Fated to the full Moon.

Under the vast blue skies of East Africa, I see not only endless stretches of arid deserts and lush tropical grasslands but also a complex tapestry of unrest, tribal conflicts, and epidemics that have plagued the region for over a century. This land, with its breathtaking beauty, hides deep scars of suffering that challenge my resilience as a medical professional.

My white coat, once pristine, is now stained with a disturbing mixture of blood and dirt. It no longer resembles the angelic garments that symbolize hope and healing; instead, it conveys a silent plea for help, a stark reminder of the grim reality facing those who seek care.

A significant outbreak of the virus, a frightening variant of the Ebola virus, is currently sweeping through East Africa. Dedicated teams from Doctors without Borders are valiantly battling the epidemic on this unforgiving terrain, but the situation remains dire. The saying goes that a clever woman can't cook without fire, and here, the lack of medical resources and supplies proves just as crippling. Essential medications are not just hard to find-they are prohibitively expensive. The local government, grappling with its own limitations, simply cannot afford the life-saving treatments. While MSF has managed to provide some medications, it remains but a drop in the ocean of need.

As a doctor, I face an unbearable reality: I must watch countless patients infected with the virus struggle on the precipice of life and death, their hopes extinguished by the absence of effective medicine. This profound sorrow weighs heavily on my conscience, a stark reminder of my limitations in the face of overwhelming adversity.

Leaning against a weathered wooden post, I gaze up at the stars twinkling above the East African night sky. Suddenly, a bittersweet smile spreads across my face as I turn to Edward, who stands quietly behind me. "You know what?" I say, my voice laced with a mixture of determination and despair. "This is the second time I've felt this level of helplessness, even as a doctor."

Edward immediately understands that I'm referencing the last time we faced such despair, recalling the man named Jared and the indescribable bond we shared. In that moment, all he can do is sigh deeply, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and giving it a reassuring shake.

I pat his shoulder in return, signalling that I'm okay, and continue, "We can't go on like this. Without the necessary medicine, we might as well be immortals standing idly by-unable to save anyone."

"Matthew has gone to coordinate with the organization. He should be able to secure some funding and local government subsidies. With a bit of luck, we might gather enough resources, but those specific drugs are truly exorbitant," Edward responds, his brow furrowed with concern.

At that moment, a frail old man approaches and waves to us, his movement's slow but determined. I hop off the railing and enter Matthew's modest tent, Edward following closely behind.

"It has been approved; the government funds should be allocated within a week. Rickie, you will leave tomorrow to purchase the much-needed medicines," Matthew announces, handing us the approval documents with a sense of urgency.

"I understand that most specific drugs are manufactured in Ascot Ridge, but their prices are shockingly high. Even if we place a large order, it's challenging to negotiate lower costs when demand is so critical," I express my concerns, my voice tinged with frustration. Matthew sighs, nodding in agreement.

"We'll head to Ascot Ridge first. The number of patients here is overwhelming, and without those specific drugs, we can't treat them effectively. While alternative medications might not provide immediate results, they can help manage the progression of the disease. If we encounter obstacles in Ascot Ridge, we may need to explore options back in Freedonia," the old professor, wise and weathered, suggests his tone firm yet compassionate.

Without wasting any time, I return to my tent, eager to prepare for the journey ahead. I start sorting through my belongings, realizing with a pang of sadness that I have little to take with me-just the portable inspection instrument I always carry and a single, worn pair of jeans. The conditions here are appalling, and in my effort to help the local residents, I have given away many of my possessions, leaving me with only a small backpack.

Determined to make the most of my resources, I purchase a plane ticket to Ascot Ridge, and send a message to William and a few friends before boarding the flight. "My plane will arrive tomorrow," I text, feeling a mix of anticipation and anxiety.

The response comes swiftly: "I finally know you're back! Come directly to me-John is here too." A smile spreads across my face at the mention of John, a friend I have missed dearly. I quickly send another message: "Let's meet for a drink."

After tucking my phone away, I prepare for the long flight ahead-more than ten hours in the air, each minute filled with thoughts of the work awaiting me. Upon landing, I head straight to an ATM, retrieve a card from my wallet, and check my balance, feeling a sense of satisfaction at the figure displayed. After graduation, I and a few colleagues established an offshore medical institution abroad, catering to the middle and upper classes. Although my income could not compete with that of larger companies, it was sufficient for my needs, and I planned to allocate most of it to purchase essential medicines.

