Inside the surgical office of the Provincial Central Hospital, Qi Yan rose urgently from his chair. "Doctor Su, how is my sister’s condition exactly?"

Across from him, Su Xueqing adjusted her intellectual gold-rimmed glasses. She pulled a medical file from a cabinet. "Miss Qi Ran has fully recovered physically. Further treatment would only waste money. As I understand it, you’ve already fallen behind on payments for two months. A private room with nursing care isn’t cheap."

"Money isn’t the issue—I’ll find a way to pay," Qi Yan insisted, gripping the table’s edge. "But my sister still can’t speak or stand from her wheelchair. How is that ‘fully recovered’?"

"I’m sorry, Mr. Qi," Su Xueqing replied gently. "This is beyond our medical scope. You know Miss Qi Ran has expressive aphasia. It’s caused by damage to Broca’s area in the left frontal lobe." As Qi Ran’s attending physician, she elaborated carefully: "Broca’s area processes muscle signals for speech. Though her vocal muscles aren’t paralyzed, she’s lost the ability to speak. Her case is mild—her hearing, reading, and writing remain intact. She should form simple phrases, yet she refuses to speak. It’s as if she’s convinced herself she’s mute."

"What about her legs? If she could walk, she could return to school even without speech!"

"The fracture in her thigh healed long ago. Regular massages prevented muscle atrophy. Her inability to stand is likely psychological. Therapy hasn’t helped much. Only you, her last remaining family, can help her overcome this."

"Take her out. Let her unwind. A clear-minded person locked in a hospital for two years..." Su Xueqing sighed. "Once she walks again, rebuild her confidence. Practice mouth shapes and pronunciation daily—even silent exercises. Otherwise, her vocal cords will atrophy. Massage her legs every day. She’s a good girl. Care for her well."

Qi Yan bowed his head. "I was too emotional earlier. I’ll process the discharge now. Thank you for caring for her these two years."

Su Xueqing slid a business card across the desk. Neat handwritten digits—her personal number—sat beside her work contact. "My sister owes you too. Call anytime. I’ve arranged a two-month extension for the medical fees. No need to settle today."

Qi Yan stood, bowing deeply. "Thank you, Doctor Su."

Discharge formalities wrapped swiftly. Yet at his sister’s door, Qi Yan hesitated. *What face should I wear today?*

*Only a smile. A flawless, worry-free smile.*

*Knock knock knock.*

Silence answered—as expected. His sister couldn’t speak. That accident stole their parents and nearly took her. A high schooler then, Qi Yan had shouldered the impossible. But the hardest two years were over. A new life awaited.

"Xiao Ran, it’s Brother."

He entered. A silver-haired girl sat on the white bed, staring blankly out the window. Blue sky, white clouds, the chirping of cicadas and birds—that was the world she’d lost.

Qi Ran turned slowly. Dull eyes flickered with light. She grabbed her notebook and pen:

*"Good morning, Brother."*

He hadn’t heard those words in two years. *I should’ve recorded her voice.* But replaying a ghost would only deepen the pain—for her, and for him.

"Let’s go outside."

She opened her arms—a silent plea.

Qi Yan lifted her gently: a delicate frame, porcelain skin, like a doll in a display window. He settled her into the wheelchair with glassware care.

Pushing through tree-lined paths, he avoided scattered pebbles. Sunlight dappled through leaves, painting patterns on her hair. Only footsteps and wheel-rumbles filled the quiet. He stayed silent. She had no voice.

By a pond, he paused. Unfolding a parasol over her, he took the sketchpad from her lap—their ritual.

*"What pose?"* she wrote.

"Just relax."

She was the perfect model: fair-skinned, exquisite features, motionless for hours. Yet the worst model too—no smiles, no tears. Her expressionless face hid sorrow and joy alike.

Her portrait emerged: black butterfly hair clip, checkered hospital gown clinging to a slender frame, lovely face shadowed by hollow, lifeless eyes.

"Done." He showed her the sketch. "How is it?"

*"Beautiful. As always."*

*"But... Brother didn’t smile while drawing."*

*Caught.* He forced a grin too late.

*"Do you hate drawing? Or hate drawing me?"*

"Fool. I could never hate drawing you."

*"Then you hate drawing?"*

*"It’s Monday. Shouldn’t you be in class?"*

*"University isn’t that lenient, is it?"*

*"Brother... are you hiding something?"*

Her frantic scribbles pressed down on him like stones.

Qi Yan took a breath. "Xiao Ran... I’ve processed your discharge. Tomorrow, we go home."

*"Home? Do we even have that anymore?"*

"Wherever you are is home. I’ll live with you. Eat, sleep—I’ll be by your side."

*"What about your university? After all that effort..."*

"I’ve taken a year’s leave. I’ll spend it with you."

*"Only one year?"*

She hid half her face behind the notebook. Only glistening eyes remained visible.

*Until you can care for yourself.* The words choked him like fishbones—too cruel to say.

"Forever," he whispered. "Even a lifetime is fine."

A kind lie? Or a promise he couldn’t keep? He didn’t know. Supporting her was his duty.

*That’s what a sister is—someone smaller than you. Someone to protect.*