Qingyu Mengyin’s perspective.

Down in the hushed seabed, sunlight never pierces the water lid; there’s no sun-on-your-backside down here unless you rise to the surface.

Because someone loathes the dark, sea-crystal lamps stud the house like scattered stars; even at night, the rooms glow like noon.

“Mm... Mom, I can’t eat any more—stop feeding me squid... ah!” I jolt upright, gulping air like a fish beached on sand.

“Hah... whew... so it was a dream,” I say, relief ebbing like a receding tide.

“Right—Mom’s been gone for a long time,” I smile, brittle as a cracked shell.

Huh? Something is wrapped around me, warm as a vine twining a trunk.

“This little one.” Her limbs cling like an octopus; I laugh and pinch those dewy cheeks like tender petals.

It’s probably still early, but I should get up and make breakfast for little Shengsheng, like a kettle rising with the morning mist.

She’s still asleep, though; stealing a minute of laziness feels like a cat curling in a sunbeam.

I’m so sleepy, like sinking into a gentle current that cradles you.

In the haze, my head sinks back into the quilt, drifting like a jellyfish in moonlight.

No—keep the image of a diligent mom, reins tight as a rider; good moms don’t slack.

I steel myself and try to rise, like lifting anchor from soft sand.

Clothes... whatever, it’s home; in this nest like a warm cave, pajamas will do—bra or not, but...

The little koala on my waist squeezes tight as braided seaweed; I can’t even slip a shirt on.

“Silly Shengsheng... let go,” my cheeks heat like ripe peaches as I peel her hand, careful as lifting kelp from coral.

“Don’t... Mom, don’t go...” That milk-sweet, trembling voice shatters my heart’s armor like brittle ice.

Uwah!

HP - infinity.

“Be good, Shengsheng~ Mom’s going to make breakfast; wait a bit,” I whisper like bubbles rising—oh, she didn’t wake. Was that just reflex?

I can’t help it; I poke her right cheek, soft as a marshmallow under my fingertip.

I probably look like a creep grinning at candy; I’ve never been able to resist Shengsheng, drawn like a moth to a lamp.

But now we’re mother and daughter; that line is drawn in the sand by the tide, and it can’t be crossed.

No more clinging to the pillow like dew; up we go!

Mm... this hug is tight as rope; why is little Shengsheng so strong? I can’t break free, like a fish in a net.

Huh?!

She’s just on her side, arms barely reaching my waist, cheek pressed to my left hip like a warm seal.

Yet her grip is tidal, strange and strong, like the pull of the moon.

“Mom...” Maybe my struggling splashed too loud; her eyes open like dawn over water.

“Eh?? I’m here!” I answer, voice bright as a bell in the quiet.

“Mom, where were you going? Why push me away?” Her words drift like a small cloud, shadowing my chest.

“Little Shengsheng, Mommy has to make breakfast, or we’ll go hungry,” I say, trying for gentle warmth, but her adorable face is inches away, and my composure melts like ice under sun.

“Mom...? Your face is so red,” she blinks, curious as a sparrow.

“I’m fine, I’m fine! Can you let go for now? Mom needs to cook,” I plead, steam rising like a kettle.

It’s embarrassing to say, but with you clinging this tight, I really can’t wriggle free, like a net knotted around me.

“Oh...” She lets go, reluctance like a leaf dragging in slow water; in under a heartbeat, those small hands loop my waist again like lianas.

“If I cling to Mom, Mom can still make breakfast, right?” She blinks, eyes clear as spring water.

“But...” The word hangs sharp, like a knife resting on a board.

“It can, right? Mama~” Her tone ripples like a playful wave.

“Mm...” Happiness bursts; tears fall warm as summer rain along my cheeks.

“But, little Shengsheng, can you shift your position a bit? Like this...” I guide her, voice soft as silk.

“Mm.” She agrees, a nod small as a seed.

Changing position just means piggybacking her, her calves hooked around me like a monkey on a branch.

That works; my hands stay free like wind in a clean kitchen.

“By the way, Mom... why did you face away and shake the bed last night? And make those weird sounds...” Her question trembles like a boat in a shiver.

“Ah—ah—forget that, forget it!” I bury it like tossing a blanket cloud over the moon.

“M–Mom, don’t shake... I’m dizzy...” she murmurs, a boat wobbling on gentle swell.

“Sorry... You okay, Shengsheng? I got a bit worked up. Last night Mom wasn’t doing anything—my body felt off, needed to vent a little, like steam escaping a valve.”

“Oh...” She nods, half-understanding, like a bird pecking at rice.

“Hey, little Shengsheng, want to learn how to make breakfast?” I ask, sparks in the kitchen like fireflies.

“Like this slice of toast,” I lift it, golden as a sun tile.

“No bread. Bread’s not tasty...” She frowns, a storm cloud gathering on her brow.

“Eh? How can that be...” My protest scatters like crumbs in snowfall.

I’ve got bread tricks kneaded into memory, yet she rejects it; my heart deflates like dough in cold air.

“What about something else? Like that pickled greens fish I made last time—do you want to learn that, with a bright, tangy broth?”

She thinks, then nods. “Want. Pickled greens fish—tasty,” her eyes glitter like stars.

“Mm-hm~” Of course—it was my handiwork, pride puffed like a chef’s plume.

It’s still a step behind what Shengsheng used to make, but the flavor hooks the tongue like a well-cast net.

Thinking back, my greedy palate made tiny Shengsheng cook meals; shame sits in me like ash in a quiet hearth.

This time, the apron’s mine; I’ll cook for her, banner of resolve fluttering like a small flag.

“All right—breakfast is ready, fragrant and warm,” I call, aroma curling like a ribbon in the air.

“See—mixed fruit jam with sweet biscuits; just one look makes the appetite bloom like a sunset spread.”

The bread already flew into the trash, tossed like a gull’s drop.

“Shengsheng loves whatever Mom makes, mm...” she hums, cuddly as a kitten.

“Ehehe~” I grin, sparks dancing like mica in light.

“It’s just... the color of these cookies is strange; it always makes me think of bad things,” her face dims, a shadow sliding over water.

“Yeah... the colors aren’t pretty, but these cookies are nourishing; you’re still little, so eat more,” I say, warmth like sunlight patting her hair.

I tip most of the cookies onto her small plate, a clatter like petals falling.

She nibbles, crunch, and looks up with eyes bright as glass. “Mom isn’t eating?”

“Mom’s big enough—doesn’t need that many,” I smile, dipping a couple into jam glowing like sunrise.

Mm... still that familiar taste, homely as a shoreline you know by heart.

Looks like my craft stayed true over the years, steady as a compass in a sailor’s hand.

Good thing I maxed my cooking skill back then, like points glittering on a stat screen—whew.

“But... Mom doesn’t look tall either...” she mutters, measuring me like a sapling eyeing a tree.

“You little imp, blurting brutal truths!” I scowl like a storm and pinch her cheeks, soft as dough.

“Even if I’m short, I’m taller than you,” I huff, standing like a hill over a pebble.

“When I grow up, I’ll be taller than Mom! Hmph,” she declares, sprouting like bamboo shoots after rain.

“That’s true,” I laugh, easy as spring stretching its limbs.

We finish breakfast; I tidy the table, dishes chiming like shells, and Shengsheng loops herself back around my neck like a gentle vine.