Chapter 9

Smiling faces flashed before her eyes, festival music twined through the noise, blurring voices into a dreamy haze.
Pavilions gleamed, the full moon hung ethereal above, golden butterflies fluttered through jeweled leaves, everything shimmering in the endless night sky.
And yet, Mu Xue felt as if she stood utterly apart, detached from this whirlwind of revelry.
For a moment she couldn’t tell if the illusion she'd just witnessed, or the world before her, was more real.
Her mind had cleared, but her heart remained tangled, caught in invisible threads she couldn’t break free from.
Here, life was tranquil; everything she’d missed as a child was right here: ease, family, sunlight pouring through every moment.
No endless ice and snow. No monsters lurking, ready to pounce.
Yet, right now, Mu Xue realized, deep down, she still missed that old, snow-blanketed courtyard. She found herself longing for the warmth of its lamplit rooms, for the memory of a certain small, solemn boy who’d lived within them.
Back then, when I died… Xiao Shan must have been heartbroken too, right?
Above the plaza, the grand swarm of golden butterflies slowly faded, leaving the square to dim once again.
From the crowd of tens of thousands, only two or three Xiumu butterfliesremained, their golden glow piercing the vast darkness, inspiring envy in everyone watching.
The mass of people parted like waves as several local officials, flustered and rushing, carried in an ornate palanquin toward them. The leading official reached the center pillar, fixed his hat with a flourish, and bowed deeply, all politeness:
“Congratulations to the honored patron, and to our little immortal! My humble surname is Yin, the county magistrate here. May I ask the young master’s name? Where does your family reside?”
Da Zhu, who worked odd jobs here in Yunxi City, was easily the most worldly man in his humble home. That’s why he was the one to bring Mu Xue to the festival. Even so, for a country boy, the most impressive ‘official’ he’d ever met before was a patrolling deputy.
Now, the county’s highest official was treating him like a VIP, calling him ‘Patron’, being all smiles. The seventeen-year-old farmboy practically jumped out of his skin, sweating buckets as he stammered, “I, I’m Zhang, Zhang Da Zhu. And this is my sister… uh… Er… Er Ya. We’re from Zhangjia Village, ten miles south of the city.”
In the Yao family, the sons all got ‘pillar’ names, Da Zhu, Er Zhu, San Zhu, while the girls were Da Ya and Er Ya.
Mu Xue pinched her nose as the clerk carefully wrote down the enormous characters “Zhang Er Ya” in the ledger.
Another official banged a drum and, waving a document from the county, sprinted off toward Zhangjia Village with the big announcement.
Amid a chorus of congratulations and cheers, Zhang Da Zhu scooped Mu Xue into his arms and climbed into the palanquin.
Silk cushions, a carriage heavy with fragrance and gleaming with ornaments,
Delicate boys and girls waited upon them, while strong bearers carried the luxurious sedan.
On the way here, he couldn’t even bring himself to spend three copper coins on an ox cart. Who could’ve imagined, thanks to his little sister, he’d get to ride in such style! Pride and giddy excitement buzzed in his chest.
“Ya, am I dreaming?” He wiped sweat from his palms, clinging tight to her soft little hand. “Are you scared? We’re… we’re not nervous, right?”
His little sister sat quietly, just like always, calm eyes luminous and clear. She patted his shoulder gently, her own small way of reassuring him.
From the moment she was born, Er Ya had been irresistibly lovable, fair-skinned, pretty, sweet and quiet, with a smile that could melt anyone’s heart.
Da Zhu could still remember the way he, Er Zhu, San Zhu, and their eldest sister would squabble over who got to hold the baby, taking turns to cuddle her snowy little bundle out to play, fiercely protective in case anyone tried to bully her.
That darling little sister, it turned out she was meant for something far greater.
She couldn’t stay at home anymore.
No doubt their mother would sob when they got back, and Er Zhu and San Zhu would throw a fit.
What now? It had never even crossed his mind this could happen, he hadn’t packed so much as a change of clothes for Er Ya. She was so soft-hearted; what if she got picked on up on that mountain?
