Two weeks passed quickly, and in the blink of an eye it was Lin Weixia’s last day at Shengao. She didn’t really mind which school she studied at — it was her aunt who worried about her state of mind and insisted on having her transfer.

This day was a Wednesday. The sky was clear and bright; birds chirped and sang.

Lin Weixia stood at her desk packing up her things. The one who came to help, unexpectedly, was Fang Jiabei. There was one box of books and one of test papers in total. Ning Chao picked up the heavier box of books and carried it straight downstairs.

The atmosphere in Class Three, Year One was especially subdued that day. Every person in the class held a different view of this girl who had transferred in and disrupted the established order.

Many were hesitating over whether to go up and say goodbye.

But in the end, none of them did.

When Lin Weixia carried her box of test papers and turned to take one last look at the classroom — the countdown to the final hundred days on the blackboard, the blue curtains, the reading corner they had all set up together, and that seat that had been empty for so long — she turned and walked away.

A gust of wind swept through the corridor, tousling the long hair behind her.

Under the gazes of everyone watching her go, Lin Weixia removed the pretty red bow tie at her collar without any sign of reluctance, used it to tie back her long, thick hair, and let the hearing aid behind her ear be exposed completely.

Passing students looked on in surprise, all watching her. What they saw was — sunlight falling on Lin Weixia’s face, so fair it was nearly translucent. She kept her back straight and walked forward with ease and certainty, not caring in the least what others thought. The red bow tie tied at the back of her head glimmered in the sunlight.

After Lin Weixia transferred, Shengao continued on as it always had — everyone attending classes, working through problems, occasionally scrolling on their phones.

One evening, someone was in a foul mood with nowhere to vent, and unconsciously thought of going to the YCH website for help. Other Shengao students did the same — out of habit, they opened that website wanting to chat and pass the time.

The browser’s circle spun and spun before finally loading in. What greeted the eye was the same dark, sparse page as always — the kind that depressed you just looking at it. Only now, a beam of light had suddenly shone in beside the site’s letters.

The longer one stayed, the more light there was, and the brighter it grew.

Like a beam of light shining in from the depths of an abyss.

When the light came in, people realized that the name YCH was actually an English abbreviation — the full site name was in fact youcanhear.

Everyone eagerly clicked into the message boards, where they found a motto posted:

I have so much I want to say — is anyone there?
I’m here.
What I want to say — can you hear it?
I can hear you.

The past posts were mostly people sharing their troubles, or things they had been unable to make peace with.

Post 1: Is anyone here? The message board always seems so empty. Will anyone listen to me? I have no friends. Today I ate some really good strawberry cake and have no one to share it with. My grades are terrible, my personality doesn’t fit in, I’m lonely at school, and my parents only know how to scold me. The most laughable part is that my mom has never considered my feelings — her eyes are only for my younger brother. It’s so suffocating. I have so much to say. Will anyone listen?

[Silly Little Cat]: I can hear you.

Post 2: I’ve had a secret crush on a boy for a very long time and want to confess, but I don’t dare. I’m too useless — average grades, not good-looking. I’m always anxious about it. It’s so annoying. I hate myself so much.

[Silly Little Cat]: A silkworm needs time to break free of its cocoon and become a butterfly. A flower bud needs a blooming period before it becomes a beautiful flower. Seize the present moment and leave the rest to time. Only when you like yourself will others like you.

Post 3: I’ve been bullied again and again. I don’t want to go to school. I hate and fear seeing them. I want to die.

[Silly Little Cat]: Don’t give up your life for people who aren’t worth it. Growing stronger is more useful than giving up, isn’t it? I have a beautiful song I’d like to share with you.

And at the same time, the website posted an announcement: the current moderator was stepping down and a new person would be taking over. The site was officially being renamed You Can Hear.

The students of Class Three, Year One in particular clicked into this user’s personal profile page — this moderator who went by the name Silly Little Cat, who had appeared in so many posts and quietly left comments accompanying them for a long time, who had always jumped in at critical moments to pull them back. Her profile photo had long since gone gray.

She no longer logged on. She had deleted all the activity on her profile page.

