I Promise to Walk With You for Half of my Life’s Journey - Chapter 36

Cheng Sutong brought the news of the children’s consent back to the company. Director Chen made an immediate decision; the project was to be upgraded, and all company resources would be directed toward it.

Someone needed to work overtime during the weekend to build the first batch of prototypes for the “Voice Mailbox.” Cheng Sutong intended to stay, but Zhou Ming waved his hand. “You go home. You have been exhausted running back and forth to the school all week.”

“But,” she began.

“My daughter is over there.” Zhou Ming flashed a rare smile. “Just consider this something I am doing for her.”

Zhao Xueqing also raised her hand. “I will stay and help! Sutong, you can just come in on Monday to see the results.”

While Cheng Sutong hesitated, her phone rang. It was a message from An Chuxin: “I have stewed some snow pear and silver ear fungus soup to help with the autumn dryness. Also, I brought the sofa sample book home. I am waiting for you to come back and choose.”

She looked up at her colleagues. Zhou Ming had already put on gloves and started cutting wooden boards; Zhao Xueqing was mixing paints, and several other colleagues had spontaneously stayed behind to help.

“Thank you, everyone.” Cheng Sutong gave a deep bow.

On her way home, Cheng Sutong bought a bouquet of roses.

When she pushed open the front door, the sweet fragrance of the pear soup greeted her. An Chuxin was sitting at the dining table with a thick sofa sample book spread out, marking pages with sticky notes.

“You are back. The soup is on the stove.”

Cheng Sutong placed the flowers in a glass vase and hugged An Chuxin from behind, resting her chin on her shoulder. “Chuxin, this week felt so long.”

“But it was fulfilling, right?”

“Yes. I met a group of children who are like stars. They cannot hear, yet they are preserving sounds for this world.”

An Chuxin put down the sample book, turned around, and gently brushed the stray hairs from Cheng Sutong’s forehead. “You are like a star too.”

“Me?”

“Only those who have stayed in the dark know how precious light is. What you are doing is sharing that light with more people.”

Cheng Sutong buried her face in the crook of An Chuxin’s neck. A week’s worth of exhaustion, uncertainty, and pressure melted away in that moment.

“Chuxin.”

“Yes?”

“Once this project is finished, can we really go to Yunnan?”

“We can. I am already looking at travel guides. Cangshan, Erhai, and tie-dye; they will all be waiting for you.”

“What about the sofa? Have you chosen one?”

An Chuxin flipped open the sample book and pointed to a rice-gray fabric sofa. “This one. It is stain-resistant and has a removable cover for washing. The seat is deep enough for you to lie down and draw.”

“And the size?”

“A three-seater. We will leave one spot for Bruce.”

They both laughed.

That night, Cheng Sutong had a dream. She dreamed of thousands of glass jars floating in the night sky, each containing stars. Those stars could glow and sing, performing ballads composed by children using colors and shapes.

She and An Chuxin sat on their newly purchased sofa, covered by the same blanket, listening to the stars sing all night long.

She woke up at 3:00 AM. An Chuxin was breathing steadily beside her. Moonlight filtered through the gap in the curtains, casting a narrow strip of silver on the floor.

Cheng Sutong stood up quietly and walked to the balcony. She suddenly understood why Zhou Xiaoxing folded sounds into stars. It is because some things are too precious; they need to rise high enough so they will not be drowned out by the clamor of the world.

She felt incredibly lucky. She had been caught steadily by someone when she was falling, and now she had the ability to catch other falling sounds.

On Monday morning of the third week, Cheng Sutong was stunned when she pushed open the door to the vacant warehouse on the third floor.

The results of the weekend overtime far exceeded her expectations. Six “Voice Mailbox” prototypes had begun to take shape. They were varied in form; some looked like old-fashioned radios, some like giant seashells, and one was shaped like a tree hollow covered in real bark.

Zhou Ming was crouching by the “Tree Hollow Mailbox,” using a spray gun for a distressed finish. Hearing footsteps, he looked up with faint dark circles under his eyes. “You are here? Take a look.”

Zhao Xueqing poked her head out from a pile of wires, her face stained with paint. “Sutong! This radio mailbox actually lights up! I built a circuit so that when a sound is delivered, the light by the knob fluctuates like a sound wave.”

Cheng Sutong approached the radio mailbox. The wooden casing had been polished until it felt warm. The tuning knob could be turned, and the frequency dial featured sketches of various sounds: birds, raindrops, laughter, and the sound of turning pages.

“Whichever icon you turn it to, the delivered sound will be categorized under that theme.” Zhao Xueqing demonstrated excitedly. “For example, if you turn it to laughter, that sound will enter the happy database. The children might use brighter colors when they create.”

Cheng Sutong turned the knob gently. Click, click.

“You all made these over the weekend?”

“Not just us.” Zhou Ming stood up and rubbed his lower back. “Director Chen called two colleagues from the Product Department to help. Sister Wang from Administration even brought her husband, who is a master carpenter.”

