The final “福” character on the courtyard gate was pasted by He Jian Shan and Lin Hui together. Lin Hui blew on his hands to warm them as he walked around the house, confirming that every decoration was in place. What used to take him an entire day to finish was completed in half a day thanks to their combined effort.
By now, it was noon. Lin Hui glanced at He Jian Shan and asked, “Hungry? Want me to take you out for a meal?”
In a way, Lin Hui grew up eating “a hundred family meals.” Lin Village was small, and the villagers sympathized with his grandmother’s hard life, often pitching in to help. When his grandma was busy, Lin Hui could eat from one end of the village to the other for half a month straight. Even this house was built with the village’s collective efforts. That’s why Lin Hui made it a point to visit every year after his grandmother passed away. The village was growing emptier, as young people moved to the cities to settle down. The elders who had watched him grow were aging quickly. One day, they too would be gone, just like his grandmother. Until then, he wanted to see them as much as possible.
He Jian Shan smiled at Lin Hui. “Then today, I’ll enjoy your special connections.”
Lin Hui led He Jian Shan to the house of the neighbor, Second Auntie. Though surprised to see Lin Hui suddenly accompanied by a “colleague named Xiao Shan,” Second Auntie warmly welcomed them and served up a meal.
“Xiao Shan, your company lets you off work so early? Here, have more. My greens are really tasty,” she said enthusiastically, piling vegetables onto He Jian Shan’s plate while studying him curiously. He seemed a few years older than Lin Hui, and when he wasn’t speaking, his stern demeanor gave him the air of a leader.
“Yes, I’m here on a work trip,” He Jian Shan replied after a brief pause, slightly unaccustomed to such warmth. However, he quickly adapted, smiling as he said, “Thank you, Second Auntie.”
Meanwhile, Lin Hui was already digging in, too hungry to bother with the conversation. He simply listened as He Jian Shan and Second Auntie chatted, stuffing himself bite after bite.
Suddenly, Second Auntie turned to He Jian Shan with a mysterious air and said, “Xiao Shan, did you know Xiao Hui has a girlfriend at the company? You probably know her, right?”
“Cough—” He Jian Shan choked abruptly. “Ah?”
Lin Hui almost burst out laughing. He quickly interjected, “Same department as him.”
Second Auntie’s eyes lit up. She was just about to leave to get more soup but sat back down. “Tell me more! What’s the girl like?”
Lin Hui, ever the performer, added fuel to the fire. “Second Auntie, you don’t know. At our company’s annual meeting, he sat at the same table as my girlfriend. I texted her during dinner, and he teased me about it!”
Second Auntie burst out laughing. “You say he teased you, but didn’t you go on about how your girlfriend is gorgeous, a great cook, and spoils you rotten? Tell me honestly, did you make her up to make me happy?”
Lin Hui nodded emphatically. “You’re right. Let my colleague tell you—it’s more convincing.”
Caught between amusement and exasperation, He Jian Shan glanced at the expectant elder across from him. After some thought, he replied seriously, “She’s… decent in both looks and character. I don’t know much else to say, but she’s definitely a good match for Lin Hui.”
As if that weren’t enough, he added with a rare smile, “A perfect match.”
Lin Hui, who had been silently eating, couldn’t hold back a laugh.
After lunch, Lin Hui suggested they tour the village, and the two set off along the countryside paths.
Lin Village was surrounded by farmland, offering an expansive view of the horizon. But the open landscape also meant it was much colder than the city. The afternoon wind had picked up, and He Jian Shan, dressed in his usual thin, stylish Jinghua attire, clearly wasn’t prepared for the chill. Lin Hui noticed and unwound his scarf, wrapping it around He Jian Shan instead.
He Jian Shan didn’t resist. He wasn’t actually cold, but the warmth from Lin Hui’s scarf was too tempting to refuse.
As they strolled, Lin Hui pointed to a small bridge not far away. “When I was a kid, that bridge was just a narrow stone slab for two people. It got really slippery when it rained. One time, I slipped and fell into the river. Luckily, the water was shallow, so I calmly shouted for help, and a passing neighbor pulled me out.”
“My grandma was furious. She went to the village leaders and demanded they fix the bridge, saying it was dangerous and bound to cause more accidents. Not long after, the village applied for funds and rebuilt the bridge.”
“The river under the bridge is where I used to catch crayfish. It flows past my house and through the entire village. Back in middle school, they built a dam upstream, so the river isn’t as lively anymore. But people still come here to fish.”
“Over there used to be a drying field, not a vegetable patch.”
“In the summer, after the wheat was harvested, the adults would pile the drying field with haystacks. I loved playing hide-and-seek with friends there, climbing up the haystacks to hide.”
He Jian Shan looked at Lin Hui, surprised to hear about this mischievous side. “I thought you were the kind of kid who’d sit quietly on a little stool reading while the adults worked.”
Lin Hui burst out laughing. “You’ve got the wrong idea about me.”
