunch breaks under their desks—"Hearing the Sound of Flowers Blooming."
On a clear morning when snow first fell, the Education Bureau unexpectedly announced plans for filming a promotional video. When cameras focused on children rehearsing their play, little Jie, dressed as a tree, suddenly ripped open his costume. This boy born deaf held up hastily made cardboard displaying enlarged bold letters: "Can you film my back? Mom says my angel wings today are especially shiny."
At the graduation ceremony, A Zhe's work "Voiceprint" was auctioned off at a high price. When a buyer inquired about the inspiration behind it, he suddenly pulled out a vibrating alarm clock and pressed it against the buyer's wrist. As the rhythm of "Für Elise" pulsed through, the young man wrote in his palm: "This is the sound of Teacher Xiao Xing working the sewing machine, the melody she created while altering our performance costumes until three in the morning."
Ten years later, on the anniversary of the school, the girl in the purple dress who once walked the red carpet in the rain had become a renowned choreographer. During the curtain call for her new piece "Poised to Break Free," the audience learned to use Sign Language to signal "encore." The lead dancer suddenly dashed into the audience and lifted a seven-year-old newcomer onto the stage. When Xiao Ya recognized that the child was wearing the earrings made of lollipops by Yuan Yuan back in the day, Ginkgo leaf-shaped ribbons began to drift slowly from the dome above.
At that moment, as the sunset bathed everything in golden light, Xiao Ya leaned against a century-old Ginkgo tree and opened a new album. On the front page, a half-dried sycamore leaf was glued down, with a line of small Braille letters woven between its veins: "Thank you for allowing us to hear the shapes of colors." From across the playground, rhythmic vibrations suddenly emanated from the Music Classroom, causing ripples to dance across the glass windows in the fading light—those kids must have invented yet another new way to "listen to music."
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