ACOUSTIC METADATA

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• TIMESTAMP: Summer, 1982

• LOCATION: University Volleyball Court Stands, Beijing

• AUDIO PROFILE: Viscous baritone, Sticky glottal vibration

• INCIDENT: Data Breach (The White Hair Secret)

 

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Gao Yong’s face shifted into a facade of solemnity, “Oh, White Eagle is a lucky man.”

 

His voice emitting that familiar, viscous baritone. “Rowan, don’t push yourself too hard. We aren't the national team. You are the future pillar of the nation.”

 

“You’re so full of it,” Rowan replied, her frequency carrying a hint of playful reproach as she returned to the court.

 

The heat was blistering. Gao Yong sat in the stands, deliberately stiffening his short, thick torso. He twirled an imported sun umbrella, creating a rhythmic click-clack. He reached out, feigning a casual touch as Rowan wiped her sweat.

 

“That white hair of his—no matter how he dyes it black, it looks fake. He’s a part that was worn down by the friction of the era. To you, he isn't light; he can only be a shadow.” The mouth of that "Hanging Ghost" vibrated with a loose magnetism, underscored by a sticky glottal tone.

 

“He has white hair?” Rowan’s handkerchief froze in mid-air.

 

I happened to be passing by. Hearing Gao Yong expose my secret, I wished I could turn into a volleyball and let Rowan spike me into oblivion. She had never known what I looked like before the dye, nor did she know that the tiny privilege of "free haircut rights" was etched into Gao Yong’s very bones.