Wang Lin gazed upon the icy maiden, his eyes drawn to the swaddled babe nestled within her arms. Silence stretched between them, heavy and profound, before he finally nodded, a gesture fraught with untold meaning.

The woman’s expression remained a mask of cold indifference, her eyes twin pools reflecting a howling winter wind. She looked upon Wang Lin, yet it was as if her gaze pierced through him, beyond him, to the very fabric of the heavens themselves.

“Revered Scholar, your name echoes throughout Suzaku Star,” she said, her voice as crisp as frost. “Even in the distant snowfields, your wisdom is whispered. You, the Grand Sage of our age, who has enlightened countless cultivators, unveiled the secrets of the cosmos, and guided those lost in the labyrinth of existence.”

She paused, lowering her gaze to the sleeping infant in her arms. A flicker of tenderness momentarily thawed the ice in her eyes.

“I come today for the sake of this child,” she continued, her voice regaining its glacial edge. “It is said you see through the veils of reality, understanding the dance of cause and effect, embracing the fleeting nature of life and death, walking betwixt the real and the illusory. I implore you, can you discern a clear path for this child, a path free from the shadows that cling to her?”

The woman’s voice softened slightly as she spoke, her gaze lingering on the infant. “This child was orphaned at birth. I found her, by chance, amidst the swirling snows, her body rigid, on the precipice of oblivion. Pity stirred within me, but upon closer inspection, I discovered a talent unparalleled in my long life. Within her flows the nascent power of all five elements, a potential so vast that, should she survive, she would undoubtedly become a blazing star, a beacon for Suzaku Star!”

“However,” she continued, her brow furrowed with concern, “her fate is burdened with trials. I, skilled in the arts of divination, have foreseen a calamity that threatens to engulf her from the moment of her birth. Having stumbled upon her path, I find myself intertwined with her destiny, compelled to aid her in overcoming this tribulation.”

“Yet, the closer she comes to maturity, the more potent and inevitable this impending doom becomes. My own cultivation is limited, and I have been forced to employ a forbidden art, suppressing her growth, eternally trapping her in infancy.”

“I have heard whispers of your unparalleled wisdom and sought your counsel in desperation…” Her voice trailed off, punctuated by the rumble of distant thunder.

At that precise moment, a bolt of lightning ripped through the rain-streaked sky, followed by a deafening roar that shook the very heavens. Startled by the cataclysmic sound, the infant awoke from her slumber, her eyes, pristine and untainted, opened wide, and a cry, pure and heartrending, escaped her tiny lips.

Even after the thunder subsided, the echoes of her cry lingered in the air.

“May I hold her?” Wang Lin asked softly, his gaze fixed upon the child.

The woman hesitated, then, after a long moment, she stepped forward and gently placed the infant into Wang Lin’s outstretched arms. He cradled her tenderly, his ancient eyes locking with hers, which were brimming with tears.

She was a beautiful child, even in her distress. Her features were delicate and refined, her brow marked by a crimson dot, like a soul-kissed ember.

Tears streamed from her eyes, staining the soft cotton swaddling.

Strangely, the infant, who had cried with such vigor in the woman’s arms, began to quiet in Wang Lin’s embrace. Her tears gradually ceased, and she stared up at him, her innocent eyes wide with curiosity.

A gentle smile spread across Wang Lin’s weathered face. He lightly brushed his finger across the infant’s nose, eliciting a joyful giggle.

“What is her name?” Wang Lin inquired, his voice barely a whisper.

“Her parents perished too soon,” the woman replied, her voice tinged with melancholy. “I know not their intentions. Nor have I given her a name in all these years. Perhaps, esteemed Scholar, you would bestow upon her such a gift?”

Wang Lin gazed upon the infant, who now beamed at him, her heart alight with joy. He sensed a strange, familiar resonance within her, a faint echo of something long past. After a moment, he lifted his gaze to the rain-drenched heavens.

Beyond the curtain of rain, a single butterfly, its wings a mosaic of vibrant colors, sought refuge beneath the leafy canopy of the distant forest.

Should the rain soak its wings, it would never soar again.

Should the tempest’s fury buffet its fragile form, it would be as if a hurricane descended upon a man.

His gaze settled upon the butterfly seeking shelter, and a sudden clarity dawned within his eyes. He observed it in silence, lost in contemplation.

“Let her be called Red Butterfly,” Wang Lin said softly, a wistful expression gracing his features. “A butterfly caught in the rain, its wings adorned with a crimson fire, destined to live a solitary, radiant life.” He looked down at the infant in his arms, his eyes filled with an unspoken emotion. As if understanding his words, the child chuckled with delight.

“I hold no mastery over the mystical arts, nor do I possess the knowledge to fully avert this destined calamity. Yet, in my dreams, I have glimpsed a glyph. I will draw it for you. Should you decipher its secrets, it may offer her a sliver of hope.” With a sigh, Wang Lin relinquished the child to the woman. He raised his hand, collecting the rain, and began to draw a complex pattern upon the stone table, his eyes closed as if conjuring the image from the depths of his memory.

