Chapter 31: Dancing on the King of Hell's Head

Time continued to march forward, the years flowed by, and at last, the spirit bamboo, having accumulated enough power through countless days and nights, began to transform amid swirling golden radiance. This was the threshold of the extraordinary—a sacred rite performed by many ancestors of the Bamboo Tribe, nourished by incense and vows, and sustained by a steadfast determination to protect the tribe. In the end, the spirit bamboo awakened.

At that moment, a spirit butterfly alighted gently on one of the bamboo’s branches. It seemed to be sipping dew, its body shimmering with flecks of golden light that matched the bamboo’s own glow, resonating in some mysterious harmony.

“Shaman, should we drive away the spirit butterfly? Will its presence interfere with the totem’s transformation?”

In the scroll of memories from the past, a tribesman’s voice called out to remind the shaman.

By this time, the shaman had become a figure of great importance. Standing before the spirit bamboo, memories flooded back—the sight of countless spirit butterflies dancing in the air—and she lapsed into silence.

The shaman’s life was monotonous and tedious. The spirit bamboo was the heart of the tribe; tending it, watering and pruning its branches, was her sole purpose, repeated day after day, an endless cycle. Despite her esteemed position, did she never feel weary? Did she never yearn for the world beyond? Her youth was spent in this place, the finest years dissolving into the passing of time, always in the company of the spirit bamboo. It was only natural that, from time to time, she would wonder: if she had a second chance, if she could choose a different path, would her life’s story be different?

“Shaman, do you wish us to drive away the spirit butterfly?”

Seeing the shaman lost in thought, another tribesman hesitated, then had no choice but to ask again.

After all, without the shaman’s permission, none dared act rashly. To drive away a butterfly was a small matter, but if it affected the bamboo’s transformation, the consequences would be grave.

The spirit bamboo was now cloaked in dazzling golden flames, as though reborn in fire, undergoing a dramatic metamorphosis. Should it succeed, it would step into an entirely new realm. At that point, the shaman's standing would rise even higher, her honor bound to the totem.

“How interesting—altering a tiny detail in memory, and everything that follows changes of its own accord,” Ye Chen mused inwardly. “Though I tampered only with the shaman’s memories, the people and things here seem truly alive, and their actions are perfectly logical.”

He realized that his understanding of this power was still quite shallow. After all, he hadn’t been a butterfly very long; in the days since breaking his own cocoon, he had been busy trying to escape the seven-day limit, with no time to fully explore the wonders of his abilities.

“I’ll have plenty of time ahead—perhaps I should study this art more deeply. Who knows what else I might discover?”

Ye Chen dismissed these thoughts and focused once more on the shaman.

Shaman, what will you choose? If she wished to drive away the butterfly, Ye Chen would have to intervene again, though he hoped she would be wise enough not to.

In all those lonely days and nights, she had not been accompanied only by the spirit bamboo, but also by the fluttering spirit butterflies. Though they were never the same butterfly, did it matter? Who was it that soothed her solitary heart?

Perhaps, for the shaman, it was neither the spirit butterfly nor the spirit bamboo that mattered most, but rather the affirmation of those bygone years—a refusal to let her youth slip away, or see the past reduced to nothing.

“There’s no need to drive it away. The butterfly will not affect the transformation.”

The shaman gazed at the butterfly, watching it bathe in the golden rain. It reminded her of all the butterflies she’d seen dancing in years past—a beautiful sight, yet always the swan song of life.

Now, before her, a spirit butterfly was undergoing its own miraculous change, as if bearing the hopes of all its kind, perhaps destined to become the Grand Dream Celestial Butterfly and shatter the bounds of fate.

So the shaman thought, a tremor of awe in her heart. How could she interrupt such a miracle, unfolding right before her eyes?

A great ceremony began. The shaman was still young, and the Bamboo Tribe was flourishing, stronger even than it was now. Of course, things were different. The Bamboo Tribe Ye Chen had seen was much diminished; in its prime, it had been formidable indeed.

What Ye Chen inherited was a mess—barely a hundred people remained, most of them old or infirm. Restoring the tribe would not be easy, but he had little room to complain. If things were otherwise, he would never have had the chance to take over the Bamboo Tribe.

No matter how many people the tribe once had, it made little difference to Ye Chen directly, but a larger population meant greater incense and wish power, and the totem’s strength would be incomparable. Even a fallen camel is bigger than a horse; it showed just how weak Ye Chen truly was.

He had no real confidence—if he went elsewhere, starting out might be just as hard. Unless absolutely necessary, he would not abandon the Bamboo Tribe. That being the case, he needed to resolve all internal threats before turning his attention outward.

Vast waves of incense and vow power swelled, propelling the spirit bamboo to its final leap, awakening its own unique intelligence. Then, pausing for a moment, the bamboo noticed the spirit butterfly hitching a ride on its branch. In the golden rain, the butterfly too began to change.

This was the breaking of life’s shackles, transforming into a totem as well. Outrageous! A thief of incense power, daring beyond measure—who did it think it was? The spirit bamboo was furious, ready to strike the butterfly down.

Ye Chen’s heart stirred with sudden understanding. “Even though I only pruned the shaman’s memories, everything since has unfolded naturally—yet still, a clash with the spirit bamboo is inevitable?”

He hadn’t intended things to go this way. In the shaman’s heart, the spirit bamboo clearly held far more weight.

He had no wish to set himself at odds with the spirit bamboo, nor to test the shaman’s loyalty in this way.

Time is a wondrous thing. Over countless days and nights, it slowly distills emotion into habit, leaving an indelible mark on the soul. In time, if the shaman grew fully accustomed to the butterfly’s presence, it would become as natural as breathing—impossible to forsake.

Ye Chen gave up on the idea of supplanting the spirit bamboo in the shaman’s heart altogether. He envied the bond they shared—a loyalty so absolute, one could make a beast of burden out of her without fear of betrayal. But that was too difficult. All he needed was to matter, to hold some small place in her heart.

Their bond was not yet deep—how could he risk a conflict with the spirit bamboo? Even without thinking, he knew such a move would ruin everything.

“No, this won’t do. Even a dead thing in memory dares to cause trouble.”

With a soft laugh and a thought, Ye Chen froze the bamboo’s movement; its furious posture softened, and instead of striking, it now seemed to be gently caressing the butterfly, the two playing together as if in sport.

The shaman breathed a sigh of relief, worried the bamboo and butterfly might come to blows. Oddly, the scene felt familiar—was it just an illusion? It must be.

A resonant hum echoed through the night as Ye Chen’s divine power swept over the shaman.

She lay sleeping, lost in a dream from which she could not wake.

Ye Chen revealed the golden bamboo seed she had hidden away. It floated in the void, gleaming with radiant light, desperately trying to escape—but where could it go?