Chapter Sixty-Seven: Rehearsal

“All right, that’s enough. I understand,” his mother said gently, turning to Zichenyu with a warm smile. “Don’t pay him any mind, Chenyu. In a moment, Mother will make you a nourishing soup.”

“Father, Uncle, here’s what happened,” Zichenyu began. “I went out with Steward Liu, planning to discuss some matters in Qiu Pond City. As soon as we entered the city, we encountered a strange young girl with wings on her back—she could actually fly! Steward Liu and I were curious, so we went over to see what was happening. The girl was beautiful, and she seemed kind, but after we approached, she told us to relax and open our minds. Next thing we knew, we’d fallen asleep. In the dream, there was a peculiar butterfly that looked exactly like the girl. When I woke up, I found a butterfly hidden in my mind. I’ve tried every way I can think of to get rid of it, but nothing works.” As he spoke, tears of frustration welled in his eyes.

“Nephew, come here and let Uncle have a look. Imagine, a butterfly so powerful!” his second uncle beckoned to him. Second Uncle was renowned within the Violet Immortal Palace, his research into the soul reaching unparalleled heights, which gave him every confidence.

Zichenyu stepped forward to stand beside the middle-aged man, who placed a hand atop his head. A beam of violet light flowed from the man’s hand into Zichenyu’s sea of consciousness.

Within Zichenyu’s mind, there was a vast ocean, and upon it an island. On the island, a miniature version of Zichenyu played, chasing a butterfly that darted near and far, always just out of reach.

Observing this, the middle-aged man tried to snare the butterfly with threads of violet energy, but the butterfly slipped away, and the threads became hopelessly tangled, refusing to unravel no matter how he tried.

Everyone in the hall watched him closely. At first, the man’s expression was relaxed, but soon sweat beaded on his brow and dripped onto the floor, forming a spreading pool. Tension filled the room.

In Zichenyu’s mind, the butterfly circled the tangled threads, as if mocking him. Slowly, the knots unraveled and the threads withdrew from the sea of consciousness.

The middle-aged man opened his eyes at last. His clothing was drenched, his hair soaked as if he’d fallen in a river. He gasped for breath, only calming after a few moments.

“Well?” Zifanchen and Zifansheng looked on anxiously.

Zifanshan took a deep breath and shook his head.

“Is there nothing you can do?” Zifanchen cried, rushing over to grasp Zifanshan’s shoulders, shaking him in desperation.

“I’ll go in myself and see what I can do. If anything goes wrong, my soul could be damaged. But for my nephew’s sake, I’m willing to take the risk.”

“Brother, I truly thank you.” With that, Zifanchen gave Zichenyu a swift kick.

Zichenyu caught his uncle’s meaning and immediately offered his thanks.

Zichenyu and Zifanshan retreated into a secret chamber. The Violet family issued a public notice, lifting the citywide lockdown, but distributed a drawing to every disciple of the Violet Immortal Palace: a girl with wings sprouting from her back. All were instructed that if they saw her at the upcoming trade fair, they must report to the sect immediately.

On the square of the Violet Immortal Palace’s front mountain, a group of beautiful young women danced gracefully. Around them, a crowd of male disciples watched, not daring to blink.

In the crowd stood Zicaitang, his gaze fixed with infatuation on the girl leading the dance.

“Boss, we offended Zichenyu. Do you think he’ll come after you? I heard he survived his ordeal and is now in seclusion, cultivating. Are we really a match for him when he emerges?” muttered one of the group—more than a dozen disciples who’d been present the day Zicaitang and Zichenyu quarreled at the bridge. The rumor was that Zichenyu was vengeful and not someone to cross lightly.

“Don’t worry about him. Trash is trash. He’s not worthy to compete with me for Sister Qian’er’s favor,” Zicaitang replied coldly, turning his attention back to the girl on the stage.

“That’s all for today’s session. The trade fair starts in three days. Make sure you all give your best performance—don’t embarrass the sect,” declared the lead girl, her expression icy, her tone indifferent, cowing the other young women into silence.

As she turned to leave, another girl hurried after her. “Qian’er, wait for me! I want to go with you,” called a girl in a tangerine dress, pouting in indignation.

“She’s just the Elder’s disciple, a little more talented, a little stronger than me. Does she have to be so arrogant? She’s only been in the Violet Immortal Palace for a few years and already acts high and mighty. If she ever becomes an Elder, she’ll probably skin us alive.”

“Lili, keep your voice down! If any of the male disciples hear us, we’ll all be in trouble,” whispered a companion.

Lili snorted, tossing her hair to reveal a delicate, oval face. She glanced at the distant senior brothers.

“A bunch of lazy toads, ugly as sin but full of themselves. As if she’d ever look at them—with her talent, she’s out of their league,” she muttered, then quickly gathered her friends and left.

After Qian’er departed, the male disciples gradually dispersed as well. Most had come just to catch a glimpse of her. There was a saying in the Violet Immortal Palace: whoever marries Qian’er will become the next Palace Master—if not Palace Master, then at least an Elder.

Back at the southern city’s Violet family estate, Zichenyu and Zifanshan were in seclusion. A whole week had passed. Zifanshan swallowed a snow-white pill and began to circulate his energy.

Soon, a miniature version of Zifanshan leapt from his crown, identical in every feature and stature. The little figure hopped onto Zichenyu’s head, circled a few times, and vanished.

Within Zichenyu’s sea of consciousness, the island appeared once more. This time, the little figure sat beneath a great tree, playing with leaves, the butterfly fluttering nearby—a harmonious scene.

A vortex appeared in the sea of consciousness, gradually revealing a figure—it was the miniature Zifanshan. Emerging from the vortex, he fixed his gaze on the island and leapt down, somersaulting through the air before landing and striding toward the figure under the tree. Sensing the newcomer, the figure beneath the tree went to meet him.

The two little figures felt an immediate kinship, perhaps born of blood ties.

“Chenyu, you must work with me. Together, we’ll capture this butterfly, and you’ll be free,” said Zifanshan’s likeness.

“I understand, Uncle,” Zichenyu replied.

The two of them slowly encircled the butterfly. Zifanshan began weaving a secret art of the soul, preparing to net the butterfly and take it out for study.

“This time, you won’t escape. I’m going to catch you,” Zichenyu declared, addressing the butterfly.