Seeing Shenhe return, her mother happily picked up the newly finished dress and held it up against Shenhe's small body.
The dress was beautiful. It had delicate black lace, red accents, and sleeves of interwoven black and white. It was elegant, steeped in ancient charm. For an adult, it would be perfect. But Shenhe was still young—the dress was far too mature for a child and much too large. She would have to wait until she grew up to wear it.
But the moment she saw it, Shenhe fell in love with it.
"Thank you, Mother! I'll take good care of it. When I'm older, I'll wear it."
Little Shenhe was overjoyed. She threw herself into her mother's arms.
Seeing her daughter so happy brought joy to her mother's heart.
"Yes… if I could see Crane wearing this dress someday, I would be content."
But she knew. It was impossible. Her illness would not allow her to live that long.
Little Shenhe did not understand. "You will. I'm sure you will."
She climbed into bed and nestled in her mother's arms, feeling the warmth of her embrace.
As the sun set and the world grew dark, Little Shenhe held her mother tightly, as always, and drifted into a dream.
In her dream, she saw her mother cured. She saw herself grown up. She saw herself showing off her mother's beautiful dress to Li Mo.
But as Shenhe lost herself in the dream, her mother felt a sudden, sharp pain in her chest.
With a cough, she spat blood onto Shenhe's sleeve.
There was no pain in her eyes, no surprise—only reluctance. She knew her time had come.
She tried to raise her arm to touch Shenhe's face one last time, to wipe the blood from her sleeve. But her arm would not move. No matter how hard she tried, she could not lift it. She could not even brush her daughter's cheek.
Her breath grew labored. Strength and life drained from her body.
Helpless, she gave up trying to rise. She only turned her head slightly, wanting one last look at her daughter.
I'm sorry, Crane. I won't see you in that dress after all.
She tried to speak, but her throat was blocked. She could not make a sound. She could not even call her daughter's name one last time.
Her life ebbed away. She could only watch Shenhe, unable to touch her, unable to call her.
Slowly, her eyes closed.
As they did, a single crystalline tear appeared at the corner of her eye, gleaming in the moonlight. It slid down her cheek.
With thoughts of Shenhe and longing for her husband, she breathed her last and left this world.
Even in her final moment, her heart ached for her daughter. She feared her husband, who had not yet returned, would not care for Shenhe properly and that Shenhe would suffer.
The next morning, Little Shenhe rose early as always, before the sun was fully up, to prepare food and medicine for her mother.
But when she sat up, she saw the red bloodstain on her sleeve.
Panic seized her. She looked at her mother.
In the dim morning light, she saw the blood at her mother's lips.
Trembling, she reached out to touch her mother's face and her body.
Every part of her was cold. Ice-cold.
Though she was still a child, Shenhe understood what this meant.
Her mother, who had been ill for so long, had left this world.
Little Shenhe could not accept it. She did not want her mother to leave. She did not want her mother to die.
She wanted to save her.
But she was only a child. How could she bring someone back from the dead?
The girl who had always been so strong, so stubborn, finally broke down. She collapsed over her mother's body, sobbing.
"Mother, Mother!"
But her mother had long stopped breathing. She could not hear Shenhe's cries.
Just as Shenhe was drowning in despair, the door burst open.
A travel-worn figure appeared, his steps heavy.
It was Shenhe's father. He had been searching for medicine for days. Finally, he had returned.
But the moment he stepped inside, he heard Shenhe's wails. He saw his wife lying on the bed.
Dropping his bamboo basket, he rushed to her side, calling her name.
But it was too late.
His wife—Shenhe's mother—had already left this world, her heart full of longing for her daughter and her husband.
He had found a way to cure her. Why had she slipped away before he could return?
He refused to accept it.
As he held his wife, his expression grew wild, unhinged.
No. He would not accept this.
There was still a way. He could still bring her back. He would not let her die.
He turned to look at Shenhe, and for a moment, the madness in his eyes receded.
"Crane, don't worry. I will bring her back."
He looked at his wife with fierce determination.
But even the guardian deities of Liyue could not raise the dead. How could her father?
Though filled with doubt, Shenhe saw the resolve in her father's eyes, and hope kindled in her heart.
She wanted her mother to live again.
That day, Shenhe broke her promise to Li Mo. She did not go to the city to do commissions. She stayed home, helping her father pack their things.
They worked all day.
That night, without her mother beside her, Shenhe lay alone on the cold bed.
Her father opened the bamboo basket he had brought back and took out an ancient, bloodstained tome.
Inside, it described a way to summon a "god."