Xu Qing · Chat

<narration>You moved into this old apartment building at dusk in late autumn. The elevator was broken, so you had to take the stairs. While carrying a heavy cardboard box around the corner of the third floor, the bottom of the box split open without warning. Everything spilled across the floor with a crash, and a few books even rolled halfway down the stairs. You stood there, silent. Aphasia always plunges you into an embarrassing silence whenever you need to speak. Only after a long moment did you crouch down, gathering the scattered items with your hands.</narration> <narration>Then, footsteps sounded from upstairs, unhurried. Xu Qing walked down. His deep grey hair was draped casually over his shoulders, and his pale sweater made his skin look somewhat wan. Seeing the mess on the floor and you crouching there, his pace faltered slightly. He stepped down one stair, leaned over to pick up a book from the floor, gently patted off the dust, and placed it by your hand.</narration> <message>"I'll help you."</message> <narration>His voice was very soft, as if he were afraid of startling something. After speaking, he began helping you pick up the other items, his movements not particularly fast. When he picked up a keychain, his fingers visibly trembled, and he nearly dropped it. He pursed his lips, gripped it more carefully, and gently placed it next to the books.</narration> <message>You looked up at him and signed "Thank you."</message> <message>He saw it and gave a slight nod: "You're welcome."</message> <narration>Everything was soon gathered up. Finally, a pen rolled into the corner; he leaned over to pick it up, using one hand to steady himself against the wall as he stood, his body seeming to stiffen for a very brief moment. He handed the pen to you.</narration> <message>"This box is useless now. I have bags at my place, just on the third floor."</message> <message>You nodded and took out your phone to type: 【Sorry for the trouble.】</message> <message>He glanced at the screen: "It's nothing."</message> <narration>He turned to walk upstairs. You noticed that as he climbed, his hand remained on the railing, and he took every step with great focus. Reaching the third floor, he opened the door and invited you in.</narration> <narration>The room was very tidy, with a faint scent of tea and old books in the air. He took two canvas bags from a cabinet and handed them to you, then turned to boil water. While you were packing your things into the bags, he brewed two cups of tea, placing one on the coffee table beside you.</narration> <message>"Moving is exhausting, have something hot to warm up." He sat in a chair by the window, looking out and pointedly not staring at you, as if to give you some comfortable space.</message> <narration>You finished packing and took a sip of the tea. A wave of warmth slid down your throat.</narration> <message>You typed on your phone to show him: 【Thank you. My name is 你, I live on the fifth floor.】</message> <message>He turned around and read your name aloud: "你... it's a very nice name. I'm Xu Qing." He paused, adding, "Xu as in 'promise,' Qing as in 'light and heavy.'"</message> <message>You typed: 【Xu Qing. It sounds like a very gentle breeze.】</message> <message>He smiled slightly: "Thank you."</message> <narration>You prepared to leave.</narration> <message>He saw you to the door and suddenly said, "If you're living alone and have something heavy to move, or somewhere you can't reach, you can call me. My strength is... alright, I can lend a hand." His tone was very casual, just like any ordinary neighbor.</message> <message>You nodded and pointed upstairs.</message> <message>"Yeah, take it slow."</message> <narration>He stood at the door, watching your back as you went upstairs. That was the beginning. It was very ordinary. Truly getting to know each other was something pieced together later, bit by bit.</narration> <narration>The previous property manager resigned, and the elevator repairs were constantly delayed, so you began to run into each other in the stairwell more often. He often had books or mail in his hands, sometimes shopping bags. As the weather turned cold, he wore a very thick scarf, and his pace became even slower.</narration> <narration>Once, you were going downstairs and saw him standing at the building entrance, one hand propped against the wall, eyes tightly shut, his face terribly pale. You hurried over and gently touched his arm.</narration> <message>He opened his eyes, saw it was you, and forced a smile: "It's nothing... just a bit dizzy, an old problem. I'll be fine if I stand for a bit."</message> <narration>You didn't leave. After a while, his complexion seemed to recover slightly.</narration> <message>"Thank you," he said. "Every time this happens... it's quite unsightly."</message> <message>You shook your head and typed to ask: 【Are you sick?】</message> <message>He was silent for a few seconds before saying in a low voice, "Yes. Multiple Sclerosis. Sometimes... my body doesn't quite listen to me." He tried to make his tone sound light.</message> <message>You typed: 【Is it very difficult?】</message> <message>"I'm used to it." He looked away, turning to ask, "And you? You're always alone."</message> <message>You typed: 【Freelance painter. I'm used to not speaking, too.】</message> <message>"Painting is good." His eyes brightened slightly. "You can create a quiet world that belongs only to you."</message> <message>You typed: 【Do you like quiet?】</message> <message>"If it's too noisy, my body gets a bit uncomfortable." He didn't answer directly, looking into the distance and changing the subject.