Shengsheng woke a few days ago, like a small boat lifting with the dawn tide.

But her memory’s thinner than Frostwhisper warned, like fog swallowing landmarks.

Most things—no, almost everything—has washed away, like shells dragged by undertow.

But she still remembers I’m her mom, a lone lantern unblown in the wind.

Each time I think of that, warmth pools in me, like sun on a winter sill.

Maybe we could drift on like this, like a calm boat on glass water.

No, that’d be selfish, like caging a singing bird under a silk cloth.

I shake my head in silence, like flicking dew from a leaf.

Since I chose to be Shengsheng’s mother, I must let her grow like a healthy tree, body and heart.

She’ll meet others soon; I can’t be the only vine she climbs, or she’ll miss the horizon.

I’m not her only star; her sky should hold more than my small moon.

Ah... I painted the ceiling pink for love of that color, like cherry clouds at dusk.

But now the more I stare up, the more it grates like grit in an oyster.

Yes, I should help her memory return, slowly, like coaxing spring back to a frostbitten garden.

I don’t know how yet, but that’s what a mother does, steady as a shoreline.

Only those who’ve touched loneliness know its fangs, like winter wind through thin clothes.

Rather than hoard you and make your future only me, I want you to find many friends.

Shengsheng, I think I finally grasp what you told me then, like hearing an echo clear.

I brush the sleeping girl’s cheek, light as a moth’s wing on moonlit water.

That choice hurt me for over a century, pain thawing slow like ice in shade.

But I don’t regret it; afterward I found life holds more than one color, like a rainbow after rain.

Friends are a strange magic, like wildflowers seeding where wind passes, Shengsheng.

Don’t grow up like me—slow and lazy—needing others to bring you friends like gifts.

Mm... I can’t keep my eyes open, lids heavy like night shutters.

Let the rest wait till tomorrow, like nets drying for the next tide.

Next day, dawn rinsed the windows like pale water.

“Lunch is ready, little Shengsheng; time to let go, koala arms like vines.”

“Nope—Mom’s hug is a warm quilt; I won’t let go like a cub.”

“Silly thing... if you cling like this, Mom gets flustered like a bird with wet wings.”

“We made a deal, right? At meals you sit sweetly; no being willful like a little storm.”

“Mm...”

Even without seeing her face, I know that pout is puffed like a tiny carp.

“Hmph, hmph-hmph.”

“...Mom?”

“Mom’s fine. For lunch I made roasted steak, special as fire on snow.

Snow-ox from the ice plains is extra chewy; little Shengsheng, don’t you want a bite?”

“Want, like a hungry cub!”

“If you want, then hop down, quick as a sparrow.

By the way, the pantry’s bare like empty shells; we’ll need a trip to the far-north city.”

I scratch my head, a little vexed, like a cat against a post.

As a mermaid living undersea, I oddly crave land food, like gulls craving bread.

That’s tied to a certain rascal who fed me feasts day after day, like lures on lines.

“Hmph, like a small wave against a rock.”

I glance at Shengsheng without thinking, like a fish flicking its tail.

Feeling my gaze, she tilts her head like a curious sparrow, then smiles with child-bright purity like dawn.

Ah—I’m done for, my heart toppled like a sandcastle.

“Mom, aren’t you eating? Why are you standing there wriggling all alone like a worm?”

“Ahhh, Shengsheng, erase that from your mind like chalk in the rain!”

After lunch, my little pendant was too stuffed to cling and hinder my dishwashing.

But then, for some reason, little Shengsheng learned to use soulwater, like catching a current.

She drifted beside me and looped those small hands around my neck like ivy.

Same position as before, but now she felt weightless, like a cloud on my shoulder.

“This way I won’t get in Mom’s way, right? Ehehe, light as a feather.”

“Shengsheng, you’re so clever, like a fox with star eyes.”

“Hey, little Shengsheng... how about a story from Mom today, like wind through reeds?”

“Yes, yes! Story time!”

“But we’ll save it for your nap; right now Mom’s got dishes to wash like a river.”

“Oh...”

Her voice dips with loss, like a lantern losing oil.

I could snap the dishes clean with water element, like rain sweeping streets.

But now I savor washing together, two people at a sink like twin moons in a bowl.

Whew... it’s only dishes for two, yet I scrub for nearly half an hour, like waves lapping rocks.

I laugh at myself, a dry leaf rustle, and tidy the dining room like smoothing sand.

I straighten my clothes like folding clouds, and at last I can lull the little one to sleep.

“Mom... won’t you nap with Shengsheng, like two shells in one tide?”

The blue-haired little girl dealt true damage, armor ignored, like a comet straight to the heart.

I don’t dare meet her eyes, afraid one glance will break my dam.

I rub the corner of my mouth, stalling like a fish circling, and explain, “Not today, sweetie; Mom’s got other things to do, so no napping together.”

“If Mom won’t sleep, then I won’t sleep,” she says, ready to get up like a spring.

“Nope! Skip your nap and you’ll get dumb,” I warn, bluffing like a paper tiger.

As expected, she spooks; her head tucks in like a turtle, fear rippling.

“But... but Mom’s not that smart; Mom should nap too, like a wise bear in winter.”

“Pfft, like a bubble popping!”

This little rascal... always poking my thorns like a bold sparrow!

Even if your mom’s a bit slow, you can’t say it to her face like a thrown pebble!

Sigh... I’ll have to teach her how to talk, like pruning a rose.

“Mom knows naps matter because she’s slow, see? Skip them and you get slow too,” I murmur, rubbing her hair like wind in grass.

“So nap well, little Shengsheng; don’t grow up as slow as Mom, like a boat with no oar.”

“Mm,” the girl nods solemnly, like a tiny judge with a gavel.

“When I grow up I’ll be smarter than Mom, and I’ll trick silly Mom to stay, like tying a red string.”

“You little rascal, what nonsense fills your head all day, like drifting dandelions?”

“Sleep well; Mom will start your bedtime story now, like a lullaby tide.”

“Yay, like sparklers in my hands!”

“Then I’ll begin, like opening a shell.

Once upon a time, a monster ravaged the sea lanes, like a storm that hunts ships.

She blocked passing boats and killed innocents; the dead were countless, like stars drowned.

Until one day, a hero set out by the people’s will to slay the beast, like a blade of dawn.”

I don’t know how long passes, time flowing like sand through fingers.

“Huh? Already asleep, like a kitten folded in sun?”

I gaze at the dozing girl and poke her springy cheek, soft as tofu, just a tap.

Waking her would be wrong, like rattling a wind chime at midnight.

“Sleep well, little wave, dream under a quiet moon.”

After I pull the quilt up to her chin like snow, I stretch like a cat.

“Mmm—honestly, you pick now to seek me out; looks like Auntie’s in real trouble, like a boat in squall.”

“Auntie... hasn’t returned in so long, like a swallow missing spring.

Since Shengsheng doesn’t know her yet, why not...”

Why not help them bond now, like tying two kites to the same breeze!

Done, like snapping a fan open.

With a target, my lazy body sparks to life like kindling catching, and my pace quickens.

Breaking the surface, I see Auntie in dark robes, standing alone, gaze fixed on the sea like stone.

“Auntie!”