Hǎiyáng stirred awake with a groan as the faint morning light seeped through the thin curtains of his small dormitory room. The world felt off—like it was spinning faster than it should. He sat up slowly, gripping the sides of his bed to ground himself, but the sensation persisted.
And then he heard it.
At first, it was faint, like whispers carried on the wind. But as the moments passed, the whispers grew louder, overlapping one another until they became an indecipherable roar. He clutched his head, squeezing his temples, but the cacophony wouldn't stop.
His hands flew to his ears. The moment he covered them, silence enveloped him. Relief. Sweet, blissful relief.
"What was that?" he muttered, his voice trembling. He hesitated before uncovering his ears again, and immediately, the noise flooded back.
This time, he could make out fragments:
"How strange, he's awake now..."
"Look at him, so confused..."
"Is he going to cry?
Poor thing."
Hǎiyáng stumbled to his feet, his stomach twisting. His legs carried him out of the room on instinct, though his vision blurred with dizziness. As he stepped into the hallway, the voices grew louder, more insistent, as if the very walls were alive with chatter.
"Stop... please stop," he whispered, stumbling toward the staircase.
The voices didn't listen.
By the time he reached the courtyard, the relentless noise was unbearable. His nausea peaked, and he barely managed to stagger to a bush before retching. His heaving caught the attention of a group of transfer students lounging nearby.
"Look! The trash XF can't even handle walking in the morning!" one sneered, their laughter cutting through the whirlwind of voices in Hǎiyáng's head.
"Did he eat bad grass or something?" another joked, doubling over with laughter.
Their mocking stung, but Hǎiyáng was too overwhelmed to respond. His vision darkened at the edges, and he swayed on his feet, his hands clutching his ears in a futile attempt to block out the noise.
"Hǎiyáng!"
A familiar voice cut through the chaos. Lu Rè Jīng, his childhood friend, appeared like a beacon of sanity in the madness. He pushed through the jeering crowd, his expression tight with worry.
"Hǎiyáng, what's wrong? Talk to me!"
"Eat this," she said, setting the plate down. "You look pathetic."
Hǎiyáng turned his face away, his voice hoarse. "I'm not hungry."
Xuě Fú Fèn's expression tightened. "Don't make me waste my time. Eat, or I'll force it down your throat."
Despite her harsh words, she lingered longer than necessary, her gaze occasionally darting toward him. When Lu Rè Jīng teased her, she snapped, "Don't get any ideas. I'm not here out of pity!"
Hǎiyáng barely heard their exchange. The voices in his head were quieter now, but they hadn't disappeared. He closed his eyes, trying to find some semblance of peace.
Later that afternoon,
Xuě Jīnyú arrived at Hǎiyáng's dormitory. As Xuě Fú Fèn's aunt and the class attendant teacher, her presence usually commanded respect. But today, her concern outweighed her authority.
"Hǎiyáng," she said as she entered, her voice gentle.
He looked up, his makeshift earplugs still in place. Xuě Jīnyú raised an eyebrow. "Those aren't a solution. Let's figure out what's happening."
Hǎiyáng hesitated but removed one earplug. "I... I hear too much. It's like the world is screaming at me."
Xuě Jīnyú nodded thoughtfully. "Write down what you're hearing."
On the notepad she handed him, he scribbled: *Voices. Not human. Everywhere.
Xuě Jīnyú frowned. "Not human?" She summoned her snow goldfish, a shimmering beast that shrank into a tiny 20-centimeter form.
"Bring a wooden cup of water," she instructed.
When he returned, the goldfish leapt into the water, its fins glimmering like silk. "Focus on the water," Xuě Jīnyú said.
Hǎiyáng obeyed, and immediately, a voice entered his mind: *Why am I in this tiny cup? I'm bored. Is she going to talk about Xuě Jǐnlǐ Yú again?*
His eyes widened. "Your goldfish... it's talking!"
Xuě Jīnyú's face turned pale. "What did it say?"
Hǎiyáng repeated the goldfish's complaints, leaving her scandalized.
She quickly resummoned the beast, her hands trembling.
"This... this is extraordinary," she murmured. "You're hearing beasts."
Xuě Jīnyú wasted no time after her discovery. She marched straight to Xuě Jīn Mán's office, her mind racing with questions. What kind of ability had Hǎiyáng awakened? Was it a blessing or a curse?
