《The Sound of the Quiet Room》
It was a late afternoon on the first day of autumn when I finally set foot on the Pearl River Delta's Lingnan land for the very first time. From the high-speed rail station, a taxi weaved me through various residential houses and old streets. After countless turns and twists, the roaring sound of traffic gradually faded from my ears.
The afternoon's summer breeze was filled with the warmth of Southern China, a long-lost yet newly-discovered late summer lingering heat of a foreign land for me.
The room had cool air conditioning prepared early, situated on a corner overlooking the street, atop two Qilou (arcade-house) buildings.
It seemed the external sounds, hustle, and heat couldn't breach this soundproof barrier. So I flung open one side of the window, allowing warm and cool air currents to mingle, and the curtains to flutter wildly in the room. This also allowed my ears to listen to the century-old stories of these Qilou.
Alone, I sank deep into the sofa. I let a part of my mind drift out the window, tracing every brick seam downwards, reaching towards the tangible distance. I vaguely knew that many dancers had gathered in the square downstairs, and a hundred meters away, there was a roast meat shop with a queue. And, and...
Suddenly, I hoped for a torrential rain, a downpour. Perhaps my wish reached heaven, as a single drop of rain, like a charging soldier, splattered on my table, forming a dark flower.
A bicycle bell jingled past, too quickly for me to catch. Closely followed by the laughter of several students, chasing after it.
The rumbling thunder hammered down in rhythmic blows.
The wind rustled through the coconut trees, scattering their leaves.
The honking of private cars kept time, one here, one there, and I played whack-a-mole in my head.
The sound of electric scooters was like children in a field, always jumping from one spot to another.
The wind before sunset suddenly whipped through the palm trees in gusts, making falling objects crackle and pop.
There should also be two cats, gently calling...
For a moment, clear chattering and chaotic noise, all sounds intertwined. For my ears, it was a 'one-to-ten' dilemma, overwhelming my senses.
I drifted into a deep sleep amidst the slightly heavy shower. The white noise of rain and thunder humming together gave me a deeply, deeply profound dream of both warmth and cold.
After the rain passed and darkness fell, I nestled in a corner of the coffee shop. I remained in a semi-conscious, shallow sleep, preserving my energy. Accompanied by the aroma of coffee and wine filling the room, the slanting sunlight carved irregular shapes on the wall, embedding them there. At this moment, I wished to become an unmoving beetle in amber, with time eternally stopped.
Back in the room, after closing the window, all these myriad sounds were once again shut out...
Two iconic buildings, classical and exquisitely standing for nearly a century,
dressed in the attire of the last century, yet daily washed by the sounds of this century.
Fortunate I am, on this first day of autumn, to have walked into the quiet amidst the hustle of Ling.
Original TextTranslation provided by AI
