In the dimly lit military bunker, Lieutenant Chen carefully unwrapped his last piece of candy. The transparent wrapper crinkled softly, a sound jarringly out of place amid the distant artillery fire.
“Still keeping that?” Major Zhang raised an eyebrow, her red lipstick a stark contrast against her pale face. “How long has it been?”
“Three years, two months, and fifteen days,” Chen replied without hesitation, turning the butterscotch candy between his fingers. The amber surface caught the weak light, gleaming like a precious stone.
“You’re quite the romantic fool,” Zhang laughed, but there was no mockery in her voice. She adjusted her collar, a gesture Chen had come to recognize as her tell for hidden emotions.
“It was her last gift,” he said quietly. “Before Shanghai fell.”
The bunker fell silent save for the rhythmic drip of water from a leaking pipe. Zhang lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating the tired lines around her eyes.
“Tell me about her,” she said, exhaling a cloud of smoke that danced in the stale air.
Chen closed his eyes, the candy warm in his palm. “She worked at the Paramount Ballroom. Always wore qipao in shades of blue, said it reminded her of the ocean she’d never seen. When she laughed, she’d cover her mouth with her fan, but her eyes… they sparkled like stars.”
“Sounds like something from an Eileen Chang novel,” Zhang remarked dryly.
“Maybe that’s why I never opened this candy. It’s the last complete thing I have from that time. Everything else…” he trailed off, leaving the weight of unsaid words hanging between them.
Suddenly, their radio crackled to life. “Enemy forces breaching sector seven! All units…”
The rest was lost in static, but they were already moving. Zhang stubbed out her cigarette while Chen pocketed the candy.
“Time to go, romantic fool,” she said, checking her weapon.
As they rushed through the underground corridors, the bombing intensified. The concrete above them groaned under the impacts. They reached the command center to find chaos - maps scattered, officers shouting coordinates, the air thick with urgency.
Then Chen saw it - the strategic weak point in the enemy’s formation. A fatal flaw that could turn the tide, but exploiting it would require…
He pulled out the candy, its wrapper now wrinkled from years of safekeeping. Zhang watched as he finally unwrapped it, the sound somehow cutting through the mayhem around them.
“What are you doing?” she asked, though her eyes said she already knew.
Chen popped the candy in his mouth, savoring the sweet, slightly stale taste. “Making a complete ending,” he said with a sad smile. “Major, I’ll need your best squad for a flanking maneuver.”
Hours later, as victory reports flooded in, Zhang stood alone in the bunker. On her desk lay a carefully smoothed candy wrapper, containing a hastily scribbled note:
“Some things are meant to remain incomplete, so we keep seeking completion. But tonight, I choose to make one thing whole - my duty.”
She touched her lips, where the faintest trace of red lipstick remained, and smiled at the bitter sweetness of it all.