Xuě Jīn Mán, the headmaster of Snowy Water Beast Taming School , greeted her with his usual calm demeanor. His large wooden desk was piled with documents, but he set them aside when he saw the urgency on her face.
"Jīnyú," he said, leaning back in his chair. "What brings you here in such haste?"
She hesitated before recounting everything. The strange auditory experience, the beast voices Hǎiyáng claimed to hear, and the unsettling encounter with her own snow goldfish. As she spoke, Xuě Jīn Mán's brow furrowed deeply.
"This is... unusual," he said after a long pause. "A tamer who can communicate directly with beasts?"
"It's more than that," Xuě Jīnyú replied, her voice low. "He's hearing beasts everywhere, not just his own."
Xuě Jīn Mán stood, pacing the room. "If this is true, it could explain the pillar's failure to evaluate him. But such an ability... it's unheard of in our lineage or anywhere in the kingdom."
"Should we inform the royal court?" Xuě Jīnyú asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
"No," he said firmly. "Not yet. We need to confirm the extent of his ability first. I will come to his room with a doctor."
That evening,
Xuě Jīn Mán arrived at the dormitory with a doctor and his own tamed beast, the Snow Gold Eel. The eel was a majestic creature, its sleek, shimmering body coiling gracefully around his arm. Its piercing blue eyes glowed faintly, exuding a sense of intelligence.
Hǎiyáng stood nervously in the center of the room, flanked by Xuě Jīnyú and the doctor. His earplugs were out, but he winced occasionally as the voices in his head grew louder.
Xuě Jīn Mán regarded him with a mix of curiosity and authority. "Hǎiyáng, we're going to test your ability. Answer my questions as honestly as you can."
The boy nodded, his hands clenched at his sides.
The headmaster turned to his eel. "Tell me something only we know," he instructed.
Hǎiyáng froze as a deep, guttural voice filled his mind: *That time you slipped in the courtyard and blamed it on the rain.*
His eyes widened. "It... it said you slipped in the courtyard."
Xuě Jīn Mán's composed facade faltered for a split second. "What else?"
"It also said... you blamed it on the rain," Hǎiyáng added hesitantly.
The room fell silent. The doctor adjusted his glasses, clearly intrigued.
Xuě Jīn Mán recovered quickly, his tone more serious. "Ask it what we ate for dinner last night."
Hǎiyáng focused, and the eel's voice came through clearly: Roasted duck with sweet sauce. You complained it wasn't spicy enough.
"Roasted duck," Hǎiyáng repeated. "And you said it wasn't spicy enough."
Xuě Jīn Mán's expression shifted from skepticism to cautious awe. He dismissed the eel with a wave of his hand, and the creature disappeared in a flash of light.
"This is remarkable," he murmured, glancing at the doctor. "What's your assessment?"
The doctor stepped forward, his gaze fixed on Hǎiyáng. "This isn't an illness," he declared. "It's a unique ability—one I've never encountered before. The boy can hear and understand beasts, even those that aren't his own."
Xuě Jīn Mán stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Such a skill could be invaluable. But it's also dangerous if he can't control it."
Hǎiyáng shifted uncomfortably under their scrutiny. "I don't want to hear them all the time," he admitted. "It's too much."
The doctor nodded. "There may be a way to help. I can teach you a spell—an incantation that will allow you to turn the ability on and off at will."
Hǎiyáng's eyes lit up with hope. "Really? You can do that?"
"It will take practice," the doctor warned. "The spell isn't simple, and it requires focus. But if you master it, you'll be able to use your ability when it's needed and block it out when it's not."
Xuě Jīn Mán crossed his arms, his tone firm. "We'll arrange for you to receive special training. In the meantime, you'll continue your studies and fulfill your duties in the dormitory.
And, Hǎiyáng," he added, his gaze piercing, "do not speak of this ability to anyone outside this room."
Hǎiyáng nodded solemnly, a mix of relief and determination on his face.
As they left, Hǎiyáng felt a flicker of hope for the first time in days. Perhaps this strange talent wasn't a curse after all. Perhaps it was the key to proving everyone wrong.
------------------------------------End of Chapter 2--------------------------------