Chapter 22: The Shaman's Honor Through Totems

Ye Chen’s actions were truly despicable, nothing short of a peddler of emotions, forcefully imposing a feeling upon Wu. Such conduct deserved condemnation.

Yet Ye Chen cared little for such matters. His integrity might have suffered, but Wu was, after all, an enemy. To show mercy to an adversary would be the height of foolishness.

If Wu’s significance were negligible—like an ant underfoot, incapable of posing any threat—then Ye Chen could afford magnanimity, treating Wu as nothing, without even a hint of murderous intent, for it would be unnecessary.

But Wu held a prominent position within the tribe. Even though the boar’s episode had tarnished Wu’s illustrious image, it had not reduced him to obscurity; his weight remained substantial. It was not comparable to Ye Chen’s influence, but it was enough to cause entanglements. Why invite trouble?

Ye Chen had no wish for Wu to bring him complications. Truth be told, if not for the current special circumstances, Ye Chen wouldn’t even waste time on Wu. He would simply act, annihilating the body, and be done with it.

But now, that was impossible. Ye Chen was somewhat concerned—would the Bamboo Tribe collapse entirely as a result? The losses had already been severe, the taut string might snap at any moment. He couldn’t afford carelessness. If the tribe were ruined, finding another would be a tremendous hassle, a loss outweighing any gain. Wu could not simply be killed off.

This was different from before. Now, Ye Chen regarded the Bamboo Tribe as his own, something to be cherished.

Ye Chen once again summoned divine power, consuming vast incense-wrought will, and used his mysterious techniques to tamper with Wu’s memory. He returned to the moment when Wu first bonded with the Spirit Bamboo, a time filled with fluttering spirit butterflies.

Originally, there should have been no spirit butterflies—at least, not in such numbers when Wu met the Spirit Bamboo. Wu was not some coveted spiritual herb, unable to attract such butterflies. This scene belonged to dreams, not reality.

Ye Chen was pruning Wu’s memories. He dared not erase the Spirit Bamboo, but he amplified the presence of the spirit butterflies. Not to rival the bamboo, but to give them a measure of importance in Wu’s heart.

Alas, spirit butterflies lived only seven days—a severe limitation. Ye Chen couldn’t replicate the path of the Spirit Bamboo, nor could he immediately descend to create a fantastical encounter with Wu.

Those spirit butterflies danced gracefully, beautiful and vibrant. Yet, as time passed, countless butterflies faded to dust, scattering in silence; Wu became accustomed to such scenes.

Wu could not distinguish one butterfly from another, but they became an inseparable part of his memories.

Compared to the Spirit Bamboo, this was little. Yet as Wu watered and pruned the bamboo, the butterflies became his companions, gradually a fixture in his existence.

On the bamboo’s branches and leaves, dewdrops formed, mingling with the scent of incense and wishful power—this could be called spirit water.

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Wu would feed the spirit butterflies with this spirit water, hoping one might escape the seven-day limit. But that was too difficult; such a butterfly had never appeared, and Wu eventually abandoned hope, though he continued to feed them out of habit.

Spirit butterflies feared no one, at least not Wu. One generation after another, they adorned Wu’s memories, ensuring his past was no longer solely entwined with the Spirit Bamboo.

Time pressed on, years flowed by. Eventually, the Spirit Bamboo accumulated enough strength over countless days and nights, casting golden streams of light as it began its transformation.

This was the threshold of the extraordinary, shaped by the rituals of the tribe’s ancestors, nurtured by incense and unwavering belief in the tribe’s protection. At last, the Spirit Bamboo became sentient.

At that moment, a spirit butterfly rested on its branch, seeming to drink the dew, its body suffused with golden light, matching the bamboo’s glow—a resonance between them.

“Wu, should the butterfly be driven away? Would it affect the totem’s transformation?”

In the tapestry of past memories, a clansman cautioned Wu.

By then, Wu’s standing was pivotal. Before the Spirit Bamboo, Wu recalled countless butterflies dancing in the air, falling into silence.

Wu’s days were monotonous and dull. The Spirit Bamboo was the tribe’s core; tending it was Wu’s sole mission, repeated daily without end. Such a life seemed endless.

Though Wu enjoyed high status, did his heart not tire? Did he never yearn for life beyond? Youth wasted, years eroded—the best days spent with the Spirit Bamboo. Sometimes, Wu would wonder: if everything could begin anew, if choices were different, would his story have changed?

“Wu, should the butterfly be driven off?”

Seeing Wu lost in thought, a tribesman hesitated, then pressed on. Without Wu’s permission, none dared act. Driving away the butterfly was minor, but if it harmed the bamboo’s transformation, the consequences would be grave.

The Spirit Bamboo now shone with golden flames, as if reborn in fire, embarking on an evolution of life. Success would open a new world.

At that stage, Wu’s importance would grow; his prestige was tied to the totem.

“How interesting—change a tiny node in memory, and everything else evolves on its own.”

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Ye Chen murmured to himself, “It’s only a minor alteration in Wu’s memories, yet the people and objects seem to come alive, behaving so logically.”

Ye Chen realized his grasp of these divine arts was still shallow. After all, he had only recently broken free and become transformed, and ever since, he’d labored to overcome the seven-day limit, leaving little time to ponder the subtleties of such powers.

“I’ll have plenty of time later; I should study this thoroughly—there may be more to discover.”

Ye Chen dismissed further thoughts, fixing his gaze on Wu.

Wu, what choice will you make? If Wu chose to drive the butterfly away, Ye Chen would interfere again, though he hoped Wu would be sensible.

In those countless solitary days and nights, let it not be forgotten: it was not only the Spirit Bamboo that kept you company, but also the spirit butterflies.

Though they were never the same butterfly, what did it matter? Who comforted your lonely heart?

For Wu, perhaps the butterfly was not important, nor the bamboo—but rather a recognition of years gone by, unwilling for his youth to drift away, for memories to become void.

“No need to drive it away; the butterflies pose no harm.”

Wu stared at the butterfly, watching it bask in radiant light. It was as if he glimpsed every butterfly that had ever danced in his past—the scene so beautiful, yet the swan song of life.

Now, a butterfly witnessed a miracle, carrying the hopes of countless others. Perhaps it would become a Dream Immortal Butterfly, truly breaking the chains of fate.

So Wu thought, his heart stirred. Such a miracle unfolded before his eyes—how could he bear to disrupt it?