Chapter Text
The whiteboard had been set aside, and Xie Lian now sat cross-legged on his bed, hospital gown neat and hair pulled back with a soft tie Hua Cheng had quietly provided. Hua Cheng sat across from him in the visitor chair, a stack of flashcards in one hand, the other gesturing fluidly as he signed a simple phrase:
"What is your favorite color?"
Xie Lian furrowed his brow in concentration, then raised his hands and signed back slowly, piecing it together word by word: My… favorite… color… is… He paused, struggling to remember the sign for it.
He pointed at the wall and then down to his gown, making a frustrated noise deep in his throat.
Hua Cheng smiled and leaned forward. “White,” he said aloud, then signed it clearly for him to mimic.
Xie Lian copied it carefully. My favorite color is white.
Hua Cheng nodded in encouragement. “Perfect.”
Xie Lian hesitated, then signed: And yours?
That made Hua Cheng laugh softly. “Red,” he said, touching his chest before gesturing to his shirt with a wink. “No surprises there, huh?”
Xie Lian gave a small huff of amusement, then signed, Red suits you.
“It’s grown on me,” Hua Cheng replied, leaning back. “I used to wear black all the time. Then one day I got tired of looking like a storm cloud.”
Xie Lian smiled and signed: You’re not a storm cloud.
Hua Cheng stilled at that, his expression briefly unreadable. His hands lifted slowly. Thank you.
They went through a few more questions and responses—"Where were you born?" and "Do you have siblings?"—and with each exchange, Xie Lian’s hands became a little more confident, a little smoother.
When Xie Lian signed, I was born in Huazhen. Hua Cheng tilted his head thoughtfully.
“I’ve never been,” he said. “What’s it like?”
It's quiet. Mostly big houses and old streets. Really windy there. My parents were very traditional so I didn’t go out much.
Hua Cheng followed along carefully, then asked softly, “Do you miss it?”
Xie Lian paused.
Then: No. Not the place. Just the memories.
Hua Cheng nodded once, his eyes gentle. “That makes sense.”
Then he signed: I didn’t grow up anywhere special. And added with a strained smile, Bounced around a lot between foster homes and group housing, eventually figured out how to make my own place feel like home.
Xie Lian signed: Was it hard?
Hua Cheng nodded once. “Yeah. But it taught me how to be the person I needed.”
They sat in silence for a few moments after that, only the quiet hum of hospital monitors in the background. Then Xie Lian lifted his hand and signed, a little haltingly:
You are… the person I needed.
Hua Cheng’s breath caught.
He didn’t answer immediately—just leaned forward, elbows on knees, and met Xie Lian’s eyes as if they were the only two people in the world.
“Thank you,” he said, voice low and earnest. “I hope I can keep being that. For as long as you’ll have me.”
Xie Lian's fingers trembled slightly as he signed back, soft and small but unmistakable: You already are.
Two Months Later
Time passed in soft, quiet increments.
The bruises faded first, blotches of purple and green slowly giving way to pale yellow, then vanishing entirely. The stitches across his chest had long since been removed, leaving behind a pale, jagged scar that curved from just beneath his collarbone down toward his ribs—a permanent mark, still pink and raised at the edges. His ankle no longer ached when he walked, though he moved with a natural caution, as if expecting something sharp to appear at his feet.
His days settled into a routine. Morning stretches and physical therapy, followed by breakfast and a walk through the ward with a nurse or Hua Cheng at his side, then an ASL lesson. Hua Cheng still came daily—unfailingly, warmly—and if he ever tired of the repetition, he never let it show.
Xie Lian still hadn’t tried to speak again.
Not out of fear, not entirely—more like a quiet resolve. He could feel the strain of his voice, its rawness still lingering in the back of his throat. He didn’t know yet if he would ever sound like himself again. But he had found other ways to express himself, and Hua Cheng had never once treated him like he was incomplete.
And that, somehow, made him feel whole.
Mu Qing and Feng Xin visited every few days, sometimes together, sometimes apart. Feng Xin often brought things he thought Xie Lian might like—a favorite snack, or a small potted plant that now lived on the windowsill. Mu Qing rarely arrived empty-handed either; he’d offered books, tea, a crossword puzzle that Hua Cheng insisted on solving with him. Their company was different than Hua Cheng’s—louder, messier—but comforting in its own way. They never pressured him to speak, though Feng Xin still occasionally blurted something like, “Hey, maybe it’s getting better by now?” only to be elbowed hard by Mu Qing and told to shut up.
Some nights, when the hospital was quiet and the sky outside turned violet behind the windows, Xie Lian journaled.
Tonight was one of those nights.
It’s been almost two months. My chest doesn’t hurt anymore unless I press on it. I still sleep on my back. I’m used to the IV lines now. I'm looking more like myself, too.
