Transformation Butterfly

Shen Hui went on to talk about other things.

The first was the Legend of the White Snake, which took a full three evenings to tell.

When he got to the part where Bai Suzhen, to save Xu Xian, clashed with Fahai, summoning the waters of the four seas to flood Golden Mountain Temple, Fifth Senior Brother shouted in approval.

When he reached Bai Suzhen giving birth, being suppressed under Leifeng Pagoda by Fahai, and Xu Xian becoming a monk, sweeping the grounds and burning incense day after day, Jinghui's eyes reddened.

When he told of Bai Suzhen's son, Xu Shilin, winning the top scholar title in the imperial exams and offering sacrifices at the pagoda to rescue his mother, Third Senior Brother let out a long sigh: "This Bai Suzhen, cultivating for a thousand years, all for just one mortal bond..."

It was Senior Brother who spoke up, righteous indignation burning: "That old bald donkey Fahai, what a piece of work!"

That curse immediately drew agreement.

"Exactly!"

Jinghui chimed in right away, "The man and woman were a perfect match, a heaven-made pair—what business did he have opposing them? He just had to tear them apart to be satisfied?"

Third Senior Brother looked up from his notes: "According to the story, Fahai was acting on heaven's behalf. Bai Suzhen was a demon after all, and the paths of humans and demons are separate..."

"Separate what?" Senior Brother glared. "She never harmed anyone! Running a pharmacy and healing the sick, didn't she save more people than Fahai?"

Third Senior Brother opened his mouth, as if to say something, then swallowed it back.

"That Fahai was fixated on 'capturing demons' but forgot about 'saving people.'"

Second Senior Sister said calmly, "Bai Suzhen had a demon's body but did human deeds. Fahai had a human body but did..."

She paused, not finishing.

Jinghui nodded vigorously: "Right, right! That's called... called..."

"Being attached to appearances," Third Senior Brother added.

"Exactly, being attached to appearances!"

Third Senior Brother finished writing, looked up at Shen Hui: "Junior Brother, where did you hear all these stories?"

Shen Hui smiled faintly: "During my wandering days, I picked them up here and there. From storytellers, opera singers, market-goers, street vendors—patched together bits and pieces, remembered the gist."

Third Senior Brother nodded, then bent his head to write: Passed by word of mouth, scattered among the people—this is the beauty of unofficial history.

Shen Hui watched him scribbling away and suddenly felt a twinge of guilt.

Not because he was lying.

He'd long stopped caring about such small matters, and he needed some explanation to give these strange tales, which didn't belong to this world, a source.

What he felt guilty about was something else.

Fahai was a monk; he was a Daoist.

In this story, the monk was cast as the villain, and here he was, a Daoist, telling it—if word got out, wouldn't it seem like he was slandering the Buddha...

He glanced at the righteous indignation on everyone's faces and silently recited a prayer for forgiveness in his heart.

But then he thought again—as a Daoist, wasn't slandering the Buddha practically his job?

After all, the conflict between the Central Plains and the barbarians had existed since ancient times.

A few days ago, flipping through a book, he'd even seen that the previous dynasty's Emperor Taizong's suppression of Buddhism had Daoist backing behind it.

So slandering the Buddha was a traditional craft; using it occasionally probably wouldn't hurt.

Besides, if Daoists slandered the Buddha, naturally monks slandered Daoism.

The two faiths had been trading barbs for ages.

There had been Daoists who wrote the Three Destructions Treatise attacking Buddhism, claiming it was "unfilial and disloyal, a barbarian creed"; and monks who penned the Extinguishing Delusion Treatise in rebuttal, calling Daoist practices like "refining golden elixirs and consuming magical herbs" all false arts.

Even if integration was the mainstream now, you couldn't just abandon traditional skills, right?

Thinking this, Shen Hui felt at ease again.

The Butterfly Lovers was told even more briefly.

The straw bridge oath, three years as classmates, the eighteen-mile farewell, the tower meeting, and finally the spectacular transformation into butterflies.

After the last sentence, Third Senior Brother was the first to speak: "That Ma Wencai—he's a pitiful man."

Everyone turned to look at him.

Third Senior Brother said with a straight face: "Think about it—he paid the betrothal gifts, married her properly, and then his bride jumped into a grave and died halfway there. Wouldn't that leave anyone brooding for a lifetime?"

Jinghui glared at him: "Senior Brother! Don't you have any compassion?"

"I do."

Third Senior Brother bent his head to write in his notebook, "I just think there's no real villain in this story. Zhu Yingtai wasn't wrong, Liang Shanbo wasn't wrong, and Ma Wencai wasn't wrong either. What was wrong was..."

He paused his brush, thought for a moment, couldn't figure it out, and had to keep writing: The cruel tricks of fate.

Jinghui wouldn't let it go: "And Liang Shanbo? Such a good man, died of lovesickness!"

"And Zhu Yingtai? Her father wanted to marry her off; she had no choice."

"And her father?"

