Is he still in school?
Doesn’t really look like it.
He remained completely still. Only those hollow eyes, as she drew closer, showed the faintest flicker of movement. His tension became visibly obvious.
“Hey,” she said. “What’s your name?”
People said his hearing wasn’t good, but no one said he was completely deaf, so Ling Yue bent down slightly. “Why do you keep staring at me?”
The boy froze for a moment, then slowly lifted his head and tilted it to the right, revealing the ear with a hearing aid. He pressed the switch, as if asking her to repeat herself.
Alright then—he really was deaf.
Following the direction of his tilt, Ling Yue looked at his ear.
That could hardly be called a proper hearing aid. It was an extremely old, dark-brown behind-the-ear device, the plastic edges already cracked, roughly wrapped several times with white medical tape to barely hold it together.
The soft tube connecting to the earpiece had yellowed and hardened, looking as though it might snap at any moment.
It hung heavily from his ear, more like a piece of broken junk picked up from a trash heap.
She could now see him more clearly.
Beneath the messy black hair was a handsome face. His features were sharply defined, with a high nose bridge, brow bones casting faint shadows, and long, thick lashes that trembled slightly with his nervousness.
His skin was darkened from years under the sun. Sweat slid down along his jawline and dripped into the faded collar of his washed-out shirt.
There was no doubt—he was good-looking.
Completely different from the carefully groomed boys in the city, his handsomeness carried a raw, untamed quality.
Ling Yue crouched down—more precisely, she crouched beside him—and leaned toward the ear with the hearing aid. “I said, what’s your name?”
The moment he heard her voice, the boy’s body jolted violently. He lowered his eyes in panic, yet couldn’t help lifting his gaze to steal a quick look at her.
Thinking he hadn’t heard clearly, she moved even closer. A faint, clean fragrance enveloped him, her warm breath almost brushing his cheek as she spoke slowly, word by word:
“Your—name—is—what?”
The boy parted his lips, then suddenly lowered his head again.
Perhaps he thought his hoarse voice sounded unpleasant. He picked up a small stick from the ground and carefully wrote his name, stroke by stroke.
After a while, Ling Yue bent forward to look.
“Jiang Muchen.”
She read the characters he had written aloud. His slightly long black hair hid his brows and eyes as he stared straight at her profile. She gently pressed her lips together and repeated it once more. “Jiang Muchen. So your name is Jiang Muchen.”
She looked up again and realized his cheeks had actually turned red.
Just hearing his name spoken was enough to make him blush…
Ling Yue’s gaze then fell on his tightly clenched fist, trembling slightly.
“What are you holding in your hand?” she asked, softening her voice.
Jiang Muchen stiffened. His fingers curled even tighter, his knuckles whitening, his lips pressed into a pale, thin line as he refused to speak.
Ling Yue waited patiently. The noisy sounds of the shantytown seemed to fade into the distance.
“Jiang Muchen,” she called his name again.
He shuddered, and at last, extremely slowly, spread open his palm.
In his hand lay a single piece of candy.
The wrapper was bright, colorful cellophane—the imported fruit candy she had handed out to the children who had crowded around her when she first arrived.
The other children had long since eagerly unwrapped theirs, swallowing the sweetness without hesitation.
Only he had held onto his, gripping it tightly until the wrapper had softened from sweat, the edges curling—still unwilling to eat it, just clutching it like this in his hand.