Souvenir Gift

Back at the training base.

Lin Mo passed by Wang Jie's room and saw him crouching on the floor, cramming clothes into his suitcase. His movements were rough—unfolded shirts were balled up and shoved straight in.

"Packing already?"

Wang Jie didn't even look up, but let out a sigh. "Sure, they've got scallion pancakes here too, and they taste great, and you can stuff all kinds of stuff in them. But I still miss my mom's pancakes."

He tugged at the suitcase zipper. It wouldn't close, so he pressed down harder with his palm. "Anyway, the flight's booked—day after tomorrow. Once the awards ceremony ends tomorrow, I'm out of here."

Lin Mo nodded.

The group of them had spent New Year's in Korea, which was a pretty makeshift affair—a bunch of guys huddled in a hotel room, munching on the hotel's complimentary kimbap to ring in the new year.

That night, all Lin Mo had done was send Xie Yuling and the others a quick "Happy New Year" message.

Xie Yuling replied with a photo. The three of them, plus Ning Qingcheng, were gathered around a table full of food, laughing brightly.

Lin Mo stared at that photo for a long while.

He noticed something subtle:

When he wasn't around, the three of them seemed to get along even better.

Guess he really was the problem.

Still, he'd already told Fang Jun and the others that he was coming back.

Fang Jun posted the news in the class group chat.

The group exploded instantly.

Messages flooded in—everyone asking if Lin Mo would bring back souvenirs.

Then the updates started stacking up:

"Lin Mo, Lin Mo, can you bring back Peking roast duck?"

"Douzhi! Definitely!"

"I want candied hawthorns!"

"Come on, how's he supposed to carry candied hawthorns? You want him to hold them the whole flight?"

Lin Mo watched the barrage of messages, typed a few words, and sent one out:

"Sure. I'll bring everyone the Peking edition of Three Years of Practice, Five Years of Exams."

The group went silent.

Thirty seconds passed. Nobody spoke.

A minute passed. Still nothing.

Even Fang Jun had gone quiet.

Lin Mo scrolled back through the chat history. Just moments ago, over a dozen messages were popping up per second. Now it was dead still.

Perfect. That was exactly the effect he wanted.

When they hit a question they couldn't answer, they clammed up.

He locked his phone, leaned back against the headboard, and silently made a mental note of everyone who'd been so eager.

They were all keen to ask for souvenirs, but the second he mentioned study materials, they played dead.

Just wait until I get back. I'll deal with all of you.

---

The awards ceremony the next day was, honestly, just a formality.

When they'd competed overseas, the ceremony had been simple and direct—hand out the certificates, shake hands, take a photo, done.

But back in China, it was different. There had to be speeches from the leaders. There had to be procedures.

Today's schedule, oddly enough, moved fast.

Lin Mo noticed that a few of the leaders up on stage kept looking at him with a strange, subtle politeness.

Not the kind of appreciation you give an outstanding student. More like... how to put it? The kind of careful deference an underling shows to a superior's family member.

The prize money was issued. The trophies were presented.

Aboard, the math competition had only given out certificates, cash, and medals. But back home, they'd added trophies—golden stainless steel ones, with names and scores engraved on the base. They had a satisfying weight in your hand.

Wang Jie held his trophy up to the light and squinted. "Where am I supposed to put this thing at home?"

"On your stove at home," someone chimed in. "That way your mom can see it every time she makes your pancakes."

"Screw you."

The ceremony ended, and tomorrow they'd all go their separate ways.

The group decided that since it was their last day in Beijing, they ought to go out and look around—do a bit of shopping, pick up some things to bring home.

Lin Mo naturally fell in with the crowd.

Six guys walked down the Beijing streets, heading straight for Xingxiangcun bakery.

Makes sense. You can't expect a group of dudes to shop for scarves and perfume at the mall. But pastries? You buy them and you're out. Quick and clean.

There was a line outside Xingxiangcun—not long, maybe a dozen people.

Lin Mo walked in, glanced at the price board, and without much hesitation, said to the staff behind the counter, "Two boxes of ox tongue cookies, three boxes of date flower pastries, two boxes of hawthorn cookies, four boxes of Jing Ba Jian... and..."

He counted on his fingers, figuring out how many people were in his class.

"...three more boxes of snowflake crisps."

The clerk blinked. She gave him a quick, slightly incredulous look.

Wang Jie was impressed. "You're buying all that?"

"There are dozens of people in our class. Can't exactly have them fighting over scraps."

Lin Mo pulled out his cash and paid without a second thought.

The other teammates exchanged glances.

"The prize money isn't nothing, but spending it like this..." someone couldn't help warning him.

Lin Mo waved a hand. "It's fine. I've got some savings." "It's fine. I've got a bit of a nest egg."

No sooner had he said that than Wang Jie leaned in, eyes sparkling with gossip-starved curiosity.

"Lin Mo, what's your deal, seriously? You're way too mysterious."

The others didn't crowd in as close, but they all slowed down, ears practically perked.

During the competition, everyone's mind was on the problems. No time for anything else.

Now it was over, and with tension gone, curiosity crept back in.

Lin Mo looked around at the half-dozen pairs of eyes burning with questions. He paused for two seconds, then straightened his face.

"Well, since you all want to know," he said gravely. "No point hiding it anymore."

The group unconsciously moved a step closer.

"Actually, I'm the young master of a great southern family," Lin Mo declared with full conviction. "Gifted from birth, skilled in both letters and martial arts. I only came to this math competition to experience civilian life. I've got connections here in Beijing—you saw how the leaders treated me."

Silence.

Dead silence for a full three seconds.

The teammates glanced at each other, expressions complicated.

An old man waiting in line ahead of them slowly turned around.

He wore a grey cotton jacket, a cloth bag hanging from his hand. Hair snow-white but sharp-eyed. He looked Lin Mo up and down with the kind of scrutiny that only comes with age.

"Kid."

Lin Mo: "Huh?"

"Move farther away from me," the old man said. "Otherwise, when lightning strikes to punish your bullshit, I'm afraid it'll hit me first."

At that, Wang Jie was the first to break. He doubled over laughing.

The others burst out following him—one guy was slapping his thigh with every laugh. Even the young woman at the front of the line was hiding a giggle behind her hand.

Lin Mo, not at all embarrassed, just clasped his hands at the old man in a little bow. "Sir, at least let me finish spinning my tale before you knock it down."

The old man gave a huff. But there was a faint smile at the corner of his mouth as he turned back to the line.

Wang Jie finally stopped laughing and wiped the corner of his eyes. "Alright, alright, no more questions. It's official—you, Lin Mo, are not a serious person."

"An unserious person, yet I took home a world champion title?" Lin Mo pointed straight back at them.

Bags of pastry boxes in hand, they left Xingxiangcun and wandered around the neighborhood for a bit.

Beijing's winter was dry and freezing. The wind came at you like a knife.

"How about we head back?" someone suggested.

"Yeah, let's go. Eating out is pricey anyway."

Wang Jie rubbed his hands together. "The training base's cafeteria is just fine. Plenty of options, and it's free. Last day and all."

"The key is staying warm."

The group reached a consensus, holding their respective spoils as they headed back.