Within the veil of rain, a gentle whisper threaded through the rhythmic drumming, its soft caress unfurling into the sodden air. Mingling with the rush of water, it wove a phantom melody, a dream song echoing from ages past.

At Qinghong’s side, a butterfly alighted upon her palm. With tender care, she cupped it, shielding its fragile wings from the tempest’s wrath. A wistful thought stirred within her – she, too, was as delicate as that butterfly. Yet, who in this mortal realm would shelter her from the storms that raged within?

She turned then, drawn by a silent presence. Beneath the shelter of an oiled paper umbrella stood a stranger, clad in robes as white as winter’s first snow.

“Hong Die…” *Red Butterfly.* The name held a haunting beauty. Qinghong gazed upon the white-haired youth, a faint smile gracing her lips. It bloomed with the poignant grace of a solitary rose, unfurling its petals in defiant splendor.

“If you desire, you may become Red Butterfly,” Wang Lin replied, his gaze drawn to the fair maiden before him. In his mind’s eye, memories stirred, visions of bygone days on Vermillion Bird Star within the realm of the Caves.

The maiden offered a knowing smile, unspoken. Her eyes met Wang Lin’s, and in that rain-swept moment, their gazes locked, a silent connection stretching across the years.

“I have seen you,” Qinghong murmured, her voice soft as the falling rain, “in dreams, in that moment I ascended to the Third Step, I saw you then.”

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” Wang Lin’s gaze drifted away from her, towards the cascading curtain of rain that veiled the heavens.

“And you, do you?” she countered, her voice a gentle echo.

“I…” Wang Lin hesitated, a long silence stretching between them. Finally, he nodded slowly. “I believe.”

“If even the White-Haired Sky Venerate believes, then so shall I.” With a delicate turn, she too, stared into the rain-soaked sky, her voice a hushed whisper.

“I have always felt I awaited an answer from someone.” She continued, “When I took my third step, I realized that you were the one I was waiting for.”

“Reincarnation… I have always wondered, if I had a past life. If not, why would I favor red and butterflies? I’ve always thought that liking things doesn’t come from nowhere. There must be a reason; if not from this life, then from the past.”

“My past life. Was I called Red Butterfly?” The maiden’s voice remained calm, betraying no trace of turmoil.

“Yet in my dreams, it seems there was another life before that one… In that life, I saw you as well.”

Wang Lin was taken aback.

“In that life, I remember you asking me a question, one that I only now have found the answer to. Would you like to hear it?” Qinghong gazed at the heavens, her voice a whisper on the wind.

“What question did I ask you?” Wang Lin asked, a long pause.

“Would you keep the memory of this life or remember the memories of your past life?” Qinghong turned to Wang Lin. In her beautiful eyes, there was a light that Wang Lin couldn’t see through.

“Past and present can coexist. But when one remembers the past, one will have many more attachments in the present. If one does not remember, one will not know. But once known, it is unforgettable, that’s how I feel.” Qinghong’s voice was a little sad, she murmured softly.

“What was your answer?” Wang Lin’s eyes were filled with confusion as he gazed at the woman before him.

“Forget the past, and only live in the present. If you cling to it, repeated reincarnation is a pain, as well as confusion.” Qinghong’s eyes were complicated, and she mumbled to herself.

“I understand,” Wang Lin sighed softly. He knew that Red Butterfly had recalled certain events, but the mention of another past life stirred his heart. He recalled the dream he had on Vermillion Bird Star, in the dream path, under the same rain-filled pavilion, where he witnessed a woman holding an infant, coming before him.

Amidst the rain, a scarlet butterfly sought refuge beneath the leaves. When the woman requested him to bestow a name upon the infant, he uttered the name: Red Butterfly.

Wang Lin, lost in thought, turned and strode into the distance, understanding Red Butterfly’s choice.

“Much of that life is lost to me, but I still remember you and that question. And…” Qinghong closed her eyes, her voice was gentle, “another person… And what he said to you.”

“I still remember it.”

“What words?” Wang Lin said, not stopping.

“When the heart dies, it forgets…”

Wang Lin’s steps faltered as the words pierced the silence. He whirled around, his eyes wide with a revelation that shook him to his core. The umbrella slipped from his grasp, falling to the ground to be drenched by the rain.

“Mo Zhi!” The words echoed in Wang Lin’s mind, and memories of his younger days on Vermillion Bird Star surfaced. He remembered a bald-headed man in a temple on a rainy night, who spoke with confusion, looking at him and uttering the words.

“This rain, born from the sky, dies on the earth, the process in between is life.”

“When the heart dies, it forgets…”

Those words echoed in Wang Lin’s mind. The bald man’s eyes reappeared clearly, filled with an emotion that Wang Lin couldn’t understand back then, but now, when he looked back, he felt pain and pity.

Wang Lin departed, burdened by confusion, by answers he did not wish to confront, leaving the maiden behind.

