Amateur talent show? Top mentors are my students.

He Xu went to the hospital alone.

It's three and a half weeks after the surgery, time for a follow-up check-up.

Dr. Chen's assistant sent a confirmation email two days in advance, clearly listing the time, floor, and items to be checked.

He Xu read it once, replied with "Confirmed", and then took a screenshot of the appointment information and saved it to his phone.

On the morning of his departure, Jiang Yanbai was called away by a phone call from the recording studio.

Before leaving, he changed his shoes at the door, turned his head to look at He Xu, and asked, "What time is your follow-up appointment?"

He Xu picked up his phone, typed a few words, and held it up: "No need, Jen will take me."

Jiang Yanbai looked at him for two seconds, as if he wanted to say something, but in the end he just nodded: "Then send me a message when you come back."

After closing the door, He Xu stood in the living room, put his phone in the inside pocket of his coat, picked up his thin jacket, and went out.

Jen drove him to the side entrance of the hospital, then turned to look at the person in the passenger seat who was unbuckling his seatbelt: "Should I wait for you?"

He Xu shook his head, picked up his phone and typed: "I'll take a taxi home myself."

Jen glanced at him and didn't insist any further: "Tell River when the results are out—or you can tell me."

He Xu nodded, opened the car door, and got out.

The afternoon Los Angeles sun was dry and bright, falling on his shoulders with a warm, reassuring weight.

He walked across the parking lot, pushed open the light gray glass door, and entered the lobby.

The receptionist was the same woman, wearing a beige cardigan. She nodded slightly when she saw him come in: "Mr. He? Dr. Chen is waiting for you. Please go straight to the third floor."

He Xu nodded to her and walked towards the elevator.

The corridor on the third floor was covered with a dark gray carpet, so that footsteps made almost no sound.

He walked to the door of the clinic at the end of the hall. The door was ajar, and he could hear Dr. Chen talking to someone on the phone. The voice was very low and he couldn't hear what was going on.

He Xu sat down on a chair outside the door, unzipped his coat a little, and waited quietly.

About five minutes later, the door opened.

Dr. Chen came out, holding a document in his hand. He smiled slightly at He Xu and said, "Mr. He, come in."

He Xu stood up and went inside, sitting down opposite the desk. Dr. Chen sat down opposite him, opened the thick medical record book, compared the records between several pages with his finger, and then looked up at him.

"The recovery is very good, better than expected."

He pointed to a few lines of data on the medical record with the tip of his pen: "[English] The laryngoscopy follow-up showed that the recovery was progressing even faster than we had anticipated. The edema has completely subsided, and the grafted tissue is fitting better than I expected."

He Xu's eyelashes twitched.

So, you can start trying to speak now.

He Xu leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixed on his face, as if to confirm that he hadn't misheard.

"[English] I know you haven't spoken for three weeks. You may have gotten used to typing on your phone, gesturing, and making eye contact—but starting today, you need to practice speaking again."

"What you need is to use your vocal cords very relaxed, gently, and without any burden. Don't strain, don't try to sing, just speak."

He Xu was silent for a moment, then spoke.

The voice was smoother than he had expected.

His voice was much clearer than it had been in the years following his injury. It was still deep, but no longer had the obvious, uncontrollable hoarseness and roughness of before.

Like metal that has been covered by a thin layer of dust for a long time, it is being slowly polished to reveal its true form.

It was a little lower than the boy's voice he remembered before he was injured, but the quality had returned.

"...OK," he said.

One word, very short.

Dr. Chen looked at him, a slight smile playing on his lips: "Are you okay?"

He Xu opened his mouth again, this time saying a few more words than before: "...I'm fine."

Then he stopped, as if sensing the shape and weight of those syllables.

He pressed his fingertips lightly against his throat, and the vibration beneath the skin was clear and steady.

"I suggest you start practicing a short speaking segment every day this week. You can record yourself and listen to it—don't do too much, just take it step by step," Dr. Chen said. "Come back for a follow-up check-up in two weeks, and we'll see how your vocal cords are doing with continued use."

He Xu nodded, then added, "Thanks."

When I walked out of the consultation room, the lights in the corridor were still on.

He stood at the elevator door for a while, then the elevator door opened, and there was no one inside.

He went inside, pressed the button for the first floor, then leaned against the elevator wall, turned his head to look at his reflection in the mirrored steel plate, opened his mouth, and whispered something.

"...He can speak now."

The sound echoed softly in the small space.

The elevator doors opened.

No one in the lobby noticed him.

He Xu stepped out of the glass door, sunlight falling on his shoulders.

He took a deep breath; there was no pain in his throat, nor the feeling of something stuck in his throat.

It could even be said that his throat had never felt so relaxed and comfortable in the past four years.

He stood on the steps for a while, then looked down at his phone and sent Jiang Yanbai a message: "The follow-up examination is over. I can speak now."

He then put his phone back in his pocket, walked down the steps, and headed towards the parking lot along the sidewalk.

-

That evening, He Xu returned to his residence, changed into a casual T-shirt, poured himself a glass of water in the kitchen, and then sat in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room.

He leaned back on the sofa armrest, listening to the wind outside the window and the sound of traffic on the distant highway.

He tried to say a few more words, his voice lower than his original one, but the hoarseness that had been worn down by time had faded considerably.

In the evening, Jiang Yanbai pushed open the door.

He spoke before he had even fully entered: "I'm finishing work early today—you need to have a follow-up check—"

Then he stopped.

Because He Xu's voice came from the direction of the living room.

It wasn't high-pitched, with a slightly hoarse tone that had just recovered and wasn't fully developed yet, but it was much clearer than that deep, husky voice:

"...The follow-up examination went very well."

Jiang Yanbai froze in the entryway, his hand still on the doorknob, one shoe off.

He Xu sat on the sofa, holding a half-full glass of water, her gaze steady: "What are you doing standing there? Is the house haunted?"

Jiang Yanbai finally took off his shoes, changed into slippers, and walked in. He stood next to the sofa and looked down at He Xu.

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, as if to confirm that the sound he heard was not a hallucination.

"Say something more," he said.

He Xu looked at him for two seconds, then said, "Jiang Yanbai, you skipped work again today, didn't you?"

The voice was still a little hoarse, but it was completely different from the rough, sandpaper-smooth sound of before; it had become magnetic.

The bass range still has depth, but it's much clearer.

It sounds great.

At least that's what Jiang Yanbai thinks.

It sounds better than after the injury, even better than before the injury.