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Within the Taoist sect, the Quanzhen School forbids the consumption of meat, while the Zhengyi School does not restrict eating meat but prohibits beef.
Watching Zhang Bansian gleefully devour beef with grease dripping from his mouth, it was clear he was no proper Taoist.
Zhuang Zi’ang, feeling famished, picked up his noodles and began to eat heartily.
The chewy noodles coated in broth slid warmly into his stomach.
In that moment, he reflected on how delicious the noodles were.
Thank goodness he hadn’t died yesterday.
Zhuang Zi’ang felt that the taste of the broth was reminiscent of his grandmother’s cooking.
Thinking of his grandparents in the countryside and his own illness, his vision began to blur.
How should he face the two elderly people when his condition flares up?
“It’s just a bowl of noodles. Why are you crying over it?” Zhang Bansian scoffed.
Reluctantly, he picked up a few slices of beef and placed them in Zhuang Zi’ang’s bowl.
Then, hesitating a moment, he took one slice back.
“I’m dying,” Zhuang Zi’ang said in a sorrowful voice.
This secret had weighed heavily on his heart, making it hard to breathe.
Now, faced with a stranger, he couldn’t help but want to share it, hoping to alleviate his burden.
“Dying isn’t so bad. I just told you that you have a short life. What joy is there in living, and what pain in dying?” Zhang Bansian not only failed to comfort him but also spoke in a dismissive manner, slurping his noodles loudly.
Zhuang Zi’ang thought he didn’t believe him and replied earnestly, “I’ve been diagnosed with terminal cancer. I probably only have a little over two months left to live.”
Zhang Bansian remained unfazed, continuing to eat without changing his expression. “When you die, do you need me to help you hold a water and land ritual? My fees are very reasonable.”
“Hey, don’t you have any sense of compassion?” Zhuang Zi’ang retorted angrily.
“Everyone has to die; you’re not the only one. Why act so superior?” Zhang Bansian said indifferently.
Zhuang Zi’ang had nearly cried just moments ago, yet to Zhang Bansian, it was just a display of arrogance.
This man must have some screws loose.
Talking about death with him was like playing a lute to a cow.
Zhuang Zi’ang finally voiced the question that had been nagging him all along: “How did you know that if you played ‘Dream Butterfly,’ I would come back to find you? Do you know Xiao Butterfly?”
Zhang Bansian didn’t answer directly but instead looked at Zhuang Zi’ang’s wrist and asked, “What happened to the red string?”
“I gave it back to her.”
The day before, on the riverside grass, Zhuang Zi’ang had tied the red string as a hair tie on Little Butterfly’s braid.
Zhang Bansian’s gaze changed. “You came to me last time to interpret your fortune in order to find someone; it seems you succeeded in finding her.”
“Yeah, she came back,” Zhuang Zi’ang nodded.
“Reunion means facing the next separation,” Zhang Bansian sighed.
Zhuang Zi’ang frowned; this man truly had a knack for saying unhelpful things.
Did he really need a reminder?
Suppressing the urge to storm off, he lowered his tone. “Can you teach me that song? I think it sounds really nice.”
Zhang Bansian shook his head decisively. “I can’t teach you; that would be harming you.”
“How could a song possibly harm me?” Zhuang Zi’ang asked, surprised.
“From the first time you heard that song, you’ve already entered a dream, experiencing life and death, much like Zhuang Zhou dreaming of butterflies, and butterflies dreaming of Zhuang Zhou.”
The old con man spoke in riddles, leaving Zhuang Zi’ang confused.
How could he not know whether he was dreaming or not?
He pinched his thigh hard; it certainly hurt.
“Thanks for the noodles. When you learn the truth, I’m afraid you won’t be able to handle it. By then, if you still want to learn this song, come to Xiaoyao Palace to find me; but I’ll charge you then.”
Zhang Bansian pushed his bowl away, shouldered his package, picked up his flag, and walked out of the noodle shop.
