Chapter Eleven: The Illusory Realm of Butterfly Wings

The next morning, the group set off toward the ancient city.

After a long while, Ling Yan, growing impatient as she gazed at the increasingly desolate landscape, complained, “Are we even on the right path? What if we’ve taken a wrong turn?”

Sun Lang replied, “We’re following the directions the guide gave us. There’s no way we’re lost.”

Ling Yan grumbled a bit more as she walked, using a stick she’d picked up by the roadside to swat at the wild grass, but soon fell silent.

Without pause, they pressed on, the path beneath their feet growing ever narrower and rougher. The roadside, once merely tangled with weeds, was now crowded with low shrubs and towering cypresses. The thick branches and leaves overhead shrouded the forest, letting in not a single ray of light. When the wind stirred, the leaves rustled, sounding like low whispers or eerie, chilling laughter.

“This place is so strange…” Ling Yan rubbed her arms anxiously.

Chi Yuan, who had been silent the whole way, spoke in a grave voice, “Strange means we’re in the right place.”

Sun Lang threw an arm around Ling Yan’s shoulders. “What’s the matter, little lady? Don’t tell me you’re scared?”

Ling Yan slapped his hand away, shot him a glare, and kicked him before leaping aside. “Of course not! Keep your filthy hands off me, you scoundrel!”

Their playful bickering lightened the atmosphere a little.

“It’s getting foggy,” someone observed, as a thin, chilly mist began to seep through the forest.

“We should hurry,” Chi Yuan urged. “Once the fog thickens, we won’t be able to see the path.”

“Wait.” Ling Yan tied a red cord to a nearby branch. “Let’s leave a mark, so we don’t get lost.”

Chi Yuan nodded. “Good idea. Let’s go.”

They quickened their pace, weaving through the woods until once again, the red cord came into view.

“Back here again? That’s three times now!” Ling Yan yanked the cord down, stomped on it, and declared, “I’m done. I can’t take another step.”

“Hey, hey—” Sun Lang caught up, picked up the red cord, and brushed off the dust before slipping it up his sleeve. “Don’t be mad. It’s not the cord’s fault.”

Chi Yuan was silent in thought for a long moment, then abruptly snatched the stick from Ling Yan’s hand. “Everyone, blindfold yourselves with whatever you have. Hold on to each other and follow me.”

Though uncertain, the three complied. Chi Yuan closed his eyes, using the stick to feel the way, and led them forward with care.

Xiao Yuan gripped Chi Yuan’s sleeve tighter. “Do you know something?”

Chi Yuan replied, “What you see and hear here is all an illusion. No matter what happens—no matter what you hear or encounter—don’t let go. Hold on tightly and don’t get separated!”

After a while, a sound like an argument drifted past their ears. At first faint, it grew more heated, until it became anguished, heart-rending wails. The screaming grew shriller, as if countless ghosts were mourning together. Suddenly, something screeched past them, some things even colliding with their bodies and keening in grief.

Ling Yan shrieked in terror, but trusted Chi Yuan’s instructions and did not let go. The things that struck her stung painfully. “Get away! What are you? Leave us alone!” she shouted.

Eventually, the noises faded and the strange sounds dissipated.

Chi Yuan opened his eyes and let out a breath. “We’re here.”

Removing their blindfolds, the three saw the city gates before them. Just as the rumors had said, many people lay motionless at the entrance.

Chi Yuan approached one, crouched down, and held two fingers beneath the man’s nose. “He’s still breathing, not dead—more like…asleep.”

Sun Lang and Ling Yan checked the others nearby. “This one’s alive too!”

“Same here.” Sun Lang, on a whim, gave the man before him a hard slap across the face. The man’s cheek swelled instantly, but he did not wake.

Chi Yuan stood up. “Judging by the direction these people fell, they were all trying to flee the city. I suspect anyone who tries to leave collapses just like this. Since there’s no way out, let’s go in.” He turned and entered the city gate.

The others nodded and followed.

“How odd,” Ling Yan murmured, glancing around.

