Heal These Battle Scars | MxM

Epilogue

18th October 1950, Chongqing China.

Xiao Fang strode, his steps echoing on the cobblestone before a shiver raced down his spine when a gust of icy breeze blew by. When he checked the time on his watch; 8:14 p.m., he groaned and quickened his pace, nearly stumbling in his strides while apologizing one too many times whenever he bumped into any of the countless shoppers at Chongqing's annual weekend night market.

He wasn't supposed to be there, however, he needed to stay back at the hospital for an extra hour because they were packed with ill patients, and since they were short-staffed someone needed to be there.

As he took a U-turn in the corner street, he tightened the trenchcoat around his body, secretly hoping Lulu wouldn't be angry at him when he reaches home. Poor thing. Xiao Fang clicked his tongue. The cat was all alone, waiting for him. She'd probably been hungry — or starving, who knew?

Lulu.

Xiao Fang stopped in his tracks.

Of course!

He promised to get her a toy: It would only take ten minutes.

Immediately he checked his surroundings. Unlike most night markets, Chongqing's ones were greater. Colors — pink and purple and blue and red and yellow — swept across the streets, lighting up the place and fogging up Xiao Fang's spectacles. The food always smells delicious, too! The scent of fried meat, freshly baked bread — candies, and everything in between permanently wandered the air in the night. He always ended up going home on a Saturday with heavy bags of meals for himself and Lulu that lasted them well into Monday morning.

Today was different though: He'd been so busy this morning, he had forgotten to feed Lulu!

The minute he caught sight of a soft bear toy displayed in the corner street on a tabletop in the middle of plenty of other trinkets, mostly wooden children's toys — some old, some, not-too-old, his eyes gleamed. The brown bear would be perfect for his cat.

Without thinking he strode over after shuffling a hand inside his pocket to get some spare change.

"Need something, Uncle?" A young girl came running up to the tabletop booth, perhaps eleven or twelve with another child, a boy about a year younger than her, tagged alongside. "I can help you."

Xiao Fang picked up the soft toy with a thin smile. "Yes, I just need —" he gasped a quivering breath, his eyes doubling before the toy slipped from his fingers, falling back on the tabletop.

For a moment, he thought his eyes might've deceived him — he somewhat wished they were deceiving him. However, that wasn't the case.

There, on the tabletop, inside an old hardcover children's book, poked out a dusty-looking photograph; one he didn't know existed — with a face he knew he'd never see again except for in his dreams.

It was a picture of Wang Yi, standing straight with a stoic face for the camera back in 1947 at the military expedition back in Burma.

With careful, trembling fingers, Xiao Fang removed the photograph from in-between the book pages. He owned no photographs of Yi; none had ever been printed in the papers, not during his death either: none Xiao Fang knew of.

When a smile — the first one in years formed on his lips, he thumbed at Yi's face in the photograph. "Sweet Yi," he whispered to himself while his eyes glossed over with tears he refused to spill.

It had been ages since he last caught a glimpse of his younger lover's face.

For a long, dragged-out moment, he stared at the photograph...