Zhuang Zhou Dreams of a Butterfly

In winter, the village lay blanketed in white snow, like a world from a fairy tale.

Pure white snowflakes drifted down in profusion, wrapping the earth in a thick cloak of silver.

In their youth, they would build snowmen together, giving them carrot noses and branch arms.

The snowman seemed to come alive, standing quietly there and accompanying them through those joyful times.

Then, they would have snowball fights around the snowman, snowballs flying back and forth through the air amid their delighted shouts.

Those shouts echoed through the frigid air, as though they meant to set the whole winter ablaze.

At night, everyone sat around the warm hearth, listening to the old men tell ancient, mysterious tales.

Those stories had immortals and demons, leaving them utterly entranced and filling them with curiosity and longing for the unknown world.

Their eyes shone with curiosity, as though that mysterious world stood right before them, waiting for them to explore it.

Spring came, and the earth awakened as all things began to grow.

They would follow the adults into the fields to sow seeds.

Though they were still too young to understand the meaning of labor, they felt the power of life and hope within that patch of land.

They would search for all kinds of wildflowers in the grass by the fields, weaving them into beautiful garlands to wear on their heads and showing off whose garland was prettier.

Those brilliant smiles, like blooming flowers, blossomed across the spring fields.

Those days before cultivating immortality had been so simple and pure, filled with endless joy and warmth.

Back then, he had no obsessive pursuit of power, no hardships or setbacks on the Immortal Path, nor any of those bone-deep regrets and remorse.

He had merely been an innocent child, enjoying the