Lan Zhan let go of all the nervousness he felt looking at the ordinary cardboard box. It wasn't even dusty, which meant Da Tuzi had looked after it. It was still sealed with yellowing sticky tape, dry now, and he knew that were he to try peeling it away, it would come off easily with a crackle that spoke of much time having passed.

But he wasn't scared anymore.

Opening this box didn't mean losing his mother.

His mother was always with him, perhaps not in the way he would want, but nevertheless, she was present in the part that mattered.

His hand is given one last squeeze and then Wei Ying lets go of him, only to wrap both arms around his waist.

It helps.

To feel tethered, grounded.

Wei Ying makes him feel strong, not that he has to be, but that he already is.

He can do this.

His fingers tremble as the tape is peeled back, dry glue flying from its confines, and the flaps open.

It's like opening a much anticipated birthday present, to know that people cared enough to get you something. That they were thinking about you.

He has no idea what will be inside and yet, the rush of adrenaline is too realistic.

Right on top of the pile, there are two identical, pale blue silk pouches.

Lan Zhan knows what they are immediately.

His pale fingers lift one up to his nose.

It's a perfume sache, one made by hand. Tiny stitches are almost invisible only on one side where the opening would have been.

Lan Zhan can smell dried cinnamon, sweet peas, fragrant dry rose petals, crushed to absorb the wonderful scent of sandalwood.

Straight away, he is transported to a time where his mother is lighting incense and then comes back to sit beside him. His chubby legs are too short to reach the ground, and he doesn't swing them, like other children would. He's perfectly still, because time spent with his favourite parent is precious.

"Making anything with love takes time and patience," she tells him.

He nods along, his five year old brain not understanding what she is about to do, but mother was wise and always right. Her smell is comforting, a mix of sandalwood and the pot pourri in a crystal bowl in front of them. She's already made tiny muslin bags that can be pulled closed, and he watches her pour sandalwood oil over the mixture. Her elegant fingers make sure the oil is absorbed within the dry ingredients and then she scoops some of the mix into the little bags.

He is hypnotised by her efficient actions, and like the mixture, his mind is absorbing her words. His brain has recorded this sweet moment, the memory of which he had forgotten, buried under the pressures of being an adult.

"A-Zhan," she says softly.

He looks up into her beautiful face, so pale like an angel. Her eyes are deeper than honey, and her love for him shines through every pore.

"Love is part of our souls. We should share that gift with everyone." Her voice...

Lan Zhan is amazed that he had these memories all this time.

When he tried to recall what his mother looked like, after so long, he was saddened to find that her face had faded from his mind. Like looking out from a steamy window, the blurry images of the outside scenery were frustrating to gaze upon.

But with this fragrance however faint, it opened the doors in his mind that he didn't even know existed.

He opens his eyes to find Wei Ying staring back at him with worried concern flickering in his beautiful silver eyes.

Lan Zhan wants to share everything with him. It feels exactly right, to bare his soul when it belongs to his other half.

Wei Ying cries for him.

They are sweet tears, commemorating a time that has run its course, fading into the sea of forgetfulness.

These pouches have given him his mother back.

"I will share this with Xiongzhang." Lan Zhan whispers.

"That's a great idea, Sweetheart. I'm sure he will have missed your mother just as much." Wei Ying kisses his cheek. "And we should say thank you, to Da Tuzi, too. It was very kind of him to think you would want something of your mother's to remember her by."

"Mn." Lan Zhan takes out the second pouch and places both carefully next to him.

The next item is a photo of himself and XiChen, on either side of their mother.

Wei Ying is crowing with delight, saying how cute he looks with his pudgy cheeks and serious face, even as a child. XiChen is smiling, too. Their mother looks a little tired but otherwise exactly as he remembered her. She too, is smiling in that gentle way of hers.

Lan Zhan is beyond embarrassed, and ever so glad that his ears are cool to the touch now.

"Who took this photo?" Wei Ying suddenly says.

Instinct makes Lan Zhan turn it around and there is his mother's neat calligraphy, small perfect characters, each stroke lovingly created.

Cangse Sanren stole a camera and this is the result, it reads.

Wei Ying's fingers touch the edges of the photo, his eyes watering again.

"You know, they used to make these cameras, Polaroids, I think they were called. They developed the film instantly and a photo would slide out."

"Where did Wei Ying see that?"

"Last year. A-Yuan and I visited the Science museum. Most of what we think of as ancient and relics, they were ordinary items for the people who lived through that time. It's just mind-boggling to think that they went around taking photos and not having to wait for them to be developed." He sniffs quietly.

This precious photograph is added to the pile next to him. Lan Zhan can't wait to show his brother all these treasures, for they are no less of an inestimable value than the loot stolen by pirates.

There are two little notebooks, obviously handmade. One has a bunny that his mother must have found a picture of, and cut it out to stick on the front cover, and the other has a picture of a flute.

Of course, Lan Zhan picks the one with a bunny.

It's all about him.

Height, weight, description and his name written in bold on the top. That's on the first page, and then only six pages are filled in after that. XiChen's book is exactly the same, except there are nine entries.

Lan Zhan's finger strokes the twine that his mother had used to bind the book. Her loving hands had made this, a record of both of her children. To want to keep it safe, this record of their lives, a factual statement of their presence in her life. They were not allowed to visit her often, but he remembered the special visits they did have, on their birthdays.

Standing on a scale and his mother's soft hands on his head, measuring his height. They used the side of the door to make notches on, to show how much her sons had grown in that year.

Lan Zhan had never asked why, and now he supposed that she probably wouldn't have asked for anything. No chart to stick on the wall, nothing to help her. But his mother had been a genius in her own way, making do and coping in the most novel ways. Fresh love and admiration blooms inside him, and Lan Zhan carefully puts both notebooks down on the growing stash next to him.

