Chapter Twenty: The Butterfly

When a woman starts to mutter to herself, it's always a headache—more so when that woman has a mischievous disposition like Qiu Wan’er. She stamped her foot hard, spun around, back to the wooden hut behind her, a sudden urge to turn back rising up. Yet as soon as her left foot took the first step, regret already flooded her mind: “If Master finds out about this, Senior Brother will be in trouble. Master always said, whoever dares set foot in this valley without permission gets their legs broken. And if his legs are broken—no, Senior Brother promised me, yes, he promised me, and I’m only going in for this reason, nothing else!”

By the end, even Qiu Wan’er herself was confused by her own words. Was she making excuses? Acting on camaraderie? She couldn’t tell. Her body seemed to act of its own accord, beyond her control; she always prided herself on being carefree and unrestrained, just like the sword style of the Qilian sect. But whenever it came to Han Tanyi, she seemed to lose her composure. Still, whether she hid it deep or fooled herself well, even Qiu Wan’er hadn’t realized how much she gave herself away.

Having come this far, entering the valley was no difficult feat for her. Though the path ahead was treacherous—a plank walkway more than a hundred meters long, suspended between two cliffs over a bottomless gorge, with nothing but single planks strung together by chains—no one would argue it wasn’t a deadly pass. Looking down from the walkway, the fog below loomed thick and heavy, white and impenetrable, with no hint of the abyss’s bottom. Even the dazzling sunlight couldn’t pierce it. Perhaps that was for the best: standing above, one wouldn’t be frightened by the dizzying heights. But even so, not everyone could cross it. For most, the first half might go smoothly, but halfway across, fear would seize the heart. The rest of the journey would be a trembling crawl—and the thought of making the return trip would be pure torment.

For Qiu Wan’er, though, none of this mattered. She moved quickly and steadily, crossing the walkway as if on level ground, striding out boldly. Her spiritual energy surged, giving her a light, leaping gait. The faster her pace, the greater the force the walkway had to bear, and the chains would shake and jangle, shattering the valley’s stillness with their shrill clamor.

The moment Qiu Wan’er landed on the far side, two piercing howls split the air. Instantly, two shapes shot from the mist. At a glance, they were reminiscent of dogs, but with sharper snouts, broader jaws, upright ears, and stiff, straight tails—undeniably wolves. Yet unlike ordinary wolves with their deep brownish-grey coats, these two were clearly silver, their distinction unmistakable.

At such a distance and speed, anyone would have been startled; Qiu Wan’er was no exception. Her brow furrowed and she sprang back, narrowly evading the wolves’ attack. With a sweep of her sheathed sword, a gust of energy swirled around her, forming a barrier like a shield. The two silver wolves, undeterred, circled the shield, as if searching for a weakness. Qiu Wan’er had no desire to tangle with such beasts. If these were just common mountain wolves, she’d have struck them down in a flash and perhaps roasted their meat for a rare delicacy. But as the saying goes, even to beat a dog, you must consider its master—besides, she was here for someone.

"Butterfly Sister, are you there?" Qiu Wan’er called softly toward the hut. The distance to Qilian Sect’s quarters was not far—she dared not raise her voice and risk alerting her master, which would only bring trouble. But even a soft call would carry the ten or so meters to the hut. Sure enough, a creak sounded as the wooden door was pushed open, and a figure emerged slowly from within, veiled by mist. For a moment, she seemed almost ethereal, a glimmer of light and the faint clink of jewels and gemstones hinting at her rich adornments.

As she drew near, Qiu Wan’er saw clearly: a maiden in her prime. At twenty-something, a woman is rarely plain, and this one was strikingly beautiful. Even through the dim, misty air, the flush of her fair skin was impossible to hide. Her gauzy robes, though not luxurious, suited her well and lent her a certain elegance. Even Qiu Wan’er found herself captivated, her gaze drawn and unable to look away. It puzzled her—she felt a twinge of jealousy, a woman’s instinct, perhaps. Yet not looking was impossible; her mind couldn’t help but think, “No wonder Senior Brother is smitten. Even I, as a woman, find her beautiful—how much more must men?”

The sound had come from her elaborate hair ornaments. Her style, Qiu Wan’er thought, was oddly at odds with the chilly climate. Qiu Wan’er herself was decently dressed, yet still felt the bite of the cold, so standing still was uncomfortable. But this woman, clad even more lightly and long accustomed to this place, seemed unfazed. Perhaps it was habit, but the high, cloud-shaped bun atop her head—Qiu Wan’er thought it the one flaw in her attire—made her head appear a touch too large. The four hanging pendants added a touch of artifice, stealing away any aura of transcendence and making her seem almost mundane.

This woman was, of course, the Butterfly whom Han Tanyi so often mentioned. She gazed at Qiu Wan’er, a faint smile blossoming on her cheeks. Lifting the flute at her waist to her lips, she played a clear, ringing note. At once, the silver wolves’ ferocity vanished; they walked calmly to her side and sat, obedient as hounds. Only then did she lower her flute, her rosy lips parting in mild surprise.

“My, what a rare guest you are, little sister,” she said. “I remember you never set foot in my valley. What brings you here today—did your master finally relent, or did Han Tanyi send you?”

“No—” Seeing the wolves withdraw, Qiu Wan’er dispelled her shield of spiritual energy. She was still pondering how to begin, but her words caught in her throat. From the Butterfly’s words, she already had her answer, though she could hardly believe it. After a moment’s hesitation, she asked uncertainly, “You mean to say my Senior Brother hasn’t come here?”

“He has, of course, but that was half a month ago. I found him annoying and sent him away. Weren’t you all supposed to attend the wedding at Mingyue Manor in Xinyang, for Shen Wansan’s daughter? Wasn’t he with you?” Butterfly replied, a note of teasing in her tone, perhaps born of her naturally mischievous spirit. With this, Qiu Wan’er had her answer. Yet her mind was a tangle of emotions, her brow tightly knit. She looked at the woman before her, then at the distant mountain slope, where the Qilian Sect’s main gate stood. Her thoughts raced:

“Senior Brother has always been so sincere, willing to bare his heart and soul for you. He’s scrupulous in observing the sect rules, always cautious with his words and deeds, afraid of making any mistake. Yet for you, he was willing to cast all caution aside, to play the bandit if need be, and even dared to steal the luminous pearl from Shen Wansan, the greatest master in the land, risking everything just to make you smile. If someone treated me so, I would willingly die for him. And yet you found him annoying—how unworthy for Senior Brother. Where could he be now? Has he already gone back?”

Of course, none of these thoughts were spoken aloud. With a sudden leap, she was back on the plank walkway, moving with even greater speed than before, leaving only Butterfly standing motionless, watching her receding figure. A faint, knowing smile curled Butterfly’s lips, and she murmured something softly to herself, words Qiu Wan’er would never hear.