In the desolate night, his thin figure seemed to float like the wind.
He recited a poem that drifted into Zhuang Zi’ang’s ears with the night breeze:
“Washing my feet on the night shore, feeling the chill of the north wind.
Traveling through Wu mountains and Chu marshes, only lacking arrival at Xiaoxiang.
Buying a small boat to return, this matter granted by the heavens, in June I sail the Canglang.
The cicada sheds its dust outside, dreaming of butterflies in the water and cloud land.”
…
The subsequent lines faded into the distance.
“Cicada sheds its dust outside, dreaming of butterflies in the water and cloud land,” Zhuang Zi’ang softly repeated.
A big question mark rose in his heart.
What truth was there that he didn’t know?
What did Zhang Bansian mean by entering a dream?
Zhuang Zi’ang took out his phone and searched the internet, but found nothing about a Taoist ritual song called “Dream Butterfly.”
This old con man was just spouting nonsense; he must have been trying to trick him.
However, that melody was genuinely beautiful.
Unfortunately, he had turned back too early and hadn’t heard it all.
He wasn’t some musical genius with a perfect memory who could replicate it.
Forget it; why bother quibbling with a con man?
Returning to his rental apartment, the night had deepened.
Zhuang Zi’ang quickly washed up and went to bed early, filled with anticipation for the next day.
He had a night full of pleasant dreams.
The next morning, the ringing of his phone by his pillow jolted him awake.
The caller was the person he had been thinking about most.
“Hey, lazy pig! Time to get up; aren’t we going out today?”
“Xiao Butterfly, where are you?”
“I’m at the door!”
Zhuang Zi’ang quickly jumped out of bed, threw on some clothes, and tousled his messy hair before heading to open the door.
Xiao Butterfly stood at the entrance, looking like a spotless fairy, her smile pure and bright.
She held a bag in her hand, containing breakfast she had bought for Zhuang Zi’ang.
“Just give me a moment; I need to take a shower first,” he said before slipping into the bathroom.
He was sure he looked quite disheveled just waking up.
Would it affect his image in Little Butterfly’s eyes if she saw him like this?
Boys typically shower quickly.
Generally, it just meant scrubbing the hairy parts thoroughly and leaving the rest alone.
After towel-drying his damp hair, Zhuang Zi’ang emerged from the bathroom, still carrying the scent of body wash.
Xiao Butterfly was sitting on the sofa, her legs swinging playfully.
Upon seeing Zhuang Zi’ang, she beamed. “Big dummy, come here; let me dry your hair.”
“No need, my hair is short. It dries quickly,” Zhuang Zi’ang replied, feeling a bit shy.
“If your hair is wet, you’ll catch a cold,” Xiao Butterfly insisted stubbornly.
Zhuang Zi’ang reluctantly sat down on the sofa, even though he wasn’t particularly worried about getting sick.
Xiao Butterfly plugged in the hairdryer, first blowing into her palm to test the temperature before starting to dry Zhuang Zi’ang’s hair.
The warm air blew across his dark hair, and his heart felt particularly warm.
In all his years, aside from the hairdresser, no one had ever helped him dry his hair.
Xiao Butterfly’s movements were gentle, her fingers weaving through Zhuang Zi’ang’s hair, creating clear lines.
Sitting and standing opposite each other, Zhuang Zi’ang’s gaze fell just to Little Butterfly’s chest level.
A faint fragrance wafted towards him.
Through the collar of her shirt, he could vaguely see a glimpse of her fair skin.
An eighteen-year-old, full of youthful vigor, could hardly handle such a sight.
A sudden itch in his nostrils led to warm drops trickling down.
“Ah! Why are you bleeding from your nose again?” Xiao Butterfly exclaimed in shock.
Zhuang Zi’ang quickly covered his nose and rushed to wash it under the faucet.
This time, the sensation of the nosebleed felt different from before.
It wasn’t because of his physical condition.
Instead, it was a stirring of feelings.