I Promise to Walk With You for Half of my Life’s Journey - Chapter 37

Fourth Week: Monday Afternoon

Cheng Sutong placed a twenty-three-page document titled “Museum of Sound Project Risk Assessment and Solutions” on Director Chen’s desk. The cover featured an illustration by Xiaoxing: an umbrella shaped like an ear, protecting various tiny sound spirits underneath.

“Efficiency is high. Who helped you with this?”

“Wang Lei handled the data security and user behavior analysis sections. Zhou Ming drafted the copyright agreement. I consulted Teacher An, and she contacted a lawyer friend specializing in special education to provide legal advice. Zhao Xueqing managed all the layout and visualization,” Cheng Sutong explained.

The director looked up at her. “You brought Wang Lei into this?”

“He approached me voluntarily. Regarding the questions he raised last Friday, he conducted a detailed research report over the weekend and sent it to me early this morning.”

The report was indeed professional. Wang Lei had not only identified risks but also provided layered solutions.

Privacy Protection: All uploaded sounds would undergo automatic desensitization to remove background noises that might leak locations. Users could choose between anonymous or signed submissions. Sound storage would be encrypted, and original files would be automatically destroyed after three months, leaving only the artistic creations.

Content Review: A triple-filtering system would be implemented. This included an initial AI screening for obvious violations, followed by a community vote where ten or more “appropriate” votes were required to proceed, and a final review by teachers from the school for the deaf.

Copyright Ownership: A Creative Commons agreement would be used. The children would retain the rights to be credited and the moral rights to their work, but would authorize the project to use the works for non-commercial purposes. Users who uploaded sounds would receive digital usage rights for the corresponding artwork for personal use.

Psychological Protection: An emotional cushioning mechanism would be established for the children. Teachers would preview sound content to filter out extreme or violent material. During the creation process, psychological counselors would be present. Each child would process a maximum of three sounds per week to avoid emotional overload.

The director pointed to a specific line. “This emotional cushioning mechanism, was it your idea?”

“It was my teacher’s idea. She said we cannot only think about protecting the users. We must protect the creators, those children. Letting them connect with the sounds of the real world is good, but the dosage must be controlled, and there must be professional adults to guide them through these emotions,” Cheng Sutong replied.

The director closed the report and looked at Cheng Sutong. “Are you twenty-three years old?”

“Yes.”

“The way you handle problems is like a veteran who has managed projects for ten years. Do you know why?”

Cheng Sutong shook her head.

“Because you have seen true risk, the kind involving life and death. Therefore, these workplace and project risks are merely technical problems that need to be solved to you.”

Cheng Sutong was stunned. She had never thought about it from that perspective.

“Fine, the report is approved,” the director said as he stamped it. “Go ahead and do it. If you need any resources, come to me directly.”

Tuesday to Wednesday

Wang Lei truly began participating in the project, and he was fully committed.

On Tuesday morning, he proactively organized a small technical meeting. People from the Product, Design, and Creative departments attended. When Cheng Sutong arrived, Wang Lei had already filled the whiteboard with architectural diagrams.

“The core of the community review mechanism is gamification,” he explained with a focused gaze, completely devoid of his previous sarcasm. “Users who participate in the review can earn points. These points can be exchanged for privileges, such as designating a specific young artist to create for them or obtaining a physical version of the artwork.”

He pulled up a data chart. “I analyzed user behavior on similar platforms. Participation driven purely by public welfare decreases sharply over time. However, adding an appropriate reward mechanism can increase retention by over 40 percent.”

Zhou Ming frowned. “But will that change the nature of the project? Will it turn the children’s creations into mere commodities?”

Wang Lei was prepared. “That is why the privileges must be designed carefully. First, there will be no monetary transactions. All points can only be earned through participation. Second, designating a creation is an invitation, not an order. The child has the right to refuse. Third, physical works are limited editions. Each child completes a maximum of three physical works per month to avoid becoming an assembly line.”

He looked at Cheng Sutong. “What does the lead designer think?”

Cheng Sutong thought for a moment. “I agree with the gamification approach, but we need another layer. Every user who participates in a review should see what kind of artwork the sound they reviewed eventually became. The satisfaction of witnessing that transformation should be more important than points.”

Wang Lei immediately noted it down. “Good idea. We can create a My Review Footprint page to visualize how many sounds a user has guarded and how many paintings or stars those sounds turned into.”

The meeting lasted two hours. After it ended, Wang Lei called out to Cheng Sutong.

He seemed uncharacteristically awkward. “About what I said before, I take it back. You truly want to do something meaningful.”

Cheng Sutong smiled. “You too. Those risk assessments were very professional.”

Wang Lei scratched his head. “Actually, I have a younger sister. She became deaf in one ear after a childhood illness. She always says that half the sounds of the world are missing. So, when I saw this project, my first reaction was that someone was using people with disabilities as a marketing gimmick again. I am sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize. Questioning is appropriate. Now, let us work together to turn this into something truly good.”

Thursday

In the art room of the school for the deaf, the atmosphere was serious yet exciting. Twenty children sat on small stools. Teacher Su Hang explained the rules using sign language, while An Chuxin provided oral assistance beside her.

