Chapter 2 — The Last Remaining Echo

I looked steadily at her, letting the silence stretch before finally letting the words slip from my lips, quiet yet laden with the crushing weight of years.

So seven years ago, my hearing could have been saved all along, is that right?

Niem Niem stood up, the corners of her eyes instantly rimmed with crimson, her posture trembling with a fragile, manufactured vulnerability.

Elder sister, if you feel that I robbed you of your surgery, if my existence is such an offense, I swear I will never touch a piano key for the rest of my life.

Mother rushed forward in an instant, gathering the fragile girl into her arms as if she were made of spun glass.

It is not your fault, my child. That was the decision your father and I made together.

Father's expression darkened into a severe, unyielding scowl, and he barked an order at the hovering housekeeper to gather the stacks of copied medical records and hide them away.

Do not bring these ominous, wretched things anywhere near Niem Niem's brand new piano.

I turned my gaze toward that pristine, gleaming instrument, sitting untouched in the corner, and a laugh bubbled up inside me—hollow, bitter, and utterly absurd. Seven years ago, what I lost forever was the hearing in my right ear, a silence that would plague me for the rest of my days. What she lost was merely the fleeting courage to continue her performances. Yet in the end, the only thing they fought to rescue was her and her precious courage. The sacrifice they demanded, the life they casually discarded and left to rot, was mine.

The grand banquet to celebrate Niem Niem's triumphant return was held within the stifling confines of our family estate. Mother had insisted that because the child had only just arrived back in the country, she was far too delicate and unaccustomed to the vulgar, noisy crowds of the outside world. Yet when we sat, the long dining table groaned under the weight of dishes tailored exclusively to her refined palate. There were salt and pepper prawns, crab roe tofu, sweet mango pudding, rich seafood porridge, and cold platters heavily garnished with crushed peanuts. I was violently allergic to seafood, mangoes, and peanuts alike. Seven years ago, the attending physician had explicitly warned them that any exposure to these allergens would severely exacerbate my chronic tinnitus and debilitating vertigo.

Yet Mother had eyes only for Niem Niem, her fingers nimbly peeling prawns and placing them onto the girl's plate. Father pushed the sole bowl of nourishing soup directly in front of her, ignoring everyone else at the table. My eldest brother reached across and abruptly hauled the plate of fresh greens sitting right in front of my seat away.

Niem Niem has only just returned to the hearth of her home; let her enjoy some lighter, gentler fares first.

My assigned seat had been deliberately placed at the absolute edge of the table, closest to the heavy wooden door, with my right side exposed and facing directly toward the blaring indoor speakers. Before my place setting, there was not even a clean set of bowls and chopsticks. Luc Tram, noticing this blatant oversight, moved as if to summon a servant to fetch fresh tableware, but Niem Niem suddenly let out a soft gasp, her eyes welling up with glistening tears.

Does sister still hold such deep resentment against me in her heart?

Is that why she cannot even bear to share this meal with me?

Luc Tram's hand paused mid-air. In the end, instead of calling for the servants, he merely slid his own glass of water across the polished wood toward me.

Just drink a little water first to settle yourself.

I stared down at the glass of water, refusing to reach out a single finger to touch it. As the banquet drifted past its halfway mark, Niem Niem reached down, retrieving a battered, antiquated wooden box from beneath her chair, and pushed it timidly across the table toward me with both hands.

Sister, please accept this. It is a very belated gift, but I wanted to make amends.

Inside the peeling box rested an old, battered pair of earphones. The painted casing was thoroughly flaking off, the rubber insulation of the cord was cracked and split in multiple places, and the audio jack was clumsily bound together with yellowed, transparent adhesive tape. Mother's eyes immediately watered at the pathetic sight.

It is the thought that counts. As long as Niem Niem has the heart for it, that is enough.

Father nodded in slow agreement, his stern features softening slightly.

She has only just returned from abroad, and she does not have an abundance of money to spare. That she could still remember you and prepare a gift is already a rare and commendable gesture.

My brother chimed in, his tone casual and dismissive.

Whether a gift is expensive or cheap holds no real significance. What matters is that she was willing to lower her head and make peace.

