The air is still. Only the faint murmur of the burning fire can be heard.
Jiaoqiu sits motionless before the brazier, his hands folded.
His eyes remain closed, as if observing the world from a place that needs no sight.
Even so, his every movement seems to respond to something invisible: the sound of the air, the pulse of the fire, the distant footsteps that the silence cannot conceal.
"Curious..." he murmurs. "Even without looking, the world continues to reveal itself."
His fingers brush against a small glass vial on the table. He lifts it delicately, tilting it just enough so that the liquid inside drips onto a metal surface.
The sound of the liquid touching the metal produces a soft hiss.
"Ah... I hear it. It reacts to heat, not light. Just like me."
An almost imperceptible smile crosses his face.
He sets the vial aside. He extends a hand, and the fire in the brazier responds, growing only slightly.
He doesn't open his eyes. He never does.
And yet, he seems to know exactly how much flame he needs.
"Many believe I can't see. But seeing... is just another kind of distraction."
His words float, slow, as if speaking were a ritual accompanying the fire.
"When you close your eyes, the world becomes clearer.
You hear the tremor in breaths, the rhythm of the heart, the weight of another's soul."
He is silent for a moment. Then, he adds in a low tone, almost as if speaking to someone who isn't there:
"I don't need to look to understand. Lies have their own sound, you know? They crackle, they tremble. And the truth... the truth burns slowly, like a weary flame."
He takes a sheet of paper, folds it in half, and places it on the table. The fire, obedient, curves toward it without touching it.
“So you’re still here, listening. How kind of you.”
His fingers glide over the wood, searching for an edge, a pattern, a pulse.
“Don’t ask how I know. Silences have shape. And you, in this moment, occupy space in mine.”
The fire crackles.
“Some think I close my eyes out of arrogance. Others, out of fear. The truth is simpler: when you open them, you see too much. When you close them… only the essential remains.”
The air vibrates for a moment. A gust makes the flame dance, but he remains unmoved.
“Everything that burns reveals its soul. That’s why I prefer to listen to the fire, not to people.” He touches the edge of the brazier, calmly.
“The fire tells me who lies. Who doubts. Who desires.”
His lips barely move, but his tone becomes almost confessional:
“I stopped trusting my eyes a long time ago. They seek beauty, but ignore the truth.”
Suddenly, the fire goes out. Absolute silence. Jiaoqiu tilts his head, and for the first time, his breathing becomes audible.
“Don’t be afraid. When the light dies, that’s when the senses awaken.” A spark leaps from his hand. The fire revives.
“You see… I don’t even need to look to ignite it. The fire reminds me that I still exist, even if I don’t observe it.”
He remains still, his eyes closed, surrounded by a faint glow.
“I still don’t open them. I won’t. Because if I open them… I might see something I’d rather not remember.”
The silence returns, thick, dense.
The flame remains alive, tiny, as if keeping watch.
—“As long as the fire sees me… I don’t need to do it myself.”