“You are sound translators,” Su Hang’s gestures were clear and powerful. “But not every sound deserves to be translated. If you hear a sound that makes you uncomfortable, such as a fierce argument, sad crying, or bad words, you can raise your hand to refuse. This is not cowardice. It is self-protection.”

Xiaoxing raised her hand. “What if the sound is very sad, but I want to comfort that person?”

An Chuxin answered, “You can, but it must be done under the guidance of a teacher. You can draw a warm picture or fold a courage star. We will include a message in the reply saying that this is a hug from the little translator.”

Another boy asked, “What if I do not understand what the sound is saying?”

Cheng Sutong knelt down and used simple sign language along with her speech. “You do not need to understand the words. You need to understand the emotion of the sound. Is it happy? Angry? Lonely? Using colors and shapes to draw that emotion is the best translation.”

The training lasted all morning. The children practiced feeling various sound samples on tablets and then quickly drew their first impressions in sketchbooks. Cheng Sutong found their perception to be remarkably sharp.

For a recording of rain, most children drew blue or gray, but Xiaoxing drew a transparent spiral. She said that rain falls layer by layer, like a staircase.

For a recording of laughter, some drew jumping yellow dots of light, while others drew blooming flowers. A ten-year-old boy named A-Jie drew a cracked pomegranate full of ruby-like seeds. He wrote that the laughter exploded, and it was full of sweetness inside.

What moved Cheng Sutong most was when a recording of a baby babbling was played. All the children stopped their pens. They looked at each other and then simultaneously drew the same thing: a soft, furry, curled-up form.

“What is this?” Cheng Sutong asked.

Su Hang translated the children’s sign language. “They say this is life just beginning. It is like the feathers of a bird that have not yet hardened or a petal that has not yet unfolded.”

At that moment, Cheng Sutong understood. Although these children could not hear, they understood the world in a more fundamental way.

Friday, 3:00 PM

Every employee at Echo Culture received an email. The subject was Museum of Sound Beta Invitation: Become the First Group of Sound Messengers. It invited them to record a sound they wanted to preserve, vote on the appropriateness of other sounds, and receive a dedicated sound translation five days later.

Cheng Sutong stared nervously at the backend data.

Ten minutes later, the first sound was successfully uploaded. It was recorded by the blue-haired girl at the front desk. It was the sound of the water flowing in her guppy tank. The title was My Slacking Partner.

Then came the second, the third, and many more. By the time they finished work, forty-seven sounds had been uploaded. The review voting had also begun. On average, each sound gathered ten “appropriate” votes within twenty minutes and entered the translation library.

Zhou Ming walked over. “The children have received the first batch of sounds. Xiaoxing chose the one you uploaded.”

What Cheng Sutong had uploaded was a very ordinary sound: An Chuxin chopping vegetables in the kitchen, the collision of the blade and the cutting board, and the occasional sizzle of green onions hitting hot oil. The title was The Heartbeat of Home.

“How will she translate it?” Cheng Sutong was curious and anxious.

“She said she needs two days. She placed her hands on the speaker to listen for a long time and then started collecting materials. She said she wants to find things that are warm, orderly, and capable of glowing.”

Friday late night

Cheng Sutong sat cross-legged on the sofa, clutching Bruce the shark plushie. An Chuxin was in the study writing, the rhythmic sound of typing echoing out.

“Teacher An,” Cheng Sutong suddenly said.

“Yes?”

“What if Xiaoxing’s translation is completely different from what I expect?”

The typing stopped. An Chuxin walked out and sat beside her. “What is it that you expect?”

“I hope she draws warmth, safety, and a sense of belonging. But what if she feels that the sound of chopping vegetables is sharp, repetitive, and boring?”

An Chuxin gently held her hand. “Then you will know that in another person’s perception, the sound you view as home has a different appearance. Is that not also good?”

“But,” Cheng Sutong started.

“Cheng Sutong. When I first met you six years ago, you were physically weak. At that time, I thought this child was like fragile glass. But now I know you are glazed glass. You are equally transparent, but having been burned by high temperatures, you have instead gained resilience. Xiaoxing’s translation is the same. What matters is not that she draws what you expect, but that she draws the sound as it truly is after being burned by the flames of her own soul.”

Cheng Sutong buried her face in An Chuxin’s shoulder.

Her phone vibrated. It was a message from Zhao Xueqing in the project group. She reported that the backend data was exploding. In just half a day, the number of uploaded sounds had exceeded one hundred, and the community voting participation rate was 80 percent. Director Chen said they could begin preparing for the official launch next week.

An Chuxin looked at her brightening eyes. “Go on. Reply to the message. I am waiting for you.”

Cheng Sutong replied quickly and then leaned back into An Chuxin’s embrace.

On this ordinary Friday night, hundreds of mundane sounds were flying through the digital world toward a group of children who could not hear. Those children would use their eyes, their hands, and their entire souls to find colors and shapes for these sounds.

As for her, Cheng Sutong, twenty-three years old, who was once sentenced to death by doctors, was now a newcomer at an advertising agency, the head of a project, and a person waiting for a painting.

Cheng Sutong was ready to accept all possibilities because she knew that no matter what the translation turned out to be, it would eventually be caught steadily and placed properly by the hands of An Chuxin.

It was just like every time she had fallen over these past years.

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