The ancient city was deathly still, yet some shops remained open. Inside the stores, houses, and along the streets, people lay or sat, all frozen as if in sleep, the entire city caught in a single, silent moment. The stew pots by the roadside were coated with thick blue mold; the fires in the braziers long cold; the tables inside the houses thick with dust; the rafters veiled in spiderwebs.

The silence of the ancient city was almost frightening.

Chi Yuan looked about, stopping beside a man who lay face down on the ground. He crouched, reached into the man’s hair, and pinched something between his fingers to examine it closely.

“Come, look at this.”

The others gathered, watching curiously as Chi Yuan extended his hand, revealing his fingers dusted with black powder.

“It’s just dust. What’s so special about that?” Ling Yan scoffed.

Chi Yuan frowned, bringing his fingers to his nose and inhaling. “No, it smells odd.”

“What does it smell like?” Sun Lang asked.

“I can’t quite say.” Chi Yuan seemed to notice something else, plucking a black, scale-like object from the person’s hair. “This is… a butterfly wing?”

Faint runes shimmered across the butterfly wing. Chi Yuan, focusing his energy, pinched it tightly, and the wing vanished, leaving only black dust on his fingertips.

“There’s something wrong with this butterfly wing!” Chi Yuan called, but no one answered. Whipping around, he saw that Xiao Yuan and the others had vanished. Only a black butterfly fluttered nearby, its wings shimmering with a dark golden light.

The butterfly flitted before him, as if urging him on. Though suspicious, Chi Yuan had no other options and followed it into the street.

The butterfly moved slowly, but the buildings on either side sped past in a blur. Alarmed, Chi Yuan tried to halt, but a sharp pain stabbed his mind and his vision blurred.

When he came to, he found himself no longer in the city, but surrounded by towering trees. Thorny branches jutted from the shadows, and the black butterfly was gone.

“This place…” Stunned, Chi Yuan surveyed his surroundings. “Mount Shu…”

There was someone in the tree!

He tried to hide himself, but realized he could not move a muscle—nor summon his spiritual energy. Yet the person in the tree seemed not to notice him, drinking wine alone, a crimson tassel dangling from his left sleeve fluttering like a specter in the night.

Father!

Chi Yuan tried to shout, but only a breathless gasp escaped his throat; he could not utter a sound.

“Song Chi, you betrayed your master and ancestors, stole Mount Shu’s greatest treasure. Do you still plan to resist?” a sudden voice rang out as a figure burst from the woods. His white robes were streaked with blood, and his determined expression, set in a pale face, was both tragic and heroic. He raced forward until he stepped into a golden sword array. There, he stopped and, in silence, turned around.

Father, run!

Still, only air rushed from his lungs.

In the darkness, only the sound of blades slicing through air could be heard—until one pierced a chest and wind whistled through the wound. Yet the man in the tree continued drinking, unconcerned.

Song Chi collapsed lifeless to the ground. Chi Yuan opened his mouth in a silent roar, desperate to reach his father, whose blood-soaked face was blurred beyond recognition, but no matter how he struggled, he could not move an inch. Something blocked his view, and tears streamed from his eyes uncontrollably.

A man in white emerged from the shadows, walked straight to Song Chi’s fallen body, and took up the long sword wrapped in black cloth from his back, preparing to leave. But as he turned, something caught his attention and he paused.

Bang!

The man in black released the wine jug from his fingers and leapt lazily from the tree to the ground, sneering coldly, “So the fisherman profits as the snipe and the clam fight.” With a wave of his hand, he seized the long sword from the man in white, unwrapping the cloth to reveal a length of the sword’s scabbard.

Wuya?

Chi Yuan stared in disbelief at the two men confronting each other.

The man in black jested carelessly, while the man in white grew frantic, frozen in indecision.

With a cold laugh, the dark figure flicked a short sword from his sleeve. Before the white-robed man could react, he was forced to his knees, a gash torn in his robes as blood spread from the wound.

“Come out.”

A rustle sounded behind him. Chi Yuan tried to turn but remained paralyzed.

Suddenly, a small figure dashed past Chi Yuan, running straight ahead—a little boy who ran up and clung to the man in black, glancing back.

That’s… me?

The boy gazed at Song Chi’s corpse in the distance and murmured, “Father…”