173: Chapter 173 Lin Fenglu's Voice

After playing the water cup piano for a few days, the cat’s interest in sounds grew stronger. It was no longer satisfied with just listening and began to fiddle with the cups with its paws to create its own sounds. One poke, and the cup went 'ding'; two pokes, 'ding-ding'; three pokes, 'ding-ding-ding'. It poked very quickly, the sounds merging together like it was playing a presto piece. Lin Feng crouched nearby, listening to the cat’s impromptu performance, when a sudden idea struck him—to record these sounds. He had never studied recording, but he had a phone. The phone had a recording function, and once recorded, he could listen to them repeatedly. He pulled out his phone, opened the recorder, and pointed it at the cat’s cups. The cat poked once—ding—it was recorded. The cat poked twice more—ding-ding—that was recorded too. The cat poked a long string of them—ding-ding-ding-ding—all of it was recorded. Lin Feng pressed the stop button and played it back. The sound of the cat poking the cups came from the phone—ding-ding-ding-ding—just like it had in person. Hearing its own voice coming from the phone, the cat froze. It tilted its head, looked at the phone, then looked at its own paws, as if saying: Is this my voice? It reached out a paw and poked the phone; the phone slid a bit but didn't fall. It poked again, the phone fell over, and the recording automatically stopped. Lin Feng picked up the phone, and the cat leaned in again, letting out a 'meow' at the phone. Lin Feng pressed the record button, and the cat meowed again; this time it was recorded. Playing it back: meow—the cat's Ear stood up and twitched. It walked behind the phone to look, then walked to the front to look. It seemed to be searching for that cat hidden inside the phone. Lin Feng crouched nearby, watching the cat look for itself, and couldn't help but laugh. "That's not another cat, it's you." The cat didn't answer; it used its paw to flip the phone over and meowed at the back, but there was no response. It circled back to the front and meowed once more, and the phone let out a 'meow'—it had found it; it wasn't the back, but the front.

Lin Feng began recording the cat's sounds every day. The glugging sound of the cat drinking water was recorded; the munching sound of the cat eating cake was recorded; the purring sound of the cat was recorded; the rustling of its paws scratching the ground while chasing fallen leaves was recorded; the thudding of its paws stepping on the canvas when jumping onto the tent roof was recorded. He recorded over thirty clips, arranging them in chronological order. On the first day, the cat poked the cups; on the second day, the cat meowed; on the third day, the cat purred; on the fourth day, the cat chased leaves; on the fifth day, the cat jumped onto the tent roof. He played these recordings for the cat. The cat crouched by the phone, listening to its own voice, the tip of its tail swaying gently. When it heard the purring clip, the cat closed its eyes and its head slowly lowered as if it were about to fall asleep. Lin Feng paused it, and the cat opened its eyes and glanced at him as if to say: Why did you stop? Lin Feng continued playing, and the cat continued listening. It finished listening to all the recordings, then stood up, walked into the tent, curled up on the Blue cloth, and closed its eyes. It seemed tired from listening.

Margaret came to deliver mushrooms and saw Lin Feng crouching by the phone while the cat slept in the tent. She crouched down. "What are you doing?" Lin Feng said, "Listening to the cat's sounds." He handed her the phone; she put on the headphones and listened to the cat purring, the cat drinking water, and the cat chasing leaves. She smiled. "Why are you recording these?" Lin Feng said, "To keep them. When the cat is old and can't hear well, I'll play them for it. When it hears them, it will know what it was like when it was young." Margaret looked at the cat in the tent; it was curled up on the Blue cloth, its head resting on the Iron box, its belly rising and falling. "How long can it live?" Lin Feng thought for a moment. "I don't know. But sounds can stay for a long time. Even if it's gone, the sounds will still be here." Margaret took off the headphones and handed them back to Lin Feng. "Since when did you become so well-spoken?" Lin Feng said, "When you're crouching, you think more." Margaret placed the mushroom plate on the ground, stood up, and walked back to the Restaurant.

