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ACOUSTIC METADATA

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• TIMESTAMP: Autumn, 1969

• ACOUSTIC TRIGGER: The "Heh-heh" Encoding / Mongolian Curse

• BIOLOGICAL MARK: Vengeful Memory of the Crow Species

• AUDIO DATA: Low-frequency tremor, Knuckle creak

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​In my past life, I was a creature of white feathers, a freak among the flock, enduring endless discrimination and shame. Until she flew in from a great distance. 

 

Her feathers were jet black, shimmering with a faint golden hue. She approached me, her beak gently brushing my wing, whispering in the language of crows: “Don't be afraid. I am here with you.”

 

With her by my side, I soon became the Prince of the Crow World.

 

But then. That day. A fatal crack erupted from Gao Yong’s slingshot. Her proud head was shattered in an instant. Puff. She traced a line of deathly black across the sky, falling with a faint, whistling sound.

 

Three-year-old Gao Yong leaped with joy, losing a shoe, leaving behind that same “Heh-heh.” That silhouette, that laugh—permanently encoded into the vengeful memory of the crow species. It became my fatal birthmark.

 

I rubbed my eyes; Gao Yong had become a pale, ghostly blur. I surged upward, clenching my fists. From my pelvis, through my chest, through my throat, and through my gnashing teeth, I boomed a low-frequency tremor I had never possessed:

 

“Eshig-chini-alakh!”

(A strong curse in Mongolian for the maternal lineage)

 

Clatter, clatter. That was the sound of the slingshot and the dead crow hitting the ground. Swish, swish, swish. He bolted, his rubber soles scraping a fake bravery against the concrete, leaving behind a faint scent of urine.

 

My father’s thick palm slammed against my left cheek, the heavy scent of tobacco flooding my nostrils. This strike shifted my world from sterile white to a blood-streaked, dark crimson. I heard the creak of my father’s knuckles—the sound of bones brawling with each other in a mixture of rage and fear.

 

“What did you just say?”