Beneath the Magnolia Sky

Chapter 2: The letter That Never Came

Autumn wind swept through the magnolia branches as Li Wei stood by the tree, just as he had thirteen years ago. The bark had grown over the carving of their names, but he still traced it with his fingers — “Wei & Lin,” faint but still there, like a memory refusing to fade.

He had returned every year without fail. Even as a medical student. Even during his busiest days as CEO. No one knew of this ritual, not even his assistant. It was the only thing that still felt real.

The last time he saw her, she had run to him with a sunflower in her hand, her cheeks flushed from the sun. “For you,” she said, placing it behind his ear and laughing when he stiffened. “So serious, Doctor Li.”

Now, all he had was silence.

He sighed and took out a worn envelope from his coat pocket — yellowed with age, the corners curled. The neighbor who gave it to him found it hidden in an old book years after Mei Lin left. It had never been delivered.

His hands shook slightly as he unfolded the fragile paper for the thousandth time.

> Wei,

They’re sending me away. I don’t want to go. I tried to fight, but they won’t listen. I’ll be in France with my aunt. I don’t know when I can come back…

Please don’t forget me. I’ll wait for you. At the magnolia tree.

— Lin

He closed his eyes, jaw clenched. I never forgot you… but I couldn’t find you.

After she left, he searched. He asked. He begged his father for answers, but the tension between their families had made everything worse. He was forbidden from even speaking her name. So he obeyed on the outside — and rebelled in silence.

He studied harder than anyone. He passed the top medical university entrance exam at seventeen, climbed through ranks like a storm. By twenty-five, he was the youngest hospital director in the province — hiding behind his title, burying his pain in success.

Still, none of it filled the hollow she left behind.

He folded the letter carefully and put it back in his coat. The wind carried the scent of the last few blooms. A single magnolia petal fell onto his shoulder. He brushed it away and turned.

That same day, far across the sea, a woman stood on a plane preparing to land in China for the first time in thirteen years. Her fingers clutched a sketchbook with a pressed magnolia flower inside.

Mei Lin hadn’t meant to come back. But fate, cruel and gentle, had its own ways.

She was sick — not in danger, yet — but her doctors in France had recommended treatment only available at one particular hospital in China. The one known for its advanced care and compassionate doctors. A place she had read about in a magazine, never realizing who stood behind it.

She glanced out the window as the plane descended.

“I’m home,” she whispered, not knowing the storm she was about to walk into.