Free Soundless by Richelle Mead

background noises. Noises that initially overwhelmed me. Now, in this short time, I find myself ignoring many common sounds and focusing on those that either directly affect me or are particularly noticeable.
    This one sets my teeth on edge, and I search for its source. In the priest’s direction, one of his assistants has just struck a ceremonial gong. My eyes widen as I realize that monstrous noise was caused by a gesture I’d seen countless times at funerals and other rituals. I never realized that noise was the end result. I look around, desperate to see if anyone else reacted. But they’re all respectfully watching the priest—well, everyone except the older woman standing next to me who noticed when I flinched.
    Do you know why they hit the gong?
I ask.
    The woman bows in acknowledgment to my station and then answers:
It is to scare evil spirits who might delay the deceased’s journey.
She pauses.
That is what my grandmother told me, at least. I don’t know why hitting it scares them. Perhaps it is magical.
    I thank her and turn back to the ceremony. Despite the grim circumstances, I almost want to smile. I’m not sure I believe in that kind of superstition, but I certainly understand how our ancestors thought the gong could frighten away evil spirits! All this time, I’d had no idea of its true purpose. No one did. For generations, the priests have just continued using the gong out of habit, long after anyone could hear it anymore. I wonder how manyother things like this were lost to us when sound disappeared.
    And why, I ask myself for the hundredth time, am I the only one who has had this sense restored?
    When the funeral ends, Li Wei is surrounded by those wishing to offer condolences. A number of them are girls our age, and while they look legitimately sorry for his loss, part of me questions their motives. I can’t be the only one who goes weak-kneed around him, and I really don’t know how he’s spent his free time since I joined the artists. It’d be reasonable for him to turn his attentions to someone else. The thought troubles me more than it should, considering how Sheng and I were matched. When the last of Li Wei’s sympathizers leaves, I follow him as he walks alone from the village’s center. I pass a cluster of beggars as I do, their sad plight bringing Zhang Jing to mind. My resolve strengthens, and I tap Li Wei’s shoulder when he heads down a path that leads to a group of small houses. He turns, looking surprised to see me—and possibly a little exasperated, considering how we last left things.
    What do you want?
he asks. His harsh response is almost enough to make me flinch.
    Mustering my courage, I bow and give the proper condolences offered in these situations.
I am very sorry for the loss of your father. May his spirit live in immortality.
    Thank you
, Li Wei responds, but he is clearly suspicious that there is more to come.
    I make sure no one else is around before dropping the formalities:
Are you still planning on leaving?
    His face hardens.
Yes. Why? Are you going to tell someone? Try to get them to stop me?
    No.
He regards me expectantly, and I take a deep breath, summoning my strength.
I . . . I want to come with you.
    The words fly from my hands before I can stop them. The idea has been brewing in the back of my mind all evening, but until I said it, I hadn’t consciously realized that’s what I was going to do. Zhang Jing’s plight has made me realize that things will never change . . . unless someone makes them change.
    Li Wei stares incredulously at me and then lets out a laugh with a harsh edge to it.
    You? Pampered, prized apprentice? You aren’t that bold little girl anymore. Stop wasting my time. I have things to do.
He shakes his head and starts to walk away, but I catch his sleeve. Remembering the effect touching him had on me last time, I’m careful to promptly let go and keep a