In the afternoon, Old Zhou came to deliver mail. He parked his bike by the tent and saw Lin Feng crouching in front of the phone with headphones on, looking focused. He walked over and crouched beside him. "What are you listening to?" Lin Feng took off one earphone and handed it to Old Zhou. "The cat's sounds." Old Zhou put on the earphone and heard the cat purring—a low, deep rumble. He smiled. "It's sleeping quite soundly." Lin Feng played another clip—the cat drinking water, glug-glug. As Old Zhou listened, his own throat made a glugging sound as he swallowed. He laughed. "I'm thirsty too." Lin Feng pulled a bottle of water from his pocket and handed it to Old Zhou. Old Zhou unscrewed the cap, took a few sips, tightened the cap, and gave it back. "How many clips have you recorded?" Lin Feng said, "Over thirty. I'm still recording. The cat makes different sounds every day, so I record them." Old Zhou pulled a letter out of his bag and handed it to Lin Feng. "Yours." Lin Feng opened it; inside was only a single sheet of paper with a single line of text: "Lin Feng, how far can the sound of a cat travel?" There was no signature. Lin Feng took out a pen and paper and wrote a reply. "Not far. With the phone on max volume, the cat can hear it. When the cat hears it, it thinks another cat is calling. It searched for a long time but couldn't find it." He taped the letter to the wall and walked back. Old Zhou was still crouching by the tent, watching the cat sleep. He asked Lin Feng, "How long do you plan to keep recording?" Lin Feng thought for a moment. "Until the cat stops calling. When the cat stops calling, I'll stop recording." Old Zhou stood up and brushed off his pants. "I'm heading back." He got on his bike, the chain clinking as he rode away. Lin Feng crouched by the tent and continued recording. The cat rolled over, its purring getting louder—recorded. The cat stretched, its claws scratching across the Blue cloth, rustle-rustle-rustle—recorded. The cat yawned, the creaking sound of its mouth opening—recorded. Lin Feng recorded all afternoon until the phone's memory was full. He scrolled through the previous recordings, listening from start to finish. The cat's voice went from tender to steady, from light to heavy, from fast to slow. As he listened, he felt as if the cat was growing up.

In the evening, Lin Feng sat on the steps in front of the Restaurant's entrance. He wasn't crouching; he was sitting. Margaret came out carrying a plate of mushrooms and sat beside him. The two of them sat there, looking at the sky. The stars lit up one by one, just like yesterday. The cat crawled out of the tent, walked to their feet, crouched down, and looked up at the stars. It watched for a long time, then closed its eyes, curled into a ball, and began to purr. Margaret looked at the cat. "It didn't play with the cups today." Lin Feng said, "It listened to its own voice today. It listened all afternoon and got tired." Margaret asked, "What did it hear?" Lin Feng thought for a moment. "It heard itself. It didn't know it was itself, but it liked that sound." Margaret smiled. "You recorded it, so now it knows itself?" Lin Feng said, "Not necessarily. But when it hears it, it will think. And once it thinks, it will know." The wind blew, carrying the faint static of the phone, the cat's purring, the greenness of the Bean sprouts, and the sweetness of the mushrooms. Lin Feng closed his eyes and took a sniff. He opened his eyes, stood up, and brushed off his pants. "I'm going to sleep." Margaret stood up too. "Will you still be recording tomorrow?" Lin Feng nodded. "Yes. The cat hasn't called enough. As long as it calls, I'll record." Margaret smiled. "You're recording every day." Lin Feng said, "Yeah. I can't record enough." He turned and walked into the Restaurant, with Margaret following behind him. The door closed, and the lights went out. The cat jumped down from the steps, walked back to the tent, curled up on the Blue cloth, rested its head on the Iron box, and closed its eyes. The moon emerged from behind the clouds, casting the phone's shadow on the ground—small and square, like a recording button. The wind blew, and the shadow wavered but did not break. Lin Feng stood inside the Restaurant, looking out the window. He saw the shadow of the phone, the shadow of the cat, and the shadow of the cups. He watched for a long time, then pulled the curtains and went to sleep.

[Chapter 173 End]