Pei Ming said my voice might recover with therapy, but there’s no guarantee. I don’t know if I’ll try again soon. Right now… silence feels okay.
I keep thinking about Hua Cheng. He’s been here every day since that first lesson. He doesn’t treat me like a burden. Not even when I forget signs or take too long to answer or get frustrated. I don’t know what he sees when he looks at me, but it must be something worth staying for.
He told me once that he wanted to be the person he never had growing up. I think about that a lot. Maybe that’s why he understands how to give space without making it feel like abandonment and how to be kind without pitying me. I’ve never had anyone like that before.
He’s important to me. So much more than I know how to say. But I’ll keep learning.
I want to keep learning.
It was a quiet afternoon. The soft rustle of tree branches drifted in through the open window as Xie Lian flipped idly through a book. His journal lay nearby, half-filled now with quiet reflections, sketches, and unspoken questions. Hua Cheng was running late for their usual lesson, which was unusual enough to make Xie Lian glance toward the door a few times.
When it finally creaked open, the sight that greeted him made his heart skip.
Pei Ming entered first, a clipboard in hand, his usual confident stride as casual as ever. But it wasn’t his presence that made Xie Lian sit up straighter.
It was Hua Cheng.
He walked in behind Pei Ming, silent and stiff, eyes darkened with something unreadable. He didn’t meet Xie Lian’s gaze immediately, only nodded slightly in greeting, his fingers clenching at his side.
That look—Xie Lian had only seen it once or twice before. It never meant anything good.
Pei Ming was already speaking. “Good afternoon, Xie Lian,” he said lightly, flipping open the clipboard. “You’re looking better every time I see you. Skin’s cleared, weight’s holding steady, mobility’s returned. Voice is still out of commission, but I know you’ve been working hard on that.” He gave a nod to Hua Cheng, who remained standing.
Xie Lian gave a polite, questioning tilt of his head, his hands starting to shape a greeting—but Pei Ming didn’t pause.
“So. Here’s the thing.” He tapped the clipboard. “Your charts are clear. No signs of infection. No complications from the surgery. No reasons to hold you here, medically speaking.”
Xie Lian froze. He blinked once, then looked slowly between the two men. Hua Cheng was still watching the floor.
Pei Ming, unaware or choosing to plow ahead anyway, smiled thinly. “You’re being discharged.”
The words struck like a slap.
Xie Lian’s hands moved slowly, clumsily—I… I don’t—
Pei Ming held up a hand. “I know, I know. It’s sudden. But the truth is, you’re no longer in need of in-patient care. You’ll still be required to come in for checkups every two to three weeks, especially to monitor your larynx. But otherwise…” He spread his hands. “You’re free to leave.”
Xie Lian’s throat closed. Not from pain this time, but panic.
Where? he signed with effort. I can't—
Pei Ming softened, finally catching on. “There’s a transitional care program. A residential home, not far from here. They specialize in long-term mute residents—people relearning how to live independently. You’d have a small room, meals, community support, and continued ASL lessons if you choose. It’s not permanent, just the next step.”
Xie Lian swallowed hard. The air in the room felt thinner than it had moments ago. His hands lifted again, slower this time. I’m not ready.
It was Hua Cheng who stepped forward, finally.
“He knows,” Hua Cheng said quietly. His voice had a rough edge to it—controlled, but low and tight. “He’s just the messenger. He didn’t choose this timing.”
Xie Lian looked up at him, a question in his eyes.
Hua Cheng finally met his gaze—and something in his expression cracked. His brows pinched ever so slightly. “I didn’t know they were moving so fast. I would’ve told you myself if I had.”
Xie Lian gave a small, jerky nod, trying to breathe through the confusion twisting in his chest. The sterile brightness of the room suddenly felt too loud. Where is home now? he wanted to ask. But his hands stayed still.
Pei Ming cleared his throat gently. “You have a few days to prepare. We’re not kicking you out tonight,” he said, more softly now. “Take some time to think about it. You’ll have support, Xie Lian. You’re not alone in this.”
He placed a folder on the bedside table, nodded once more, and exited without fanfare.
The door clicked shut behind him.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The clock ticked on the wall. Outside, a bird chirped once and flew away.
Then Hua Cheng slowly stepped closer, pulling a chair up beside the bed and lowering himself into it. His eyes had lost that earlier storm, but his voice was still low.
“You don’t have to be ready,” he said. “Just willing to try.”
Xie Lian’s chest rose and fell, his fingers fidgeting in his lap.
He lifted his hand to sign something—but stopped.
Hua Cheng noticed and waited.
Eventually, Xie Lian reached for his whiteboard instead, writing with slow care:
Will you still come see me?
Hua Cheng looked at the words.
Then looked at Xie Lian.
“Every day,” he said, without hesitation. “As long as you want me there.”
Xie Lian gave a small, trembling smile.
Even if he wasn’t ready for what came next…he wasn’t facing it alone.