ALSS Chapter 53

“It’s not a peach tree.”

The moment He Jian Shan saw Lin Hui, he didn’t bother explaining why he’d suddenly come here. Instead, he made an unrelated comment.

Lin Hui chuckled, turning his gaze toward the wintersweet tree. A wave of nostalgia swept through his eyes. “Back in my first year of high school, the peach tree died. My grandma bought a wintersweet sapling at the market and planted it. It’s been growing ever since.”

Trees die, birds fly away, the sky changes from sunny to rainy, and people experience joy and sorrow, union and separation. Once, he tried to hold on to the most beautiful, happiest moments of life forever, but… it wasn’t possible.

“The year she planted the wintersweet, I asked my grandma why she didn’t just plant another peach tree. She told me that when fate ends, planting another peach tree wouldn’t bring back the old one. So why not let a different flower accompany us instead? Wintersweet flowers are ordinary—plenty of families in the village have them. But only ours is the biggest and most lush. When it blooms, it smells amazing. The colder it gets, the more it insists on blooming.”

As he spoke, Lin Hui playfully waved at the wintersweet flowers beside He Jian Shan, stirring a burst of their cold fragrance. The aroma was intoxicating, leaving He Jian Shan momentarily dizzy.

Lin Hui noticed He Jian Shan staring at him silently and teased, “What’s up? We were apart for just a day, and you couldn’t bear it—”

“You didn’t tell me.” He Jian Shan’s throat bobbed, cutting him off.

“About what?”

“You applied for the Honey Jar Fund.”

Lin Hui froze for a second before realizing what he meant. “Oh, that.”

Lin Hui had thought about sharing their tiny thread of fate with He Jian Shan. But back when they weren’t together, there was never a suitable chance to bring it up. Later, as their relationship deepened, Lin Hui learned the story behind the fund and understood why He Jian Shan had complex feelings toward it. He decided it was better to let things unfold naturally. After all, to He Jian Shan, the Honey Jar Fund might not hold sweet memories but painful ones.

Even if He Jian Shan no longer cared, Lin Hui didn’t want to bring up things that were better left forgotten.

“That pen—” He Jian Shan’s voice cracked slightly as he mentioned it, a rare fragility surfacing in his expression. He wasn’t sure how to explain the pen’s existence, especially since Lin Hui already knew it wasn’t a symbol of good intentions.

Lin Hui’s smile faded. He looked at the man in front of him seriously and said, “He Jian Shan, don’t be so hard on yourself. Since the Honey Jar Fund started, only one person has ever chosen the gift package. That was me. You didn’t harm anyone, including me.”

He Jian Shan fell silent for a moment before shaking his head. “We can’t just ignore the wrongs because they coincidentally led to a good outcome.”

In the hours since discovering Lin Hui had been a beneficiary of the Honey Jar Fund, He Jian Shan’s emotions had been a tangled mess. Xu Huaiqing had said Lin Hui came to Wan Zhu out of curiosity about the gifts. But now, he knew that the gift was nothing but a reflection of his own despicable thoughts.

“When I received it, I noticed it was different from the other gifts. I was curious why a gift meant to represent a mother included such an expensive pen.” Lin Hui’s voice softened. “Later, I found out. But you and I—we see it differently.”

The night Lin Hui learned about Yao Qianyi’s story, he suddenly realized what that pen truly was: He Jian Shan’s cry for help—a cry from the adult He Jian Shan for the ten-year-old He Jian Shan. Just how deeply etched were those memories that they compelled someone like He Jian Shan to carve such a lasting mark even after more than a decade?

Lin Hui was overwhelmed by the enormity of the sorrow that welled up in him. He couldn’t help but wonder if that nightmare had truly faded with time, as He Jian Shan claimed. Or was it, like the thorn in He Zhao’s heart, something that occasionally tugged at his nerves—not necessarily painful, but ever-present?

“You care about the negative meanings attached to the fund and the pen. But do you want to know how I see them?”

He Jian Shan looked at Lin Hui, his eyes clouded with sorrow—a fragile shell, full of cracks, about to shatter.

Seeming to think of something, Lin Hui suddenly smiled. “About this, He Jian Shan, I kind of want to say something super cheesy—‘It’s destiny.’ But—”

“I don’t believe in destiny. I only believe in myself.”

Lin Hui had filled out the Honey Jar Fund application form in Room 310 of his dormitory.