She had left one parting message for everyone:

Wishing all of you a growing journey that remains bright with pride; even in barren ground, may flowers bloom. Believe in the light.

— Lin Weixia

Those few people who had watched Lin Weixia fall in the corridor and not gone to help her — had even laughed into their hands — felt their hearts seize when they read this. They were so ashamed they could not utter a single word.

Someone remembered how they had vented their negative feelings on the website again and again, and who had tirelessly and patiently left comments to accompany them. It had been Lin Weixia.

And yet those same people had gone along with the crowd in real life, laughing at her and criticizing her actions.

Lin Weixia was indeed quite remarkable. Her actions had vividly illustrated the book review for To Kill a Mockingbird —

“All your readings and interpretations of me do not constitute even one ten-thousandth of who I am — but they reveal you in full.”

Her aunt had enrolled Lin Weixia in a new high school, somewhat far from home. The new school advocated a grueling battle-mode of study. Often it was early morning, not yet light, when Lin Weixia would leave the house wrapped in mist; she would come home at night with only the moonlight underfoot.

Gao Hang saw that his sister’s condition was improving day by day and let out a breath of relief. As long as her spirit had returned, that was enough.

Time flew by, and the college entrance examination arrived quickly. Lin Weixia felt no particular anxiety; she only remembered that it rained those few days. On the day the results were released, Lin Weixia performed beyond her usual standard and earned the second-highest score in Nanjiang City.

Her aunt was overjoyed because of this, and praised her clever, obedient daughter to everyone she met. The fruit stand ran at half price for two consecutive weeks.

Word spread throughout Shuiwei Lane that a top-scoring university student had emerged from their midst.

Just as everyone assumed Lin Weixia would choose one of the most popular, career-ready majors, she went against expectations — ignoring all advice — and chose the psychology department at Jingbei University.

Reporters came knocking or called for interviews wanting to know the reason, but were all turned away by Lin Weixia.

On an afternoon in July when the cicadas were singing at their loudest, Lin Weixia retrieved a letter from the mailbox downstairs. It was from Liu Sijia:

Weixia, by the time you receive this letter, I’ll already be in the skies flying to Australia. I always used to call you Weixia, Weixia — that’s just my own personality. I was afraid to take the initiative to get close to people; I feared that giving everything would lead to nothing in return.

I heard that the “You Can Hear” website was something you ran. I heard that Senior Wusuan handed it over to an outstanding junior and made it a tradition at Shengao.

Let me tell you something embarrassing — I confessed to Ning Chao, but was rejected. I lied before when I said I’d apply with you to Jingbei. I thought it over, and before I’ve fully recovered, it’s best not to disturb you all.

I’m going abroad this time with the intention of getting treatment. I don’t know if I’ll get better.

But the most beautiful summer of my life was the one you gave me. Thank you.

From here on, I’ll take with me what you showed me and taught me — eat properly, live well, and work hard to be a kind person.

I hope that when I’m a little better someday — years from now, walking down the street — if I run into you, you’ll still remember me, and call me Sijia one more time.

I’m truly sorry. And thank you all for pulling me back.

If I meet someone I like in the future, I’ll still be brave enough to love them.

I will always be praying for you. I hope my girl lives a carefree life ahead, with many people who love her.

Forever yours, Sijia.

Lin Weixia stood holding the letter. Her dark lashes lowered. She stayed completely still for a long time.

When Lin Weixia had originally built the YCH website, it was to give people a secret place to confide in — to help more people, to give everyone somewhere they could seek help or let things out.

She was not trying to claim any virtue. She had simply been through too many difficult things too early, and wanted to do what she could to shield others from some of the wind.

Lin Weixia — because of a missed exam, speaking out of pride about not participating — went online to post, after which everyone discussed and voted together to abolish the scoring rankings. Everyone came together on youcanhear to discuss whether it was truly something to be ashamed of, as middle school students, to learn about sexuality — and then they pooled their ideas to popularize that knowledge.

Everyone participated in sports day together, went through the confusion and pain of growing up together.

Every one of them, herself included.

If the price of growing up was to endure wound after wound, then accept it — let it fester, and it will always form a scar in the end.

Sijia — blessings to you as well. I hope my girl grows brilliantly and freely, full of nourishment and sunlight, into a beautiful rose.