As I put the card away, I notice another black gold card tucked in my wallet. I know that the funds in it are many times greater than those in my own card, but I hesitate to use it. That card represents the monthly financial support from Azriel, a friend who has always been there for me. With a deep breath, I dismiss the thought and secure my wallet, taking a taxi to William's villa.

Meanwhile, in an antique courtyard in Z country, a man wearing a dark gray sweater sits on a low couch by the floor-to-ceiling window. His handsome face appears gaunt, too thin from the burdens he carries. A blanket of the same colour covers his legs, providing some comfort as he gazes quietly at the snow falling outside. The tea simmering on the stove nearby emits a soothing sound, a small moment of peace in his otherwise troubled mind.

"Little guy, you've encountered difficulties," Azriel murmurs to himself, having just hung up the phone. The fine lines etched around his eyes and the frost in his hair reveal a life well-lived, yet heavy with responsibility. After a moment of reflection, he picks up the phone again and dials a familiar number. "Torry will you have time tomorrow to come to my place and catch up?" he asks, his voice tinged with anticipation.

He leisurely pours the brewed tea into a delicate porcelain cup, the warm aroma enveloping him.

"Azriel, if you invite me, I'll make time. I really miss your big red robe tea," a bright male voice replies from the other end, filling Azriel with a sense of nostalgia.

"I'm no longer Azriel," he responds with a soft laugh, a hint of playful banter. "Don't worry; big red robe tea is ready for you."

Rickie took a taxi to William's residence. When it came to living in Ascot Ridge, he was more familiar with it than William was. William had been living in Freedonia for two years and rarely returned to Ascot Ridge except for necessary matters. However, he often travelled to Ascot Ridge for work at the headquarters, so he simply stayed with Rickie during those times.

The usually quiet villa was lively with activity. John greeted him with a warm hug. In the room, aside from John and William, there were two others whom Rickie presumed were their boyfriends.

Thinking of "boyfriend" made Rickie's mind drift back to another man-a man he had cared for deeply. If it hadn't been for the changes that occurred four years ago, he would have already confessed his feelings to Jared.

Jared, Jared.

Unable to shake off the memories, Rickie took out the notebook he always carried. He opened his email app and sent out a message, addressing it to Jared. In the past, he had sent 307 emails, all lying unanswered in his inbox. But he wasn't discouraged. His fingers danced across the keyboard as he typed:

"Jared, I want you to know that I've arrived in Ascot Ridge, and tomorrow I'll be negotiating with the pharmaceutical companies here. If they refuse to lower their prices, I might have to return to Freedonia for a solution. Please pray for me and hope they offer a better deal."

In the background, a small figure folded his hands in prayer.

That evening, the five of them gathered in the yard for a barbecue. Rickie, dressed in worn jeans, held a skewer in one hand, his mouth smeared with oil, he looked like a weary migrant worker.

"I have to ask, why are you dressed like that? Did you go bankrupt?" John laughed when he saw Rickie's state.

"Not far off," Rickie replied with a grin. "I donated everything I earned over the past two years."

"What happened? What brings you back this time?" John inquired, surprised.

"The virus is rampant in East Africa. I'm here to purchase medicines. The specific drugs are far too expensive, so I came to negotiate directly with the suppliers in Ascot Ridge. You know the saying: the price is either exorbitant or unreachable. Maybe you should consider donating some funds?" Rickie said, a mischievous smile on his face. He knew well that negotiating prices in Ascot Ridge would be a challenge.

"The specific drugs here are likely to be quite expensive. Your demand is large and urgent, and I fear it will be tough for them to reduce prices," John replied, his expression serious. "Generic drugs have been doing well in Freedonia over the past two years. If you can't succeed here, maybe try back in Freedonia. I happen to know someone who is in charge of a pharmaceutical company. If you need help, I can contact him. Just give me the details, and I'll make a donation."

Rickie looked at John, who seemed both weak and beautiful, and took his hand. "Where did you find a rich person with such a generous heart?"