New Novel
Chapter 1: The mute and the vegetative girl

Chapter 1: The mute and the vegetative girl

"I’m sorry..."

"Lathel, I’m sorry..."

"Please... don’t leave me behind..."

The sound of weeping rose from everywhere in the darkness. Some voices were so choked they could barely form words, some tried to hold back but still couldn’t hide their despair, and some kept calling Lathel’s name over and over, as if the moment they stopped, he would instantly vanish from this world.

Lathel couldn’t see anything.

There was no sky, no ground, no light, and he couldn’t even feel his own body. All around him was nothing but an endlessly stretching, thick blackness, while those cries drifted near and far, ceaselessly overlapping one another, making it impossible for him to tell who was speaking.

The strange thing was that these voices were clearly unfamiliar, yet each time he heard them, an inexplicable sense of familiarity welled up inside Lathel. It was as though he had been by these people’s side for a very long time, had seen them happy, had clumsily comforted them when they were in pain, had even promised them something incredibly important.

But no matter how hard he tried, he still couldn’t recall a single face.

"It’s all my fault..."

"I came too late."

"This time... I will never let you die."

A hand seemed to touch Lathel’s face. He couldn’t feel its warmth, but the weeping suddenly grew closer, close enough that it felt like the person was leaning down beside his ear.

"I’m sorry..."

Lathel opened his eyes.

He didn’t bolt upright in shock, nor did he panic and search for whoever had just spoken. His consciousness simply returned, like an ordinary sleep that had just come to an end.

An old wooden ceiling appeared before his eyes. In the corner of the room was still the cobweb Lathel had meant to clear away a few days ago, and beside it a small crack ran nearly all the way to the window. The faint light of morning slipped through the gap in the curtains, just enough for him to make out the small, cramped room that held only a bed, an old wardrobe, and a few sets of clothes folded neatly on a chair.

Lathel lay still for a while, then reached up to touch his own face.

No tears.

And no one was crying.

That dream again.

Over the past several months, he had dreamed many times of the darkness and the weeping. Some nights there was only a single voice sounding from far away, other nights it was many people calling his name at once, but no matter how hard Lathel tried, he still couldn’t see their faces.

Every time he woke, the contents of the dream quickly grew hazy. The only thing that lingered was the hollow feeling in his chest, as if he had forgotten something incredibly important, yet had no idea what it was he had forgotten.

Lathel propped himself up on his hands and sat up, a hoarse sigh escaping his throat. That sound was very unpleasant, unable to form into any words, but he had long grown used to it.

In his previous life, when Lathel was around six years old, a high fever had robbed him of his voice. His ears could still hear normally, and his mind wasn’t seriously affected, but from then on his throat could no longer produce clear sounds like a normal person’s.

After dying and opening his eyes in this world, that condition still followed him into his second life.

Lathel didn’t know why. Perhaps it was a defect that had clung tightly to his soul, or perhaps his luck was simply too terrible. In any case, after living many years in a world with magic, he had tried no small number of methods and still couldn’t get his voice back.

He left the bed, folded the blanket neatly, then washed his face with the cold water in the basin. The small room where Lathel lived had originally been a storeroom for servants; only three years ago had it been cleared out so he could live close to the person he needed to care for.

No one had asked whether he agreed.

Lathel hadn’t objected either.

Though the place was cramped, at least it still had a bed and a window, and when it rained the roof didn’t leak. Compared to the shabby rooms he’d once rented in his previous life, conditions like these could hardly be counted as too bad.

After changing into a set of faded gray clothes, Lathel opened the door beside him and stepped into the larger room.

The faint smell of medicinal herbs immediately drifted into his nose.

In complete contrast to Lathel’s room, this place was decorated with great care. Soft carpet covered the floor, landscape paintings hung on the walls, and beside the window sat a vase of flowers freshly replaced the day before.

In the middle of the room was a large bed.

A young woman lay motionless upon it.

Her long black hair had been combed neatly, spread across the white pillow. Her face was pale from years without exposure to sunlight, and her lips had nearly lost all their color. Her body had grown quite thin, but a single glance at the delicate features of her face was enough to know that before everything happened, she had once been a beauty who drew the attention of countless people.

Her name was Leviana.

Lathel’s fiancée in name.

Also someone who had been comatose for five whole years.

Lathel had not been the one caring for her from the start.

During the first two years, the family had hired many servants and herbalists to take turns watching over Leviana. But as time passed, when even those called experts began to insist that the chance of her waking was nearly zero, the number of people who truly cared about this room grew fewer and fewer.

Three years ago, the betrothal between Leviana and Aldric was changed.

Lathel was pushed forward as the replacement, and at the same time the entire responsibility of caring for Leviana fell onto his head as well.

From that day until now, he had stayed in the room beside hers for three whole years.