That afternoon the sun beat down fiercely, scorching Lin Weixia’s calves without mercy. She stood in front of the green mailbox for a long, long time without moving.

During that period, the most common rumor Lin Weixia heard was that Ban Sheng had been sent to America by his father early on, and after that, she completely lost all news of him.

No one dared bring up that name in front of Lin Weixia either.

Once, Lin Weixia was out taking the bus, and had just passed Shengao when she turned in her back seat to look. Through the gate there was a constant flow of young boys and girls in school uniforms, backpacks on, walking into school with laughter and chatter.

The bus rocked and swayed forward. The four gilded characters of Shengao No. 1 gradually faded from sight. Fragments of the past flickered behind Lin Weixia and dissolved into phantoms.

She thought of so many people.

Ning Chao had failed the college entrance examination — and yet, with renewed determination, he had resolutely chosen to repeat the year, and even changed his personal status to: Not getting into the police academy? I’m not human. No disturbances please.

Fang Jiabei had gone to a teachers’ college in the far southwest, leaving Nanjiang for good. Liu Sijia had gone to Australia for treatment. Ban Sheng had gone to America and there was no further news.

The playground had collapsed. They had cried together, made trouble together, laughed together — run through pouring rain together, felt the scorching wind of summer in the corridor, talked of the past, imagined the future.

And now they were each scattered to the far corners of the earth.

The acceptance letter arrived quickly. She was about to leave here and go to Jingbei to study — yet Lin Weixia felt not even a trace of it being real.

On a Friday, Lin Weixia was suffering severely from menstrual pain. She curled up on the sofa wrapped in a blanket, watching a film about lovers who missed each other.

The phone on the coffee table buzzed and vibrated with an incoming call.

The pain in her stomach was intense; a layer of cold sweat had broken out on her forehead. She had no desire to answer — she could not move in the slightest. Before this, she had already answered more than a dozen real estate sales calls.

Each time, Lin Weixia had patiently declined — saying she didn’t need anything, thank you.

The phone on the table kept ringing without relenting. Lin Weixia let her emotions get the better of her, bent down, picked up the phone, pressed answer. Her tone was not very pleasant — even a little cold:

“How many more times do I need to tell you? No thank you. I have no need to buy property.”

“Hello, is this Ms. Lin Weixia? We are calling from Beloved Pets — Ding Dong Pet Store. A customer by the name of Ban Sheng placed an order with us on April 25th for a small white dog — a West Highland White Terrier. We sincerely apologize for only being able to deliver it to you now. The customer’s requirements were quite specific, and we spent a long time sourcing from other regions…” came a gentle female voice on the other end.

Lin Weixia gripped the phone tightly. It felt as if she had suddenly caught a cold — her nose stinging, eyes burning hot. She wanted to speak but found her throat could not produce a single sound.

She remembered a year ago when Ban Sheng had held a birthday celebration for her. The young man had asked Lin Weixia what wish she had made.

Lin Weixia set the cake aside, looked up at him, eyes carrying skepticism: “Can you do what even God cannot?”

Ban Sheng exhaled a thin stream of smoke from his lips. It drifted upward in slow curls. His eyes held a dim, ashen quality, yet his tone was recklessly arrogant:

“I don’t believe in heaven. I don’t believe in ghosts or gods. But you can believe in me.”

Lin Weixia said nothing. Under the mutual standoff of their gazes, she was the one who yielded: “Fine. I’ll say one.”

“I like dogs. My wish is to have a dog, because when I was little I had a puppy but my family sent it away…”

He had remembered all along.

“Hello, Ms. Lin — are you still there?” came the staff member’s voice from the receiver, pulling Lin Weixia back from her thoughts.

She came back to herself. Her voice was dazed:

“Yes. Does it have a name?”

“Yes — the customer who placed the order gave it a name: Shengxia—” “Could you let us know when would be a good time for you to come pick it up? I’ll send you the address.” the staff member continued.

“Alright.”

Time gallops like a white horse in full stride. In a blink, Lin Weixia boarded the flight to Jingbei and left the Nanjiang she had always wanted to leave behind.

