Next, Zhao Cheng poured the power of Starfire into the butterfly below. Under the power of fire, the butterfly's colors shifted from dim to dazzling. With a single beat of its wings, a phantom dream was born and perished, containing boundless complexity and infinite splendor.
With every beat of its wings, vast amounts of information emerged from the void and were swallowed by the butterfly, fused and refined within it. Thus, though all things in the phantom dream cycled in reincarnation, they were renewed in ever-changing forms.
In the final glimpse, Zhao Cheng saw ruins left behind after worlds had shattered. Their energy was already gone; even their information had fallen into extinction. Yet beneath the stirring of the butterfly's wings, portions of that deathly silent information were awakened.
Perhaps they were extraordinary fragments from worlds long past, or perhaps lucky information entities.
So it turned out that everything in the universe, no matter how weak as an ant, possessed the right to leave its own mark in the chronicles of the cosmos.
In that single glance, Zhao Cheng seemed to glimpse a certain truth.
But upon deeper thought, it was still like viewing flowers through mist.
Afterward, Zhao Cheng's status fell, and he descended into the world opened up between the butterfly's wingbeats.
This was a brand-new world, one with old elements. The Gods and Devils of history, light and darkness, justice and evil—those gifted individuals who communed with the history of civilization and formed contracts became witches.
Yet witches were no longer the only path. As the apocalypse receded, the butterfly's world once more became richly diverse.
This world had gained a group known as mages.
They had perceived the mysteries of the spirit, using their spirits to bear the principles of law. They drew magical power from