"Her father..." Third Senior Brother thought it over, "Her father meant well for her too. The Ma family had money and power; marrying into them meant a life of luxury—wasn't that better than being with a poor scholar?"

Jinghui was rendered speechless by his words. She held it in for a long time before finally blurting out, "Anyway, Fahai was the one in the wrong!"

Everyone burst into laughter.

Shen Hui laughed along with them, but as he did, his heart felt somewhat hollow.

After telling these two stories, he really didn't want to tell any more.

For one thing, the little stock he had in his belly was nearly scraped clean.

Foreign tales needed localization, and local ones he couldn't fully recall—every time he told them, he had to improvise on the spot, and it was exhausting.

For another, every time he told these stories, he couldn't help but think of that other world.

He thought of those towering buildings and bustling streets, those years he could never return to... It was as if with every story he told, they came alive in his heart once more.

He didn't like that.

If you can't find the book by its title, try searching by the author—maybe it just changed names!

Shen Hui looked at the eager expressions on everyone's faces, still wanting more. He was silent for a moment, then finally spoke:

"Senior brothers and sisters, the stories I know have all been told."

"That's it?"

"That's it." He spread his hands, his face full of candor.

The room fell still for a beat.

Third Senior Brother sighed, closed his densely packed notebook, and said with a hint of reluctance, "What a pity. I was hoping to jot down a few more, maybe compile a collection someday."

With that, he reluctantly packed up his brush and ink, and the others rose one after another to leave.

Only Jinghui refused to let it go.

As the gathering dispersed, she lingered at the back, stopping at the door to glance back at Shen Hui, her eyes screaming, "I still want to hear more."

Shen Hui pretended not to notice.

But over the next few days, she stuck to him like a little cat following its owner—wherever he went, she followed.

Whenever she had free time, Jinghui would slip into his room.

Sometimes she'd bring a plate of pickled vegetables, sometimes a handful of wild fruit, grinning as she set them on his table, then start her soft persistence.

"Junior brother, just one more story."

"Really, there are none."

"Just one! The Butterfly Lovers, tell it again?"

"I already did."

"Then tell the part about turning into butterflies!"

"I told that too."

"Then tell me..." Her eyes darted around. "How did those butterflies transform? Did they practice some kind of shape-shifting technique?"

Shen Hui helplessly put down the scroll in his hand.

"Senior sister, that's just a story."

"But last time you said all stories have origins! They don't come from nowhere." Jinghui argued with conviction.

Shen Hui, worn down by her pestering, finally stopped in his tracks and turned around.

It seemed he had to nip this hope in the bud.

"You really want to know?" he asked.

Jinghui nodded vigorously.

Shen Hui looked at her bright, sparkling eyes and suddenly felt a mischievous impulse.

"Fine," he said. "Then I'll tell you."

Jinghui pricked up her ears.

"To become a butterfly, you first have to become a caterpillar."

The anticipation on Jinghui's face froze.

"You know what a caterpillar is, right? A grub."

Shen Hui gestured. "Green and slimy, plump and fleshy, covered in fine hairs, inching along one hump at a time. Some are even poisonous—touch one and you break out in a rash. When they're fat, they're about this thick."

He held up his fingers to show her.

Jinghui's mouth began to droop.

"Then," Shen Hui continued, "once this caterpillar has grown enough, it has to find a place to hang itself, wrapping itself up in a cocoon. That cocoon is made from silk it spins itself, all sticky, dangling from a branch and swaying back and forth."

Jinghui's mouth began to twitch.

"Inside the cocoon, it has to dissolve itself into a puddle."

"A... a puddle?"

"That's right. A puddle!"

Shen Hui continued, "Just a lump of yellow-green pulp. Organs, meridians, everything melted into a sticky mess."

Jinghui's face began to pale.

"Then that pulp slowly grows back—grows wings, grows six legs, grows compound eyes. You know compound eyes, right? Those dense, sieve-like eyes."

He went into more and more detail, embellishing the texture, color, and even the smell of that mushy mess.

Jinghui's face couldn't get any paler.

"Once all that's grown, it crawls out of the cocoon."

Shen Hui made a gesture of breaking out of a cocoon. "Right when it comes out, the wings are still wet. It has to dry them before it can fly. While drying, the wings are all limp and floppy, like soaked paper—ugly as hell."

He finished and looked at Jinghui.

Jinghui stood there, her expression like she'd been struck by lightning.

After a long moment, she finally found her voice:

"...That's disgusting."

Shen Hui nodded. "Yeah, it really is disgusting."

Jinghui stood there a little longer, then suddenly turned and ran. After a few steps, she looked back and glared at him, her eyes full of disgust and accusation.

"You're lying!"

"I'm not lying."

Shen Hui called after her retreating figure, "That's how it's written in the story. There's even a chant for it. If you want to know, I can tell you..."

Jinghui had already vanished from sight.

Shen Hui stood there, finally letting out a long breath.

At last, some peace and quiet.