There are bunny shaped bookmarks.

Lan Zhan had never seen these before. He imagines his mother using these, for she was an avid reader. Under them, Lan Zhan sees a book of poetry. He flicks through the pages and is shocked to see his mother's writing, notes and annotations, her thoughts spilling out into something real and tangible. Echoes of her mind.

And there's her favourite pen.

It was a fountain pen, one of those which sucked up ink through the metal nib. Nothing special, definitely not expensive, but priceless because of the hand that used it, once upon a time.

Maybe XiChen will want to have that, and Lan Zhan thinks he will then be able to keep her poetry book.

Last but not least, there's an old Nokia phone.

Of course, it's dead now.

Wei Ying plucks it out of his hand.

"Hmm...I bet grandmother will have a charger." He hands the phone back and shoots off a text to Baoshan Sanren quickly.

The response is immediate: "Probably."

Wei Ying sees that and types back: "change of plans. Can we come to see you tomorrow? I can bring your great-grandchildren....and they're really great!" He chuckles to himself softly.

BS: Of course, you silly goose! You don't have to ask.

Wei Ying throws his arms around Lan Zhan's neck happily.

"We're all going to see Grandmother tomorrow, and we can take the kids. They can do their homework at night with your Uncle."

Lan Zhan wraps his arms around Wei Ying, holding him close. There's something so warm about him, not just physically. This beautiful man who has learned to live life the hard way, and still come out smiling...it was nothing short of a miracle.

"Now it's Wei Ying's turn." Lan Zhan kisses his hair and transfers him to the side.

"My turn?"

"Mn." Lan Zhan puts everything back into the box except for the phone, slipping it into his jacket for tomorrow so he won't accidentally forget it.

Once the bed is clear, he brings his laptop to where Wei Ying is sitting.

"USB." Lan Zhan reminds him.

Wei Ying is up like a shot and fishes it out of his pocket, handing it to him.

Lan Zhan plugs it in, and there's a few minutes of waiting before the notification comes up.

Wei Ying has his hands tightly clasped together, tighter than a clam refusing to budge.

Lan Zhan knows exactly how he's feeling. His arm wraps around Wei Ying's waist, a firm presence of strength and support.

How bizarre that their thoughts and hopes fluctuate around parents long since absent? In the strangest way, both he and Wei Ying have managed to connect with their parents together, and not only that, they have learned of a separate connection between their parents, too.

The first picture comes onto the screen. Lan Zhan recognises it and explains to Wei Ying at which part of the mansion it was taken. Most of the photos are things or places Cangse Sanren might have found interesting, though Lan Zhan privately thinks it was an attempt to use up as much film as she could in the smallest amount of time.

Some are random, a hurried glimpse into the past and what Lan Zhan's home must have looked like all those years ago.

But scattered throughout the landscape pictures are ones of a more personal nature.

There's one of Wei Changze just standing in a single spot, the light of the open doorway illuminating his profile. He clearly is not aware of what his wife is doing, and the pose is naturally artistic. It is a glimpse into his real personality, a raw, naked sincere view, bereft of the fakeness from adopting a stance just for the camera.

Lan Zhan has, as with all the photos, paused and waited, wanting Wei Ying to look his fill, to fully process this and every photo.

It is a gleaning, to try to see who his parents were.

The photos are a personal insight, not based on anyone else's point of view, or their opinions of these people. Here, Wei Ying can make his own mind up, interpret the photos in his own way, to his own satisfaction.

Lan Zhan is allowed to go fast through the photos without any people in them.

But the ones which catch and hold onto his attention are unquestionably the ones with his parents.

There are many around the fountain, including the one where his mother is excitedly pointing at the spear on purpose, they know that now. There's quite a few selfies too, where Cangse Sanren has pushed their faces together, cheeks squished with gleeful abandon, a helpless soft smile on his father's face, his mother looking far too delighted at what she's making him do, and Wei Ying doesn't even notice his tears now.

But Lan Zhan does.

Those big, fat tears, each drop as it rolls down beautiful cheeks flushed with his emotions, Lan Zhan sees each hallowed piece of moisture completing a ritual of cleansing.

This is part of their journey, to acknowledge the past, to be grateful for it. To know that, without it, they would not be the people they are today.

To understand that the sacrifices of their parents must not go to waste, and to revive their connection to each of their heritages.

To feel the fiery love of their parents, something that shines forth through their eyes in the pictures they have left behind, to know that these pages once were touched by frail hands that insisted on keeping a record, because her children were important to her.

Wei Ying scrubs his face finally, utterly exhausted. Lan Zhan feels similarly wrung out, like a dishcloth used until it is threadbare and softened beyond measure.

Wrapped up in each other's arms, they lie down, and Wei Ying falls asleep immediately.

Lan Zhan holds him close, quietly mapping out the minutes of every hour that passes until morning.

***************

A/N

Dear Beautiful Readers,

How are you holding up so far?

I see you holding up a magnifying glass to the fact that there's no cliffhanger here, but that's because I think they both deserved to have this time to heal, to love their parents with no other interruptions.

But this is the rollercoaster dip...hehe

And in the meantime, it's almost summertime. We seem to have skipped over spring, or else it has been hiding in the colossal amount of rain we've been having. I will throw my umbrella at anyone who dares to say "drought" and "hosepipe ban" this year!

And summertime means ice cream!!

For me it's Snickers ice cream bar and mint chocolate chip, separately, don't worry! I hope you guys get to eat lots of fun chocolate and treats.

They're all precious moments.

Charlie.