Before embarking on her distant journey, Mom pressed a round, paper-cut moon into Linlin’s hand. “With each sliver you clip, my dear,” she murmured, “you mend the moon above. By Mid-Autumn, it’ll shine full and radiant, a beacon guiding me home.” Full of hope, Linlin snipped away day after day, her heart lighter with each crescent. Finally, the autumn wind carried the last crescent aloft, joining the celestial orb just as Mom’s silhouette materialized beneath the moon’s gentle glow, arms open wide to embrace her little moonbeam.