It was a chilly Saturday morning just after the Lunar New Year break in his junior year. His counselor called, asking him to pick up the form. Braving the cold wind, Lin Hui returned to the dorm with the A4 sheet in hand. His roommates—Luo Ting, Zhang Xiaolei, and Zhou Chenyu—immediately crowded around him.

“So this is the one Vice Class Rep Sun mentioned?” Luo Ting asked, eyeing the sheet curiously.

Lin Hui nodded. “Yep, the Honey Jar Fund.”

“I think it’s from some company, right? Their chairman lost his mother at a young age and felt regretful, so he started this fund in her memory. Pretty touching,” Zhang Xiaolei added.

Zhou Chenyu thought for a moment. “Wan Zhu, right? Their chairman’s surname is He. Really young, super impressive. Barely a few years older than us, born into a giant company.”

Luo Ting patted Lin Hui on the shoulder. “Pretty good. Didn’t you say you wanted to get a new fridge for your family? Here’s your chance.”

Lin Hui laughed. “Already saved up for that. This fund isn’t for something like that.”

They returned to their respective bunks, and Lin Hui poured himself a glass of water before sitting down to fill out the form. When he reached the section labeled “Choose Gift Type,” he hesitated. “Looks like there are two options for this fund.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“One’s a cash gift—lump sum payout. The other’s a gift package: monthly gifts for a year. What do you think I should pick?”

“How much cash?” Zhang Xiaolei asked.

“Doesn’t say. But the gift package includes stuff like stationery and books.”

Zhang Xiaolei leaned out of his bunk. “Cash gift. Always go for cash.”

Luo Ting nodded in agreement. “Zhang’s right. Companies are smart. The gift package might sound nice, but its value will probably be far less than the cash.”

“Hold on,” Zhou Chenyu interjected. “I heard about a senior who applied for this. Let me ask my hometown friend about it.”

A few minutes later, Zhou Chenyu hung up the phone. “The senior picked the cash gift. It was 4,950 yuan—transferred immediately after approval. Really quick.”

“Not bad, but why’s the number so random?” Luo Ting muttered.

“Listen,” Zhou Chenyu added. “I feel like the gift package is a rip-off. It’s probably worth about the same as 4,950 yuan, but bulk buying means they can skimp and pocket the difference. Just pick the cash gift—it’s real money. You can buy whatever you want, and who needs stationery or books anyway?”

“Exactly!”

“Totally agree!”

Lin Hui nodded, agreeing. He was about to tick the “Cash Gift” box when he noticed the note next to the gift package option: “A gift from your mother.”

Lin Hui’s parents had passed away long ago. He’d never experienced what it was like to receive a gift from a mother.

Lin Hui froze.

He couldn’t bring himself to tell his roommates that he secretly wanted the gift package. Though he was already grown, the thought of receiving a “mother’s gift” touched something deep inside him. But his roommates were right—a lump sum of cash was the more practical choice.

Lin Hui and his grandmother had always relied on each other. Life had improved over the years, but they weren’t exactly wealthy. Lin Hui had been saving up to buy new appliances for their home, but the Honey Jar Fund was an unexpected windfall. He didn’t desperately need the cash, though the amount was tempting.

After much deliberation, Lin Hui called his grandmother. Ever pragmatic, she didn’t understand the concept of a fund and felt uneasy about accepting such a large sum of money out of the blue. “Better to take the gift,” she said. “It feels more genuine. Even if you don’t need it, you can pass it on and spread some goodwill.”

In the end, Lin Hui chose the gift package, submitting the form and forgetting about it soon after. At the time, he never imagined that his first “mother’s gift” would arrive alongside the news of his grandmother’s passing.

That summer, during the break after his junior year, Lin Hui didn’t return home. He stayed on campus to work on a major project led by Professor Luo Mingxian. The project was for an important competition, and Lin Hui was the only undergraduate student on the team—a testament to Professor Luo’s recognition and favoritism. Lin Hui, knowing this, was determined to give his best effort, even promising his grandmother he’d visit her as soon as the competition ended.

But that summer, in the sweltering heat, Lin Hui received two phone calls that would change his life forever.

The story unfolds with layers of emotions and revelations, leading to Lin Hui and He Jian Shan standing before the wintersweet tree. Their conversation interweaves their shared past, present choices, and a future that hints at redemption and understanding.

Author’s Note:
A long-awaited reunion.