They stopped at the former drying field, now filled with vegetables. Lin Hui stood there for a while, quietly soaking in the memories. Closing his eyes, he could almost feel the sun melting away the cold, the warmth of the wind, and the heat of summer air. He could see himself sweating, running joyfully across the drying field as a bird swooped overhead, leaving an invisible arc behind.
“You’re right, He Jian Shan,” Lin Hui said, opening his eyes. “I love summer.”
He Jian Shan paused, recalling their first conversation at his home. On the balcony, he had asked, “Do you like summer?”
“I love summer. I love the nights. I love white roses. I love soup with rice,” Lin Hui turned to him, smiling. “And I especially, especially love you.”
“How could the world have so many things I love?”
He Jian Shan couldn’t take his eyes off Lin Hui.
If he could, he would have Lin Hui live in his gaze forever.
After a moment of silence, He Jian Shan finally spoke. “On my way here, I kept thinking about how to explain the pen to you. I know you don’t care, but when I found out about it, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.”
It shouldn’t have been Lin Hui.
Lin Hui shouldn’t have been the one to bear that darkness, no matter its source or intent. The guilt and chaos in He Jian Shan’s heart had driven him here, desperate to explain, to confess, to lay bare every thought. Yet, when Lin Hui stood before him, words failed.
Even someone like him could feel fear.
But Lin Hui, who understood him too well, needed no explanation. Before he could speak, Lin Hui had already unraveled the story—the one he had longed to know yet dreaded to hear.
A story filled with Lin Hui’s friends, family, childhood, and university life. A story of pain and confusion He Jian Shan had never touched, alongside joy and freedom he had never known. And then, step by step, Lin Hui had walked to his side.
At that moment, He Jian Shan realized: it could only ever be Lin Hui.
When Lin Hui stood there, holding the knife he had picked up from the mire and laying it bare, it was no longer a knife. It had become a rose.
Like the world’s greatest magician, Lin Hui had performed an irresistible miracle, presenting the rose to him.
That profound gift could only come from Lin Hui.
If the pen had long been a thorn lodged in He Jian Shan’s heart, then today, Lin Hui had plucked it out with his own hands.
“But none of that matters now. All I feel is that I’m incredibly lucky.” He Jian Shan looked at Lin Hui. “In a world full of people, out of all those people—”
Only one Lin Hui had come to his side.
Lin Hui had been right: the “Muse” pen was just a pen. Yet it had drawn a line between them, a line Lin Hui had followed to reach him.
“When we get back to Jinghua, let’s replace the Honey Jar Fund’s cake and pen,” He Jian Shan said.
Lin Hui gasped dramatically. “Wow—”
He Jian Shan laughed. “They’re yours. Only yours.”
“Who was the one who couldn’t wait to take the pen back at first?”
“Me.”
“And now, who’s decided it’s a keepsake?”
“Still me.”
Lin Hui chuckled. “The pen’s mine. And so are you.”
He Jian Shan nodded solemnly. “Yes, I belong to you.”
His joys, sorrows, body, and soul, his love and desires—all of him belonged to the person standing before him. He was already looking forward to the day, decades from now, when they’d reflect on every step they took toward each other and feel nothing but gratitude and satisfaction.
“Take me to see your grandma.”
Lin Hui nodded.
Back home, Lin Hui found a pair of scissors and handed them to He Jian Shan. “Let’s cut a bundle of wintersweet flowers.”
Lin Hui picked carefully from the tree while He Jian Shan snipped the branches as directed. Soon, Lin Hui’s arms were full of flowers.
He led He Jian Shan through the courtyard gate and to the back of the house, where a tall tree stood above a grave. Scattered paper offerings lay in front—remnants from Lin Hui’s earlier visit. He Jian Shan placed the flowers on the grave and softly said, “Grandma, I’m He Jian Shan.”
Lin Hui waited, but He Jian Shan didn’t say more. He laughed softly and spoke up. “That won’t do. Grandma doesn’t like people who are too quiet. Let me—”
“Grandma, this is the person I told you about. I brought him to meet you.”
“I wasn’t lying, was I? He’s really handsome.”
“He’s also a great cook. Look, I’ve gotten chubby.”
“These wintersweet flowers smell nice, don’t they? I picked them; he cut them.”
“Grandma, we’re doing well in Jinghua. Don’t worry about me.”
“I don’t have to travel alone anymore.”
“Grandma, I miss you a little…”
The wind carried Lin Hui’s words away, mingling with the scent of wintersweet flowers and the cold winter air, before melting into the soil.
“Grandma… I… have a home again.”
He Jian Shan reached for Lin Hui’s hand, holding it tightly.
After a long silence, Lin Hui murmured, “I wonder if Grandma heard me.”
“She’ll hear,” He Jian Shan said, lifting his head.
“When spring comes, the wind will tell her.”
Author’s Note:
The third-to-last chapter.