Luc Tram leaned closer, his voice dropping into a low, persuasive murmur meant only for my ears.

Just accept it gracefully. Do not make things needlessly difficult for her in front of the family.

Before a single word could escape my throat, my mobile phone vibrated sharply against the fabric of my pocket. A banking notification flashed across the screen, displaying a transaction alert. The meager savings I had painstakingly scraped together for my upcoming ear re-examination had just been swiped clean—a charge of nine thousand eight hundred yuan. The exact location of the purchase matched a dusty, second-hand electronics stall known for selling discarded junk. I slowly lifted my head, fixing my gaze entirely on Niem Niem.

You used my own stolen money to purchase a piece of absolute garbage just to hand it back to me as a gift? Is this your idea of making amends?

The color drained entirely from Niem Niem's face, turning chalk-white, and heavy, pristine tears spilled over her lashes instantly.

Sister, I truly did not know that card belonged to you.

I only wanted to apologize and make things right.

For the very first time in my life, I completely lost control of my composure.

You shattered my hearing, you stole the funds meant for my surgery, and now, even when you pretend to apologize, you fund it by swiping my credit card!

The expansive dining room plunged into an immediate, suffocating silence. Niem Niem clutched desperately at her chest, gasping theatrically and declaring that she could not draw a proper breath, her tears falling in a continuous stream. Father reacted instantly, his hand swinging through the air and landing across my cheek with a resounding crack.

Tham Van!

Must you persist in driving Niem Niem to her grave on the very first day she sets foot back inside this home?

My face was knocked violently to the side, the stinging heat blooming across my skin. Instantly, the roaring static of my tinnitus surged into a deafening, piercing shriek. Mother enveloped Niem Niem in her arms, weeping hysterically over her supposed distress. My brother stepped forward, forming a protective barrier before the girl and fixing me with a gaze colder than ice. Even Luc Tram furrowed his brow in open disapproval.

Tham Van, stop tormenting her. Control yourself.

Ignoring the chaos, Niem Niem reached out with a trembling hand and popped open a small musical jewelry box resting near her elbow.

I will play a melody that sister used to adore when we were young.

Let us all stop fighting, please.

Yet the very next second, the sound that crawled out of the intricate little box was not a comforting lullaby, but the exact, grueling instrumental track I had practiced for three agonizing years—the piece I had used during my fateful audition in the art examinations seven years ago. The exact piece of music I had locked away in the deepest, darkest recesses of my mind, terrified to ever hear again. As the screeching, high-frequency notes pierced the air, my left ear exploded with blinding, agonizing pain. Darkness flooded my vision. I stumbled backward, crashing heavily into the wooden display cabinet beside the dining table before collapsing directly into a shattered sea of fallen crystal glassware. Jagged shards sliced deep into the palms of my hands, tearing the flesh wide open. Warm, sticky blood began to trickle down from the side of my head, soaking my ear.

Instinctively, Luc Tram took a step forward, his hand reaching out toward me.

But Niem Niem let out a sharp, piercing shriek of terror.

My hand hurts so much!

His hand froze suspended in mid-air. After a brief, agonizing hesitation, he spun on his heel, turning his back on me entirely to shield the younger girl. I sat slumped in the middle of a jagged crater of broken glass, the high-pitched ringing in my head threatening to crack my skull open from the inside out. Blood streamed from my palms, soaking down my wrists, while the side of my head grew sticky and hot. On the back of Niem Niem's hand, there was nothing more than a superficial, paper-thin scratch left by a stray speck of glass, yet she was already sobbing hysterically, claiming her fingers were going numb and crying that she would never be able to play the piano again.

The family physician, having sprinted into the room in a panic, caught sight of the dark blood staining the side of my head, and his face instantly turned ashen.

We must rush the eldest miss to the hospital immediately!

She is actively hemorrhaging; every second of delay is critical.

He spared a quick glance down at Niem Niem's hand.

The second young miss has suffered nothing more than minor surface abrasions, though they certainly require attention as well.

Tell me, doctor... whose life takes precedence? Who do we save first?