Da Zhu felt his chest ache. All those flowery compliments and congratulations suddenly felt hollow and meaningless.
The crowd opened up a path, and the three butterfly-bearing children were ushered to the city wall.
At its base, a young cultivator held a brush, bending to sketch an archway onto the wall’s stone surface in loose, carefree strokes.
Brush fell, the gate opened.
Out of nowhere, a doorway appeared in the solid city wall. Through it you could see windswept pines and slender orchids, an ancient stone stair curling up the mountain. The first step, veiled in moonlight and moss, lay waiting just beyond the arch.
The cultivator set down his brush and turned, his plain robe flowing, hair loosely knotted into a topknot, young face aglow with an easy, bright smile. If not for the magical scene and glittering attention, he’d pass anywhere as the charming boy next door.
Gesturing to himself, he addressed the chosen three, “Ye Hangzhou of Xiaoyao Peak. Once you enter the sect, if anything confuses you, just come find me at Xiaoyao Peak.”
Then he pointed toward the archway, “Head on in. Other senior brothers and sisters are waiting for you inside. I need to hurry to the next site.”
From the plaza, the crowd watched that ordinary stone step before the archway with unmasked envy.
In their eyes, stepping through that portal, setting foot on those steps, meant rising straight to the heavens, a shortcut to immortality, reserved for the luckiest of all.
Sadly, the chosen children were still so young. Only now did they realize they’d be leaving their families behind, and in an instant, they forgot all about glory and immortality, bursting into tears as they clung to their parents and refused to let go.
Their families, too shocked to process what was happening, scrambled to comfort them amid the confusion, some crying, some coaxing, everyone in disarray.
Ye Hangzhou stepped in, voice gentle as he soothed the children: “Don’t worry, you won’t be parted from your families forever.
“Anytime your folks want to see you, they can bring a letter to Chongxu Temple at the foot of Jiulian Mountain. And, on Mid-Autumn and New Year’s Eve, you’ll get time off, you can go home to celebrate together.”
Mu Xue was stunned by what she’d just heard. All her life, she’d thought the cultivation world was about killing off desire, purging all worldly ties, and living by an impersonal cosmic order. The legends said you should keep your heart pure, renounce love, and even give up your body and any hint of mortal attachment for the sake of reaching the Great Dao in some remote mountain cave.
But listening to this guy talk, it sounded like things worked very differently from what she’d imagined.
Honestly, every city threw this big, dramatic goodbye scene, crying, wailing, the full works. Ye Hangzhou just rubbed his nose and waited, used to this song and dance by now.
Younger disciples always freaked out; it was practically tradition to cry for days after first arriving in the mountains.
Suddenly something felt off. He glanced down and spotted a tiny girl, six or seven years old, dressed in a hand-me-down cotton jacket, standing perfectly still near the doorway, waiting just like he was.
When she noticed him looking, the kid looked back up, jet-black hair, a pale round face, smart and lively eyes. Her little hand was raised, and a glowing butterfly was perched on the back, fanning its golden wings open and closed. She was one of the three children chosen from Yunxi City.
“You… aren’t you going to cry?” Ye Hangzhou couldn’t help asking.
Most normal kids bawled their eyes out; this was the first time he’d seen one so calm.
“Oh, is everyone supposed to cry?” The girl looked genuinely baffled, like she was honestly reevaluating herself and trying to figure out if she was doing something wrong here.
“Not necessarily. For example, your senior brother here didn’t shed a tear either, back in the day.” He grinned at her confusion, asked her name, then nodded at the butterfly. “That’s a pretty striking color. Bet some of the teachers will love it.”
Mu Xue, quick on the uptake, picked out the subtext right away. Folding her hands, she gave him a proper bow. “Are there more tests after we get in? Senior brother, can you give me a little heads-up?”
The chubby-armed, stubby-legged little girl bowed so earnestly and called him ‘senior brother’ in that clear, childish voice that Ye Hangzhou felt thoroughly charmed. He crouched down and quietly tipped her off.