Lathel walked over to the bed, placed two fingers on Leviana’s wrist to check her pulse. After confirming that her heartbeat was still steady, he then used the back of his hand to gently touch her forehead.

Normal temperature.

No sign of fever.

He took the notebook resting on the table and carefully recorded the time and her condition. Lathel didn’t understand medicine, but an herbalist had once instructed him on the basic things to watch for. As long as he followed each step, he rarely made mistakes.

At that very moment, the door was pushed open.

A maid carrying a wooden tray stepped in, set a bottle of medicinal fluid on the table, then looked at Lathel as he wrote.

"You slept in the room next door all night again?"

Lathel nodded.

The maid glanced toward Leviana, her face unable to hide its disgust and impatience.

"I suppose it makes sense. After all, you’re already Lady Leviana’s betrothed. If she suddenly stopped breathing, the first person to be blamed would surely be you."

Lathel didn’t react, only closing the notebook and then checking the medicine bottle.

Seeing his calm attitude, the maid propped one hand on the table and went on: "Honestly, I still don’t understand what the head of the family is thinking. Lady Leviana has lain like that for five years; even high-ranking herbalists say her soul has almost no response left. If he doesn’t want Young Master Aldric bound to someone who’s living worse than dead, wouldn’t it be better to just cancel the engagement outright?"

Lathel raised his head to look at her.

The maid seemed not to need an answer, and continued on her own: "But I hear Lady Leviana’s family won’t agree to it, so the head of the family just changed the name on the betrothal and pushed you forward instead. After all, Young Master Aldric is a genius the academy has its eye on; he’s sure to become a powerhouse in the future, while you have neither talent nor the ability to speak. Even if you have to care for a vegetable your whole life, the family loses nothing."

Lathel bent down and opened the lid of the medicinal fluid.

He had heard words like these too many times to feel as uncomfortable as before. At least the maid in front of him spoke plainly, unlike some people who put on a show of pity to your face but treated him as a joke the moment they turned away.

The maid observed him for a while, and seeing that Lathel gave no reaction, she lost her interest as well. Before leaving, she left only one remark: "Young Master Aldric may come today. The head of the family told you to tidy everything up, don’t let outsiders take a look and think the family mistreats Lady Leviana."

The door closed, and the room returned to quiet.

Lathel looked around.

Everything was already very clean.

Over the past three years, most of the time it had been only him living in this area. He had grown used to wiping the table himself, changing the water, washing the bed sheets, and keeping the room free of an overly heavy medicinal smell.

Even so, Lathel still took a cloth and wiped the tabletop again, adjusted the vase, then drew the curtains to both sides so the morning sunlight could shine in.

After that he sat down beside the bed.

Lathel gently lifted Leviana’s hand, laid her palm facing up on his own, then slowly traced letters onto it with the tip of his index finger.

"Good morning."

Leviana gave no response.

Lathel paused a moment, then continued writing.

"The weather’s rather nice today."

He didn’t know whether Leviana could feel these movements or not.

The herbalists had once said her consciousness might still exist somewhere deep within her soul. Some people who had been comatose for years could still hear sounds from the outside, they just couldn’t open their eyes or respond.

But Lathel couldn’t speak.

And Leviana couldn’t open her eyes to see his hand signs.

So, three years ago, Lathel began writing on the palm of her hand with his finger. At first it was only simple words, then it gradually turned into a habit. Every morning, he would tell her the weather, which medicine she needed to take, or the small things that had just happened within the family.

He didn’t know whether Leviana understood or not.

Even so, Lathel still felt that doing this was better than leaving her lying in a silent room all day, treated by everyone like a corpse that still drew breath.

After he finished writing, he began his daily work. Lathel used a warm cloth to wipe Leviana’s face, combed her long hair again, massaged her arms and both legs so the muscles wouldn’t stiffen completely, and only then prepared the medicinal fluid.

Leviana couldn’t drink on her own like a normal person. Lathel had to support her head up, use a small spoon to bring each sip of medicine to her mouth, then wait for her to swallow. This task wasn’t complicated, but it required a great deal of patience, because the slightest carelessness could send the medicinal fluid into her windpipe and choke her.

During the first two years, no small number of servants had been assigned to care for Leviana. However, once no one believed she could wake anymore, those people gradually grew perfunctory. Some spilled the medicine, some forgot to change her clothes, and there had even been a time when Leviana was left in a soiled dress for several days without anyone caring.

After the betrothal was transferred to Lathel, all of these duties were pushed onto him as well.

From then on, Lathel had cared for Leviana for three whole years.

Day after day, all the same.

No one thanked him.

And no one thought he had accomplished anything worth mentioning.

To this family, it was merely a responsibility that someone taken in out of pity was obligated to fulfill.

Lathel had just wiped away a drop of medicinal fluid running down the corner of Leviana’s lips when the sound of footsteps rose from outside.

This time it wasn’t just one person.

The door was quickly pushed open.

Aldric stepped in.