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“Big dummy, this is the last time I’ll come to see you,” Su Yudie murmured, pressing her cheek against Zhuang Zi’ang’s chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
Zhuang Zi’ang held her hand tightly, unwilling to let go—as if the moment he did, she would vanish forever.
Looking up with tear-filled eyes, Su Yudie whispered, “Can we go to Nanhua Village one more time?”
Zhuang Zi’ang hesitated. “In my condition, your grandparents would be heartbroken.”
“But I want to see Grandpa make iron flowers with my own eyes,” she pleaded.
Panic flickered across his face. “Aren’t you supposed to return before dark?”
“I’m not going back today. I want to stay with you.”
“No, you must go back. I’ll take you to catch the 6:10 bus,” Zhuang Zi’ang said, his voice trembling as tears streamed down his face.
He suddenly understood what Xiao Yudie meant. The classical text in Dreaming of Butterflies warned that if one did not return to their original world before nightfall, they would pay with their life.
And yet, she was willing to face death just to witness that fleeting moment of beauty with him.
“Big dummy, I don’t have much time left. Let me see the most beautiful sight of this world before I go. Please?”
Tears slipped down her pale cheeks, as fragile and fleeting as the moment itself.
Zhuang Zi’ang felt torn apart. If he agreed, it would be like sending her to her doom. If he refused, he would send her away with regrets.
“Even if I return before dark, I won’t be able to see you again,” she said softly.
“Big dummy, this is really our last time together.”
“In this world, I’m already gone. Please, grant me this.”
Her desperate plea shattered his heart. He clenched his fists, struggling for words, but in the end, he could only shake his head, unable to bear the weight of the decision.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled deeply and said, “Okay. Let’s go now.”
Time was slipping away. They had mere hours left together.
As dusk approached, there was no time for a bus. They took a taxi straight to Nanhua Village.
Zhuang Zi’ang called ahead, asking Zhuang Jianguo to prepare for their arrival.
Zhuang Jianguo was thrilled to hear that Xiao Yudie was visiting and agreed without hesitation, unaware of the sorrow silently approaching.
By the time they reached the village, the sun was already setting.
The last rays of sunlight bathed the azalea-covered mountains in a golden glow. The dying light bled into the crimson flowers, setting the hills ablaze with color.
A thousand years ago, blacksmiths and Taoists had worked together to forge iron flowers, praying for peace and prosperity.
Nanhua Village, Xiaoyao Palace, and Zhuang Zhou’s Dreaming of Butterflies—all intertwined with the philosophy of Taoism.
Zhuang Zi’ang thought of Zhang Bansian and Dreaming of Butterflies. Maybe fate had brought Xiao Yudie to him from the very start.
At the village entrance, Zhuang Jianguo and the villagers had built a six-meter-high flower pavilion from fresh willow branches, a towering flagpole at its center.
The structure followed ancient Taoist principles—the One, the Two Forms, the Three Talents, the Four Symbols, the Five Elements, and the Eight Trigrams—imbued with deep cultural significance.
Much of this tradition had faded due to war and time, yet in remote villages like Nanhua, fragments still remained, whispers of an era long past.
When Zhuang Jianguo saw them, his excitement faltered.
“Zi’ang, Xiao Yudie, you both look unwell.”
Zhuang Zi’ang avoided his gaze. “There’s a flu outbreak in the city,” he lied.
Zhuang Jianguo frowned. “Take care of yourselves. Don’t make me worry.”
Holding back tears, Zhuang Zi’ang turned away.
As darkness fell, villagers gathered for the iron flower performance.
Zhuang Zi’ang and Su Yudie sat together on the willow pavilion, fingers intertwined, cherishing every second.
The red furnace roared to life, molten iron reaching a scorching 1600 degrees. Heat waves shimmered in the air.
Before the performance, a solemn sacrificial ceremony took place—incense burned, prayers were offered, music played.
Zhuang Jianguo made his wish: for divine protection, for peace.
Then, all eyes turned to him.
With all his strength, he hurled the molten iron into the sky.
A dazzling shower of golden sparks erupted, illuminating the night like a meteor storm.
Su Yudie gasped, clutching Zhuang Zi’ang’s hand. “It’s so beautiful!”
The firelight danced across her delicate face.
Zhuang Zi’ang watched, tears spilling down his cheeks.
She was beautiful.
But, like the iron flowers, her beauty was fleeting.
Xin Qiji once wrote in Qingyu Case: Lantern Festival:
The east wind scatters blossoms from a thousand trees, and even more fall, like stars in the rain.
But it is the final line that lingers in the heart:
Suddenly looking back, that person is there, in the dim light.
Zhuang Jianguo cast more molten iron skyward, golden snowflakes falling like fragments of the heavens.
And the fairy who did not belong to this world would have to leave.
“Big dummy, thank you for showing me this. I have no regrets now,” Su Yudie whispered.
Zhuang Zi’ang’s breath hitched. “Xiao Yudie… it’s dark now. Can you still go back?”
She nestled into his embrace. “Let me rest a moment.”
The molten iron blazed through the night sky, reflected in her clear, wistful eyes.
“Big dummy, if this is our fate, I’ll wait for you in another world.”
He clung to her hand. “Don’t go… please…”
She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
“Remember my scent, so you won’t forget me.”
And then she was gone.
Zhuang Jianguo turned on the lights.
Zhuang Zi’ang sat alone.
“Zi’ang, where’s Xiao Yudie?”
Tears choked his voice.
“She’s gone.”
Somewhere, in another time, beside the guzheng, she had already collapsed.
And she would never wake again.