It was a formation of intricate design, a complex array of lines and symbols that captivated the woman. She watched with bated breath, committing every detail to memory.

After a long moment, Wang Lin completed the final stroke and opened his eyes.

“Once you have unraveled the mysteries of this formation, take a single strand of the infant’s hair and place it within…” A profound sadness filled Wang Lin’s eyes as he looked up at the sky, where the clouds were beginning to disperse.

Slowly, the drawing on the table faded, dissolving into the stone. The woman, who hailed from the snowfields, closed her eyes, absorbed in silent contemplation. Then, she bowed deeply to Wang Lin, turned, and stepped back into the rain, cradling the child in her arms.

Wang Lin did not watch her leave. He stood in the pavilion, gazing out at the diminishing rain, his eyes filled with a haunting uncertainty.

“Karma… Is this cycle of fate truth? Are past lives and future lives real, or figments of my own imagination?” Wang Lin remained adrift in his thoughts. Outside the pavilion, the rain finally ceased, and a faint rainbow arced across the sky.

The butterfly, having weathered the storm beneath the sheltering leaves, unfolded its wings and took flight, disappearing into the distance.

With a sigh, Wang Lin emerged from the pavilion and began to walk, his footsteps leading him toward the distant horizon, toward the sea.

Fifteen years had passed since Wang Lin left the Zhao kingdom. He had traversed the breadth of the land, and now, he stood upon the shore. He boarded a merchant vessel that plied the waters between the two great continents, seeking a new destiny on the far side of the ocean.

The sea stretched out before him, boundless and majestic, its waves surging and crashing, tossing the ship like a toy. Standing on the deck, the tang of salt heavy in the air, Wang Lin felt the wind whipping through his white hair, tracing the lines etched upon his face, bearing witness to the relentless passage of time.
The sun and stars possessed a unique flavor amidst the boundless sea, a truth Wang Lin discovered on his maiden voyage. Far from feeling seasick, he gazed upon the ocean, a surge of energy coursing through him.

Above, a swirling vortex of seabirds painted the sky, their cries echoing against the fierce sun, blanketing the waters below.

A month bled into two, then three, stretching to five. The merchant vessel sailed deep into the infinite ocean, tossed and turned by the whims of the waves. The sailors’ songs, unique to the sea, filled the air, bringing a genuine smile to Wang Lin’s face.

On a morning of the sixth month, as the fiery sun ascended from the watery horizon, bathing the world in golden light, Wang Lin was jolted awake by cries of wonder. Stepping onto the deck, he saw the crew, his companions for the past half-year, kneeling towards the east, their faces etched with reverence.

Following their gaze, Wang Lin turned, his entire body seized by a sudden tremor.

On the eastern horizon, amidst the shimmering haze, a phantom scene materialized.

Within the vision, a volcano erupted in furious rage. The mountain trembled, splitting into two colossal fissures, intertwined like serpents, resembling some ancient mark.

Lava spewed forth endlessly, and plumes of black smoke devoured the heavens within the scene.

No sound emerged, only the raw visual spectacle of the eruption, compelling all aboard the ship to fall to their knees in awe.

The illusory image stretched towards the sky, blending with the horizon, simultaneously realistic and ethereal, blurring the lines between truth and illusion.

Wang Lin stared, transfixed, his mind reeling.

“The Sight… the Sight…” he muttered. “The old texts speak of the Shimmers, spirits of the sea, whose breath manifests illusions, like glimpses of the celestial realms… Is this true? A vision of a place that exists, or is it merely a phantom?”

“Spare us, Spirit of the Sea! We appease you!” the sailors chanted, their voices trembling. The sight was terrifying to them, a rare and often ominous event.

Ancient lore warned that the Sight was a sign of the Sea Spirit’s wrath, a punishment for those who dared to live upon its surface.

Lost in his reverie, Wang Lin failed to notice the sailors casting their wares overboard, an offering meant to appease the angry sea spirit.

“This must be false,” he reasoned, still staring. “A mere illusion, not a place that truly exists. No such thing can happen in this world. It is not a real place but a phantom, perhaps the work of a powerful immortal training deep within the ocean…” Wang Lin, though learned in the ways of the world, found this sight unbelievable. “It is fake… This must be false…”

He drew a breath, but his words died in his throat as his eyes widened in shock. His hand rose, pointing at the phantom volcano, his face a mask of disbelief.

“She… is…”

In the heart of the illusion, amidst the erupting volcano and the swirling black clouds, a woman appeared. She wore white robes, her face not of surpassing beauty, but possessing a gentle grace. Her long hair danced with her flowing garments, emanating an otherworldly aura, like a celestial being.

She stepped from the dark clouds, raised a hand, and pointed towards the volcano. The eruption shuddered, as though on the verge of ceasing.

At that moment, Wang Lin felt his strength abandon him. He stood transfixed, a wave of inexplicable sorrow washing over him, threatening to drown him entirely. Tears streamed down his aged face.

“It is her…” he whispered. Leaning against the ship’s railing, his gaze remained locked on the woman in white within the phantom world, a look of timeless longing in his eyes.