Within Daoism, the Quanzhen School (全真教) follows a strict vegetarian diet, while the Zhengyi School (正一教) allows the consumption of meat, with the exception of beef. Seeing Zhang Banxian devouring chunks of beef, grease dripping from his mouth, he was clearly not a legitimate Daoist priest.

  Famished, Zhuang Zi'ang picked up his chopsticks and started devouring the noodles. The chewy noodles, coated in savory broth, slid down into his stomach, warming him from the inside. In that instant, he felt a surge of appreciation. These noodles are delicious. Thank goodness I didn't die yesterday.

  Zhuang Zi'ang felt that the fvor of the broth was very simir to his grandmother's cooking. Thinking of his grandparents in the countryside, and then of his own illness, his vision blurred. How would he face his grandparents when the illness takes a turn for the worse?

  "It's just a bowl of noodles. Are you really so stingy that you're crying over it?" Zhang Banxian said, raising an eyebrow. He grudgingly picked up a few slices of beef and put them in Zhuang Zi'ang's bowl, then, as if regretting it, reluctantly took one slice back for himself.

  Zhuang Zi'ang said in a sorrowful voice, "I'm going to die."

  This secret had been weighing on his heart, suffocating him. Now, facing a stranger, he couldn't help but want to unburden himself, to feel a little better.

  "Good for you. I told you earlier that you had the look of someone who'd die young. What's so great about living, and what's so bad about dying?" Zhang Banxian not only didn't offer any comfort but also spoke flippantly, slurping his noodles loudly.

  Thinking he didn't believe him, Zhuang Zi'ang said earnestly, "I've been diagnosed with te-stage cancer. I probably have about two months left to live."

  Zhang Banxian remained unmoved, his expression unchanged. "When you die, do you need me to perform a Water and Land Ritual to help your soul transcend to the afterlife? I charge very reasonable rates." (Shui Lu Dao Chang - a Buddhist ritual to help the souls of the deceased find peace and liberation.)

  "Hey, do you have any compassion at all?" Zhuang Zi'ang was annoyed.

  "Everyone dies. It's not like you're special. What are you bragging for?" Zhang Banxian said indifferently.

  Zhuang Zi'ang, who had almost started crying a moment ago, was now being accused of "bragging" by this guy. He was clearly dealing with a lunatic. Continuing to talk to him about death was like talking to a brick wall.

  Zhuang Zi'ang asked the question that had been bothering him all this time. "How did you know that pying 'Dreaming of the Butterfly' would make me come back to you? Do you know Little Butterfly, by any chance?"

  Zhang Banxian didn't answer directly. Instead, he looked at Zhuang Zi'ang's wrist and asked, "What happened to the red string on your wrist?"

  "I gave it back to her." Two days ago, by the riverbank, Zhuang Zi'ang had used the red string as a hair tie for Little Butterfly's braid.

  Zhang Banxian's gaze changed. "You asked me to interpret that fortune slip st time because you were looking for someone. It seems you found her."

  "Yes, she's back," Zhuang Zi'ang nodded.

  "Every reunion inevitably leads to another separation," Zhang Banxian sighed.

  Zhuang Zi'ang frowned. This guy really knew how to rain on someone's parade. Did he need him to point that out? He resisted the urge to storm off and, lowering his pride, said, "Please, teach me that tune. I really find it beautiful."

  Zhang Banxian shook his head decisively. "I can't. It would be harming you."

  "It's just a tune. How could it harm me?" Zhuang Zi'ang asked, surprised.

  "From the first time you heard that tune, you've been in a dream. Parting in life and death is like Zhuangzi dreaming of the butterfly, and the butterfly dreaming of Zhuangzi." (A reference to the famous philosophical story of Zhuangzi dreaming he was a butterfly, and then questioning whether he was a man dreaming of being a butterfly or a butterfly dreaming of being a man, exploring the nature of reality and dreams.)

  This old swindler's words were confusing and nonsensical. Zhuang Zi'ang knew for sure that he wasn't dreaming. A hard pinch on his thigh confirmed the reality with a sharp pain.

