But none of that happens. Elder Lian comes to a stop beside my sister, and I am frozen where I stand, unable to help her. It is an unusual and terrifying role for me to be in. Zhang Jing appears calm, but I can see the fear in her eyes. I think she, like me, is ready for Elder Lian to turn on her in rage, to call her—and me—out for the deception we’ve been furthering. But that doesn’t happen either. Elder Lian sizes up my sister’s work for long, agonizing moments before finally moving on. I nearly fall over in my relief.
Things proceed as usual, and soon the apprentices are carrying the canvases to the village center. They move too quickly for me to get a good look at Zhang Jing’s portion, and I pray it was a good day for her. I wave goodbye to her and then heed Elder Chen’s instructions to go to the kitchen for tea. It’s rare for the elders or apprentices to set foot in there, and the servants scurry and bow to me as I wait. The clothing they wear is stained with grease and smoke, only a little better than what the miners wear. One of the cooks sets an iron kettle down heavily on the counter, and the resulting effect makes me wince and grit my teeth.
At last, an older servant deferentially brings me a cup of medicinal tea. Although she is too intimidated to make much in the way of eye contact, she nonetheless explains that I should drink the tea and go to bed. If my headache isn’t gone in six hours, I can return for more. I thank her and take the tea away, but I don’t go to my room to rest.
Instead, I head toward the school’s library, carefully sipping the tea as I walk. I haven’t been able to shake my earlier suspicions about sound, despite every reasonable part of me knowing it’s impossible. I decide this may be the only chance I have to figure out what’s happening to me, short of asking a person for help. And I know better than to do that. If I described what’s been happening to me, I’d be labeled insane.
I finish the tea as I enter the library. Immediately, I seek out the oldest section. It contains writings from when our people could still hear. I’ve skimmed them before, and there is one author in particular I’m seeking. Her words meant little to me in the past, but now they are perhaps my only hope.
The writer’s name was Feng Jie, and she was one of the last of our people to lose her hearing. Three of her scrolls are in the library, and I settle down with them, pleased that my headache has abated. I begin reading the first one:
I wish I was writing some great wisdom, some understanding of why this great tragedy is happening to us. But there is none.
I pause, contemplating her words. Throughout my life, the loss of our people’s hearing has always been referred to as a tragedy, but I’ve never really seen it that way. I haven’t really thought much about it at all since it’s hard to miss something you’ve never known.
Feng Jie continues: Those wiser than me have long sought answers for why hearing is disappearing, and their ponderings have come to nothing. I don’t expect to achieve what they could not. Instead, it is my intent here to record a memory of sound, for I fear what will happen to future generations if they have no knowledge of it. Already, children born today have no understanding when those few of us who still hear try to explain it. With each passing day, my hearing declines more and more. Sounds become fainter and fainter, softer and softer. Soon what is simply quiet will become silent.
And so I want to describe sound to those who don’t have it, so that the words will not be lost and so that those who will never hear have as close an understanding as they can. And perhaps someday, if sound returns, this will guide those who might have forgotten the words of sound.
Riveted, I feel my breath catch. This was why I sought out this scroll, what I remembered from my long-ago browsing. At the time, it had seemed fanciful, the idea of sound returning. But now . . .
Feng Jie’s writings go on to detail a list of sounds. Reading them is like trying to understand another language. I can’t even follow some of the words she uses to define other words.