He pointed to a corner where leftover wood, wires, and sensors were piled next to several well-worn books, including Principles of Acoustics and Child Psychology.

“Xiaoxing came over the weekend too. She said in sign language, ‘Is Daddy making a house for sounds to travel in?’ I said yes, and she sat there all afternoon drawing designs.”

Cheng Sutong looked in the direction he pointed. The wall was covered in children’s drawings; mailboxes with wings, mailboxes that could bloom, and mailboxes with little stars in their bellies.

The drawing in the center was done with particular care: an ear-shaped mailbox with a rotating rainbow vortex deep in the ear canal. Beside it was written in Pinyin: “Sounds go in to travel, and they come out as colors.”

Cheng Sutong said softly, “These drawings should become part of the mailboxes.”

Zhou Ming nodded. “I talked to Xiaoxing. She said she wants to engrave the drawings on the inner walls of the mailboxes, so they can only be seen when the person delivering the sound opens the small door.”

On Tuesday afternoon, a problem arose regarding technical implementation.

Xiao Wen from the Product Department explained with a frown, “To realize the process of delivering sound and immediately receiving an artwork requires a complex matching algorithm. Analyzing sound features, identifying emotions, and then filtering the best match from the children’s work database; we would need a specialized AI team for that.”

“What about the budget?” Director Chen asked.

Xiao Wen quoted a figure. The meeting room fell silent; it far exceeded the funding for a public welfare project.

Cheng Sutong stared at the process sketch on the whiteboard and suddenly spoke. “What if it is not immediate?”

Everyone looked at her.

“We can do a voice slow-delivery.” Cheng Sutong picked up a marker and drew a large clock symbol between “delivery” and “reception.” “After the sender records a sound, they need to wait. Perhaps a day, perhaps three days, before they receive a reply. During that waiting period, the sound will be sent to the school for the deaf. The children will spend time listening, feeling, and creating.”

“But the user experience will suffer,” Xiao Wen countered. “People nowadays seek instant gratification.”

“But some things are meant to be slow. It takes Xiaoxing two hours to make a sound star. She has to listen to that segment dozens of times. Although her way of hearing is different from ours, she places her hands on the speaker to feel the vibration. She uses her lips to mimic the outline of the sound and imagines the sound as colors and shapes. That process is worth the wait.”

She paused. “Furthermore, we can turn the waiting itself into an experience. The sender will receive a sound travel map showing in real-time which stage their sound has reached: arrived at school, being listened to, under creation, or artwork sent. At each stage, they can see short videos or photos of the children working.”

Zhao Xueqing’s eyes lit up. “It is like tracking a package, but you are tracking the soul of your own voice.”

Cheng Sutong nodded. “Correct. We can even put a message on the waiting page: ‘Please wait patiently; at this moment, a child who cannot hear is translating your sound with their entire soul.'”

Director Chen pondered for a moment. “Technically, this plan is much simpler. It mainly involves developing a mini-program for status tracking and content display.”

“How much can the cost be reduced?” Cheng Sutong asked Xiao Wen.

Xiao Wen calculated quickly. “It drops by 80 percent. Also, I know a few college students working on open-source projects. They are very interested in this idea and can help with the basic development for free.”

The crisis was temporarily averted, but Cheng Sutong believed the bigger test was yet to come: how to make the public willing to participate in such a slow project.

From Wednesday to Thursday, Cheng Sutong decided to start with people rather than technology.

She made a list and took Zhao Xueqing on a two-day “City Sound Hunt.” An Chuxin helped her contact several community senior centers, traditional handicraft workshops, and a place Cheng Sutong was particularly insistent on visiting: the palliative care unit of an oncology hospital.

On Wednesday morning, seventy-four-year-old Master Li sat on a small stool. The grindstone at his feet had been there for thirty years. He did not charge money for sharpening knives; he only took stories. “Sharpening scissors! Sharpening kitchen knives!”

Cheng Sutong recorded the sound of the grindstone rubbing against the blade, capturing the moment sparks flew.

Every Wednesday afternoon, volunteers came to play the piano. When Cheng Sutong arrived, an elderly man, thin and frail, was playing “Jasmine Flower” with trembling fingers. He missed several notes, but no one corrected him.

A nurse whispered, “His wife loved this tune the most. She passed away last year. He is playing the version from his memory now.”

Cheng Sutong recorded those missed notes. Hidden within those imperfections was the complete love of one person for another.

On Thursday morning, at a breakfast stall run by a couple.

The husband fried dough sticks while the wife handled the money; they had worked together for forty years. The oil sizzled, the dough expanded, the tongs clattered, and the couple shared brief dialogues: “The usual?” “The usual.”

Cheng Sutong asked, “Why not open a branch?” The wife laughed. “If we opened a branch, I would not be able to hear him ask me ‘The usual’ anymore.”

On Thursday evening, in the art room of the school for the deaf.