“Once you’re inside, all new disciples stay at the Huayu Hall. Head instructors from all the main peaks will come by to teach. That’s your chance, if there’s a master whose skills you want to learn, make sure to stand out. Maybe you’ll get picked as a personal disciple.”
He stood back up, winked at Mu Xue, clearly telling her: keep it secret.
Any average six-year-old wouldn’t have caught the implications behind those words. But for Mu Xue, these little nuggets of information meant everything.
So the sect was split: inner and outer disciples, and only the inner ones got true master-level training.
And teachers picked their disciples partly on the color of that special butterfly, and partly based on how each kid performed when they first joined.
A dreamscape trial, the Xiumu Butterfly’s questioning,
Mu Xue could hardly believe it. Who would’ve thought this world’s major righteous sects would spare no expense on such a lavish disciple selection process?
In a place where the dream realm revealed your essence, hiding your true self was just wishful thinking.
She snuck a peek at the other two kids: the butterflies perched on their hands glowed so brilliantly, putting hers to shame.
When she’d been in the Demon Spirit Realm, she’d heard that the righteous sects were rigid to the extreme, they demanded their disciples be paragons: gentle, selfless, heroic, brimming with righteous energy.
Doctor Fu, an old healer she’d known, always used to scoff: “Ha! Those so-called righteous disciples pretend to be saints, always preaching compassion and virtue, but as soon as your back’s turned they’ll kill and steal and show no mercy.”
“Following your true nature is the real path, demonic cultivators like us, we’re the ones who get it right. That’s what actually counts as the righteous way.”
Back then, everyone, including Mu Xue, would loudly agree, sneering at those supposed ‘pillars of righteousness’ and tearing their reputations to shreds.
Now, reflecting on what that illusion world had revealed, she was grateful her own more, uh, flexible traits, her hustling, con artistry, general willingness to bend the rules, hadn’t shown up too clearly.
Still, she’d definitely let slip a few traces of coldness, selfish calculation, and ruthless ambition, all of which probably weren’t ideal in the eyes of the righteous sects. Glumly, Mu Xue realized she probably didn’t measure up to their standards for sunny, pure-hearted disciples.
At this point, her only hope was to press her palms together and pray to the half-glowing butterfly she still held, that the rest of this year’s recruits would be even less promising than she was.
And once she got to Huayu Hall, she could keep her head down, do her best to shine, and hopefully just scrape through the entrance selection.
The other two children finally stopped crying. Still sniffling, tear-streaked, they wiped their noses and finally stepped through the archway to the immortal mountain.
Mu Xue followed, one step at a time, walking up the mossy stone steps.
In the blink of an eye, all the noise and bustle vanished. She found herself among tranquil green hills and wildflowers. At the far end of the steps, shrouded in mist, the corner of a red-walled temple peeked through, ancient and imposing.
Mu Xue began to climb, but behind her, someone called her name.
She looked back: a glowing archway stood alone on a little formation disc in the mountain road. Through it, she could still see the bustling city of Yunxi.
Her big brother Zhang Da Zhu stood just inside, it was obvious, from the way he rubbed his hands and forced a shaky smile, that he was holding back tears.
“Little sis… I heard that cultivation in the mountains is really tough,” her brother said awkwardly. “If it gets too hard, just come home, okay? Mom and Dad and all of us, we’ll always be here.”
He waved frantically, desperate to hold onto her for just a moment longer. “Take care of yourself, eat plenty, and we’ll come visit when we can!”
The archway snapped shut, and her brother vanished. The noisy warmth of home faded a thousand miles away.
Silence. The forested mountain glowed under a cold moon, wind sighing through the pines. Here and there, little kids still whimpered and sniffled as they trudged on.
Mu Xue looked at the faded formation plate on the step below and felt a strange surge inside, a tight, sour ache in her chest.
This feeling was utterly unfamiliar.
She had never had a family before, never known true kinship; there was nothing binding her to the mortal world. All her life, she’d chased the Dao alone, relentless, with nothing to lose.
But in these six short years in this world, had that plain, ordinary home actually begun to carve a place in her heart?