</message> <narration>Gradually, a kind of tacit understanding grew between you. You would quietly leave extra bread on the shelf by his door. He would gently knock and bring over a cup of warm fruit tea when you stayed up late painting. You didn't often visit each other's rooms, but through these silent exchanges, you slowly came to understand one another. You knew he needed to go to the hospital regularly, that he liked tending to plants, and that he read quickly but turned pages very softly. He knew you liked listening to the sound of rain while painting, and that you would get frustrated with your easel when you couldn't express yourself properly.</narration> <narration>What truly brought you closer was a rainy night. That night, amidst thunder and rain, you ran back to the apartment without an umbrella. The sketches weren't going well, and combined with a misunderstanding earlier that day caused by your inability to speak, your mood was exceptionally low. As if possessed, you stopped in front of Xu Qing's door on the third floor and knocked.</narration> <narration>The door opened. Xu Qing was in pajamas with a thin coat draped over them, holding a book, seemingly preparing to rest. He was surprised to see you, especially seeing your reddened eyes and soaking wet hair.</narration> <message>"Come in, quick." He didn't ask questions, stepping aside to let you in and then fetching a dry towel. "Dry off, don't catch a cold."</message> <narration>You sat on the sofa, covering your face with the towel. He poured you a cup of warm water, sat down opposite you, and waited quietly.</narration> <narration>After a long time, you finally picked up your phone to type, your fingertips pressing with an irrepressible force.</narration> <message>【Why can't I just say the words "it's not like that"? Why do others always speak for me? If I don't make a sound, am I completely useless?】</message> <narration>The words appeared intense on the screen. Xu Qing looked at them for a long time.</narration> <message>"No." His voice was clear and steady. "Sound is just one way of expressing yourself. Your paintings, your eyes, the bread you leave at the door, you standing here right now... all of these are 'speaking.' I can hear it."</message> <narration>He unconsciously twirled a lock of his hair with his finger.</narration> <message>"I often feel useless, too. When my hands shake so much I can't even hold a cup steadily, when my legs have no strength, when my vision suddenly blurs... I've wondered if I'm just a waste, only capable of causing trouble for others."</message> <narration>He looked at you, his gaze honest.</narration> <message>"But a person's value probably doesn't depend on what they can 'do,' but rather on who they 'are' and how they 'connect' with this world. Like now, I'm sitting here, listening to the rain, and 'listening' to the rain in your heart... if that makes you feel even a little bit better, then I'm probably not a complete waste."</message> <narration>He picked up the water cup and took a sip; you could see his fingers trembling slightly.</narration> <message>"You're painting, creating landscapes others haven't seen. You care for your neighbor and bring food. You're working hard to express yourself in your own way. How could that be useless?"</message> <message>His gaze was gentle yet firm: "We might both be... 'inconvenienced.' But our existence, and our understanding of each other, might be a meaning in itself."</message> <narration>After that night, your relationship grew noticeably closer. It was as if two people walking clumsily through the world had suddenly seen their own reflections in each other's eyes. Later, being together became even more natural. You would go to his house to paint while he read or tended to his plants nearby. He would tell you directly, "My hands are a bit numb today, so making tea might be slow," and you would vent your frustrations at the easel right in front of him. You shared your respective "inconveniences," but also the tiny joys of life: like a new vine sprouting on the ivy, your painting being accepted by a client, a rare ray of winter sunshine, or a pastry that wasn't actually very sweet. You became that quiet exception in each other's lives.</narration> <narration>Until that winter afternoon. The sun was lovely that day, rare and warm. Xu Qing suggested going for a walk in the nearby park.</narration> <message>"I feel pretty good today."</message> <narration>You strolled slowly along the lakeside. He talked a bit more than usual, saying the thin ice on the lake looked like frosted glass, and laughing at the sparrows hopping on the withered grass. There even seemed to be some color in his face. Later, you sat on a bench to rest.</narration> <message>He squinted at the distance, saying softly, "Days like this are so nice... it would be even better if it could stay like this forever."</message> <narration>However, the change happened very suddenly. As Xu Qing was speaking, his voice abruptly faltered. You turned to look at him and found his body slightly stiffened, his pale eyes losing focus, his gaze seemingly passing through you and the lake to land on some void. One of his hands suddenly gripped the edge of the bench, his knuckles turning white from the force, while the other hand began to tremble violently and uncontrollably.</narration> <message>"Xu Qing!" Your heart tightened; you instinctively reached for your phone to type, but realizing he might not be able to see clearly, you put it down and reached out to touch the back of his tightly clenched hand.</message> <narration>His breathing became somewhat rapid, as if he were trying hard to restrain something. He closed his eyes, and after what felt like a century-long few dozen seconds, the tremors in his body slowly subsided, and his clenched fingers loosened bit by bit. When he reopened his eyes, focus had returned, but they were filled with exhaustion, a hint of embarrassment he couldn't hide in time, and... apology.</narration> <message>He looked at you and forced a very strained, even somewhat broken smile: "Sorry... did I scare you?"</message>