University life held slightly more surprises than she had imagined, and the social dynamics were relatively easier. She encountered all kinds of people, but everyone was accepting.

Whether you were transgender or had a colorful personal life, you were allowed to exist.

That, perhaps, was the charm of adulthood. University also provided a certain kind of nourishment — everyone had learned to look at things with a dialectical mindset, rather than seeing only absolute rights or wrongs.

That same winter, her aunt underwent an operation. Lin Weixia couldn’t stop worrying and asked for a week’s leave, flying back to Nanjiang to care for her.

When her aunt was wheeled out of the operating room and woke from her hospital bed to find Lin Weixia there, she immediately pointed at her nose and told her to get back to school at once.

“What could possibly happen to me! You go back to school right now.”

“But I’ve already cleared it with my academic advisor.” Lin Weixia looked perfectly innocent.

Later, when her aunt was discharged and recuperating at home, the lady was sitting on the sofa watching television when she glanced at the calendar and said: “It’s the Winter Solstice today — let’s have dumplings. Weixia, go with Hang to buy flour and filling.”

Lin Weixia instinctively looked at the calendar on the wall. It read: December 22nd. Winter Solstice. Eat dumplings. The shortest day and longest night of the year.

She stared at the calendar for a long time without moving. Her aunt said with dissatisfaction: “This child — why hasn’t she moved after being called so many times?”

“Coming.” Lin Weixia snapped back after a long moment.

The siblings went out. Lin Weixia habitually bought beef and green onion. Gao Hang saw this and held back words on the tip of his tongue, silently helping his sister carry the things without saying a word.

By the time they returned home it was evening. A deep blue curtain had been hung outside the window; the dark night pressed in from all sides. Indoors, the lamplight was warm. The family gathered around the dining table to fold dumplings.

The television happened to interrupt with a news report: this year there had been unusual global changes — a volcanic eruption near the Pacific Ocean had sent volcanic dust floating up into the sky, and in many regions it had brought about snowfall.

Her aunt was rolling out pastry skins while watching the television, remarking: “It really is terribly cold this year. I’ve lived in Nanjiang most of my life and have never encountered weather this cold — this is the first time I’ve ever bought a down jacket.”

Lin Weixia scooped half a spoonful of beef filling and placed it in the center of a pastry skin, and pinched it up into a plump, round dumpling. She smiled faintly: “No matter how cold it gets, it’s not possible for it to snow in Nanjiang.”

Nanjiang had a subtropical oceanic climate and never saw snow. Summer was the longest season of the year.

“Sis — hey — Sis — come out here.” Gao Hang’s voice called repeatedly from outside the door.

Gao Hang was certainly calling her out to play — when buying groceries that afternoon he had already bought a whole load of firecrackers. Lin Weixia continued wrapping her dumplings and paid him no attention, but he wouldn’t stop — he kept calling without relenting.

Lin Weixia gave up and washed her hands in the kitchen, draped on a heavy coat without much thought, and walked out the door absentmindedly.

She pushed open the door. A bitter wind swept in. A small white fleck of icy cold landed on her eyelid. She raised her lashes. Snowflakes drifted and swirled from the sky in all directions — as far as the eye could see, a world of white.

Warm-toned street lamps hung high along the roadside, illuminating the small path not far ahead. Lin Weixia walked out in a daze. Snowflake after snowflake landed on her face, on her eyes, and finally dissolved inside them — leaving a pronounced dampness.

This Winter Solstice — it had actually snowed in Nanjiang.

Lin Weixia recalled those words she had once said with such certainty — “If you want me to be with you, it would take nothing less than snow falling in Nanjiang” — and that person who had lazily replied, “Don’t say things you can’t take back.”

To coax her, the young man had sent her a snow globe music box on her birthday — when the music played, a butterfly beat its wings, and snowflakes fell inside.

That snowfall — she and he had watched it together.

Lin Weixia stood in the snow, head tilted back, eyes closed. Her lashes trembled. She heard the rushing sound of the wind, the snow settling on the trees, melting in the eaves — the sounds of falling snow, so light and faint. She heard every one of them.

If you can hear this —

Eighteen-year-old Ban Sheng, happy birthday.

Will it snow again next Winter Solstice?

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