Mist, Sleep, and Embers

As the heart monitor let out a piercing, continuous beep, Su Wumian saw a golden glow spreading across the ceiling.

“Are you... a god?” she murmured, her cracked lips barely moving. The breathing tube trembled faintly with each breath.

The figure that appeared in the glow did not answer, only covering her thin, withered fingers with a warm palm.

“I wish...” She suddenly broke into a violent coughing fit. Bloody froth splattered across the oxygen mask, like plum blossoms withering in the snow. “I wish Xiao Jin... peace and happiness... a long life...”