Dare not listen

When Zhu Qianxing picked up He Xianggu, he was only fifteen years old. At fifteen, He Xianggu was frail, could only write his own name in a crooked scrawl, and was a little mute. The little mute was pitiful, helpless, and with beautiful glass-bead-like eyes, he gestured “thank you, brother” in sign language, like a dirty, unwanted doll on a shelf.