Qinghong watched Wang Lin’s receding figure until it faded into the distance. She remained rooted in place for an age, until the rain ceased its relentless descent. Then, she opened her hand. The butterfly fluttered its wings, circling her a few times before soaring away into the boundless sky.

“When will you forget… Perhaps, you’ll never make that choice…” Qinghong lowered her head, her voice laced with melancholy and loneliness. She turned and retreated into her secluded dwelling.

Wang Lin continued his journey across the vastness of the world, lost in contemplation.

“Reincarnation… When I was helping others recall their past lives, I never thought about whether or not I was also in a reincarnation…” If I am indeed within this cycle, then who will unlock my past life? As Wang Lin pondered, he suddenly laughed towards the sky, tears flowing from his eyes amidst the laughter.
“Rebirth! This is rebirth indeed!!” Yet, even trapped within this endless cycle, I shall never choose oblivion. Never! Nevermore!” King Lin roared, his laughter echoing with a desperate defiance. A memory, born within the ancestral temple of the Ancient Emperor City, during the trial of the Three Aspects of the Ancient Dao, flashed before him – a figure howling at the heavens in utter despair.

The words of that specter echoed in his mind, like a lamenting wind.

“What use is this heaven and earth?!”

“What use is the pinnacle of all creation?!”

“What use is worship from all living things?!”

“What use are the Immeasurable Kalpas Sutras?!”

“If this heaven and earth are so, why not destroy them utterly?!”

“If these living beings are so, why not let them fade into nothingness?!”

“If these Kalpa Sutras are so, why not sever their legacy?!”

“Then, I shall forge my own path, to blind the Azure Heavens, to lull the Great Earth into slumber, to reverse the Yellow Springs, to halt the Wheel of Rebirth, to make the very firmament…Null!!!”

King Lin murmured, repeating the words that resonated within him. The echo grew louder, shattering the silence, shaking the very heavens, rattling the earth. A storm seemed to brew across the entirety of the Immortal-Astral Continent.

On the Eastern Continent of the Immortal Realms, within the forested lands of Lin Hua Zhou, nestled in the southwest, lay a mortal city. A sprawling metropolis, it resembled a slumbering behemoth, exuding an aura of formidable strength.

In a secluded corner of the city, a blacksmith shop stood. The business was modest, yet it provided a comfortable existence for the family who owned it. The key to their success was the blacksmith himself, a man who approached each piece of iron with unwavering dedication and responsibility. Years of earnest labor had earned him a well-deserved reputation.

The blacksmith, a robust man appearing to be in his late thirties, worked tirelessly within his forge, his upper body bare, sweat glistening on his skin. The rhythmic clang of hammer on steel reverberated through the air.

Behind the shop lay the family’s humble dwelling. The blacksmith had a beautiful and virtuous wife, and an eight-year-old daughter. The little girl, oblivious to the sweltering heat, stood within the shop, watching her father with adoring eyes. Every so often, she would fetch a damp cloth and offer it to him to wipe his brow.

Each time, a joyful smile would grace the blacksmith’s face.

He was content with his life. Simple as it was, he cherished his loving wife and adorable daughter. For him, it was enough. He poured all his strength into safeguarding his family, striving to improve their lives and secure a brighter future for his little girl.

Driven by this purpose, he dedicated himself to his blacksmith shop, pouring his heart and soul into every task.

His life was unadorned, yet it radiated a warmth he treasured above all else. He had been born in this city, surrounded by childhood friends who had since built their own families. They still gathered to share drinks, laughter, and fond memories of their youthful escapades.

In the depths of night, he sometimes dreamt vivid dreams. In these dreams, he was a mighty emperor, a warrior of unparalleled power, leading his loyal followers into battle.

These dreams were filled with separation, burning courage, and profound sorrow. In them, he also had a daughter, whose name…was Qing Shuang, the same as his daughter in this life.

Yet, dreams were fleeting illusions. Each time he awoke, he would feel a sense of bewilderment, staring blankly at the night sky. A deep yearning for the events of his dreams would stir within him. However, he would then turn to gaze upon his sleeping wife and his eight-year-old daughter, who still sought the comfort of her mother’s embrace. And in his smile, the memories of the dream would fade.

If given the choice, he would choose his family over the grandeur of his dream.

Unbeknownst to him, as he watched his family, others watched him from the night sky.

King Lin observed the blacksmith’s family, his heart aching with a strange longing. He could sense Qing Shuang’s happiness and contentment. The once-mighty Immortal Emperor of the Cave World had become a mortal, yet he had found joy, he had found warmth.

King Lin felt a pang of envy. He watched Qing Shuang for a long moment, then turned and departed.

“Like Red Butterfly, his choice… is oblivion.” Oblivion of the past, oblivion of his previous life, immersing himself fully in his present existence. Lost within the cycle of rebirth, forgetting and cherishing, again and again.

“Their choice… is the right one… My choice… is the right one!” King Lin murmured to himself.