  "Thanks for the noodles. When the truth is revealed, I fear you won't be able to handle it. If you still want to learn the tune then, come find me at the Xiaoyao Pace. But I'll have to charge you a fee." Zhang Banxian pushed his bowl away, picked up his bundle and banner, and walked out of the noodle shop.

  Under the desote night, his thin figure seemed to drift like the wind. He chanted a poem, the words carried by the night breeze to Zhuang Zi'ang's ears.

  "Washing my feet in the rushing night tide, Drying my hair in the cool north wind. I've traveled all over Wu's mountains and Chu's marshes, Only missing the nds of Xiaoxiang. Buying a small boat to return home, This matter is entrusted to me by Heaven, In the sixth month, I'll descend the Cangng. Shedding my mortal coil like a cicada, Dreaming of butterflies in the nd of clouds and water." (This is a poem by Song Dynasty poet, Su Shi)

  The rest of the poem faded into the distance, inaudible.

  "Like a cicada shedding its skin to leave the mortal world, I'll dream of butterflies in a nd of clouds and water," Zhuang Zi'ang repeated softly. A huge question mark rose in his heart.

  What truth was he still unaware of? What did Zhang Banxian mean by "being in a dream"?

  Zhuang Zi'ang took out his phone and scoured the entire internet, but he couldn't find any Daoist ritual music called "Dreaming of the Butterfly." This old swindler was definitely spouting nonsense.

  But the tune was truly beautiful. It was a pity he had turned back too soon, unable to hear it in its entirety. Nor was he some musical genius with a perfect memory for melodies, capable of recreating it.

  Oh well, no use dwelling on it. Why bother arguing with a swindler?

  He returned to his rented room. It was te at night. Zhuang Zi'ang washed up quickly and went to bed early, filled with anticipation for the next day. He slept soundly.

  The next morning, the ringing of his phone by his pillow woke him up. The caller was the person he had been thinking about all night.

  "Hello, sleepyhead, get up. Aren't we going out to py today?"

  "Little Butterfly, where are you?"

  "Right outside!"

  Zhuang Zi'ang quickly got out of bed, put on his clothes, ruffled his messy hair, and went to open the door. Little Butterfly stood at the door, like a spotless fairy, her smile pure and clear. She was carrying a bag with breakfast for Zhuang Zi'ang.

  "Wait a sec, let me take a quick shower," Zhuang Zi'ang said, then darted into the bathroom. He must look awful after just waking up. Would Little Butterfly seeing him like this ruin his image in her eyes?

  Generally speaking, guys just scrub the hairy parts thoroughly and mostly ignore the rest.

  Drying his dripping hair with a towel, Zhuang Zi'ang emerged from the bathroom, the scent of shower gel still lingering on his skin. Little Butterfly was sitting on the sofa, her legs dangling. Seeing Zhuang Zi'ang, she smiled sweetly. "Silly, come here, I'll blow-dry your hair."

  "No need. My hair is short. It'll dry quickly," Zhuang Zi'ang said, feeling a little embarrassed.

  "You'll catch a cold with your hair wet," Little Butterfly insisted.

  Zhuang Zi'ang obediently sat down on the sofa, although he wasn't afraid of getting sick at all now. Little Butterfly plugged in the hairdryer, tested the temperature on her palm, and then started blow-drying Zhuang Zi'ang's hair.

  The warm air blew on Zhuang Zi'ang's bck hair, warming his heart as well. In all his life, no one except for barbers had ever blow-dried his hair. Little Butterfly's movements were gentle, her fingers moving through his hair, parting it into neat sections.

  With him sitting and her standing, Zhuang Zi'ang's gaze was level with Little Butterfly's chest. A delicate fragrance drifted into his nostrils. Through the colr of her shirt, he could faintly see a glimpse of her fair skin.

  What eighteen-year-old, full of youthful vigor, could resist such a sight? His nose started to itch, and warm drops began to fall.

  "Ah, you're having a nosebleed again!" Little Butterfly excimed in arm.

  Zhuang Zi'ang quickly covered his nose and rushed to the sink to wash it. This time, the nosebleed felt different from before. It wasn't because of his illness, but because his heart had been stirred.