Cheng Sutong played the collected sounds for the children. Zhou Xiaoxing chose the knife-sharpening sound. She listened for a long time and then began to paint. She drew a pair of hands covered in wrinkles and calluses, holding a flowing silver light.

On the back of the painting, she wrote and Su Hang translated: “This sound is very hard, but the hands are very soft. When hard and soft come together, they become light.”

Another boy chose the missed notes of “Jasmine Flower.” He used a large number of broken, lavender-colored blocks, but in the center of the fragments, he painted a complete, pure white flower.

He wrote: “Things that will not break grew out of a broken sound.”

On Friday, Cheng Sutong returned to the company with the children’s work, ready for the first round of internal testing. She set up a simple “Voice Mailbox” prototype in the common rest area and invited colleagues to deliver sounds and experience the full process.

The response was enthusiastic. Even Sister Zhang from the Finance Department, who was usually solemn, recorded a clip of her son saying “Mama” for the first time. Her eyes turned red after she received a collage made of pacifiers and yarn.

However, Wang Lei, a guy from the Business Department who had always been subtly hostile toward Cheng Sutong, raised a sharp question.

“Designer Cheng, have you thought about legal risks?” He stopped Cheng Sutong in the pantry. His voice was not loud, but several nearby colleagues could hear. “How do you ensure that the sounds uploaded by users do not infringe on privacy? What if someone uploads indecent content and the children are exposed to it? Also, who owns the copyright to these works?”

These problems did indeed exist. Just as Cheng Sutong was about to answer, Director Chen’s voice came from behind.

“Wang Lei is right. Cheng Sutong, give me a complete risk assessment and solution by Monday.”

“Understood, Director.”

The corner of Wang Lei’s mouth twitched. “I am also doing this for the good of the project.”

Cheng Sutong looked at him. “Thank you. Do you have any other suggestions?”

This attitude caught Wang Lei off guard. He hesitated. “The uploaded content needs a review mechanism. But manual review is too costly, and AI review might result in false positives.”

Cheng Sutong already had an idea. “Then we will use community review. All uploaded sounds will first enter a pending pool. Other users can choose ‘I want to hear this sound first.’ Once a certain number of users mark it as appropriate, the sound will enter the children’s creation library. The reviewers themselves will earn points for participating, which allows them to receive artworks with priority.”

Wang Lei frowned. “That requires very strong community operations.”

Cheng Sutong smiled. “That is why we need the whole team to brainstorm. Wang Lei, you are good at data analysis and user behavior research. Can I ask for your help in designing this review mechanism?”

Wang Lei was stunned. He thought Cheng Sutong would be defensive or argue, but he did not expect her to throw the problem back to him and give him an important role.

“I will consider it.”

Cheng Sutong nodded. “Fine. If you make up your mind, come find me anytime. Zhao Xueqing, Zhou Ming, and I are in the warehouse.”

She turned and left, leaving Wang Lei standing there with a complicated expression.

Late Friday night.

Cheng Sutong was indeed in the warehouse. She, Zhao Xueqing, and Zhou Ming were debugging the second mailbox prototype. This one was made to look like an old letterbox. The delivery slot was made of brass and engraved with a small line of text: “Speak to the wind; it will take it to where it should go.”

As Zhao Xueqing was wiring, she grumbled, “Sutong, why are you so polite to Wang Lei? He was clearly trying to pick a fight.”

Cheng Sutong installed a sensor carefully. “The problems he raised truly exist. Besides, turning an enemy into an ally is more effective than defeating an enemy.”

Zhou Ming remarked, “You certainly have a broad mind.”

“My sister taught me.” Cheng Sutong thought of the figure who always calmly resolved student provocations on the podium.

“She said that many times, behind aggression lies a sense of powerlessness. Giving that person a chance to prove themselves is more useful than a counterattack.”

The sensor was installed. Cheng Sutong pressed the test button. The interior of the mailbox lit up with a warm yellow light. A small mechanical arm moved slowly to swallow a test card, and then an exit on the other side slowly produced a piece of paper printed with a starry sky.

“It worked!” Zhao Xueqing cheered.

Cheng Sutong looked at the starry paper. It was something Xiaoxing had drawn based on a test sound of the wind. To an eight-year-old girl with a hearing impairment, the wind was a flowing silver point of light in her heart.

She took a photo and sent it to An Chuxin: “The first mailbox that can swallow sound and give birth to stars is born.”

The reply came quickly: “It is like you; you have swallowed too many bitter sounds, and you give birth to light.”

Cheng Sutong’s eyes grew moist.

The phone vibrated again. This time it was a message from Wang Lei: “I have some thoughts about the review mechanism. Is it convenient to talk tomorrow?”

She replied: “See you in the warehouse tomorrow at 2:00 PM.”

Some sounds are disappearing, and some sounds are being born. In this old warehouse, three adults are guarding a dream a child with a hearing impairment drew on the wall:

Sounds go in to travel, and they come out as colors.

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