Zhuang Sheng’s Dawn Dream, Bewitched by Butterflies, Part 1

As the towering, bearded figure loomed like a mountain about to engulf her, Yun Yao snapped awake at the critical moment, shouting, “Stay there! Don’t come closer!”

“—?”

Unexpectedly, the Wheel of Reincarnation’s spirit actually obeyed, halting in place.
But its expression was deeply aggrieved, its gaze almost resentful. “Why won’t Master let me approach?”

Yun Yao: “…”

This had to be a trap.
Or perhaps the spirit, after lingering too long in Tianyun Abyss, had its intelligence eroded by the demonic flames, turning it into a fool.

How could one argue with a foolish spirit?

With this thought, Yun Yao softened her tone, coaxing gently, “You’ve been in this abyss too long and forgotten many things. How could I be your master—”

She didn’t finish.
The bearded man, hearing only half her words, looked as if struck by lightning, his face crumpling in grief. “I’m Reincarnation, Master! Don’t you recognize me? I’ve followed you through life and death for so many years—how could you remember Wheel but not me?”

His childlike voice, starkly at odds with his rugged appearance, pierced her consciousness like a steel nail. Countless dark corners tore open with sharp pain, fragmented images flashing before her eyes like shattered porcelain.

Clutching her ears, her face paled momentarily, but her reason held. “You’re called Reincarnation… then who’s Wheel?”

An indescribable premonition gripped her.

The bearded man, still speaking in that incongruous childish voice, exclaimed joyfully, “So Master forgot Wheel too? That’s great—I’m your right-hand arm! You used to say I was like a plate, and Wheel was like a cone…”

His rambling words didn’t fully register.
But the earlier part struck her mind like thunder, clearing the fog.

Wheel. Cone.
Only one “person” came to mind—
The Reincarnation Tower. The great monk.

He wasn’t human at all but the spirit of the Reincarnation Tower, no wonder he guarded it his entire life.

The immortal realm’s two creation artifacts had converged in Qianmen Continent, meeting in this lifetime.

Realizing this, her consciousness trembled violently. She struggled to steady her breath. “This Wheel you speak of—I met him outside. But I’m not your master. Come with me, and we’ll confront him.”

The man wavered, hesitant. “Will Wheel listen to you?”

“Yes.”

“—Then you *are* Master!” The feigned hesitation vanished, replaced by indignant frustration. He crossed his arms. “Wheel only ever listens to Master, not even me! Why won’t you acknowledge me?”

Yun Yao: “…”

If a child made that aggrieved, petulant expression, it might be endearing.
But this man? She felt looking at him shaved years off her life.

As her patience frayed and she nearly lashed out, the bearded man suddenly transformed—
Into a hunched, white-haired old woman leaning on a cane.

This startling change left Yun Yao both shocked and faintly familiar.

“Oh, I forgot.”
The old woman hobbled forward, her voice now a robust young man’s. “Master’s immortal power is too vast to inhabit a mortal vessel. Most of your soul’s strength was left with me…”

She stopped a short distance from Yun Yao, rummaging through her robes with trembling hands.

“There it is.”

“…”

Yun Yao held her breath, watching.
But in the moment their eyes met, the old woman transformed again—

Into an infant in swaddling clothes, tumbling toward the “ground.”

Without thinking, Yun Yao lunged to catch it.
But instead of the light, soft bundle she expected, the moment she touched the swaddling, a thousand-jun force erupted.
Simultaneously, blinding golden light exploded before her eyes.

*Boom—*

Unable to tell if it was reality or illusion, the light engulfed her entirely.

Yun Yao fell into a sea of golden light, her consciousness peeling away, fading completely.

—

“…Yun Yao…”
“Yun Yao…”

The distant calls grew closer, sharpening into a clear, urgent shout at her side:

“Yun Yao!!”

“—Huh?”

Yun Yao groggily lifted her head from the long desk, her first sight the vast, boundless dome of the Fate Palace.

The three thousand lesser worlds hung like star lamps in a galaxy, suspended high and low, near and far, from the palace’s arched ceiling.
Their light flickered, constant for millennia.

It should’ve been the most familiar sight, yet Yun Yao felt an inexplicable sense of long absence.

A white-robed immortal maiden nearby was sorting scattered scrolls on the desk. “What’s wrong with you, Little Immortal?”

“What could it be?” The maiden glanced over, teasing. “Fell asleep during your shift, didn’t you?”

“Oh, right.” Yun Yao rubbed her throbbing forehead, feeling her memories shrouded in mist, slipping through her consciousness like water through her fingers.
She’d forgotten… something…

“Wow, Yun Yao, sneaking mortal realm storybooks into the Fate Palace again?”

The maiden picked up a scroll from beside Yun Yao, who froze, turning to look. The scroll lay where she’d rested, clearly what she’d been reading before dozing off.

Taking it from the maiden, Yun Yao flipped through a few pages.

“This was left on the Fate Palace desk today. I bet Immortal Lord Yunfeng brought it for me.”

“Hm? Is it interesting?”

“I didn’t finish it before falling asleep. I only remember it’s about a small world called Qianmen, with a cold, noble exiled immortal, revered like snow on a mountain peak, but betrayed and defiled by his master, turning into a world-destroying demon lord who killed without mercy…”

Yun Yao paused, dazed, staring at the scroll.

The maiden, seeing her silence, turned curiously. “Why’d you stop?”

“I think… I had a very long dream,” Yun Yao said, uncertain. “I dreamt I entered this storybook?”

“Huh?” The maiden’s interest piqued. “And? What did you dream?”

Yun Yao strained to recall.
But only fragmented images, veiled in fog, remained—voices and memories lost.
She smiled helplessly, shaking her head. “Forgot.”

“Ugh, really?” The maiden waved dismissively, disappointed. “Daydreaming from reading too much! No, wait, it’s not even night. Yun Yao, you sleep too much. There’s no other immortal maiden in the entire Fate Palace—no, the entire immortal realm—as sleepy and forgetful as you!”

Yun Yao laughed, taking the sorted scrolls and placing them on a nearby shelf. “I’m used to it. Maybe in my mortal life before ascending, I didn’t get enough rest.”

The Fate Palace oversaw the three thousand lesser worlds, each with countless scrolls to record.
Thankfully, the palace was as vast as a starry sea, or the maidens would’ve been buried under them long ago.

“No wonder the Wheel of Reincarnation chose a lazy, sleepy little immortal like you this cycle,” the maiden teased, making a face. “I bet its spirit is just as muddled as you!”

“…Wheel of Reincarnation?”

Yun Yao’s hand froze mid-sort.
She turned her wrist, revealing a golden, three-petaled mark at its center.

“What, you forgot the Wheel too?” The maiden, Yun Qiao, gaped, leaning over the shelf. “It’s only been two days! Don’t you remember? The Wheel spent nearly a thousand years picking a new host in the immortal realm, and out of all the immortals and lords in the Fate Palace, it chose *you*!”

Yun Qiao grinned, stepping back to flip through a nearby scroll. “You didn’t see Yun Qingyi’s face—she’s always at odds with us. It was black as coal! Let’s see her flaunt her higher rank now.”

“If the Wheel is a creation artifact, why does it need rotating hosts?” Yun Yao asked, puzzled.

“Hm… that’s one of the immortal realm’s great mysteries.”
Yun Qiao glanced around, ensuring they were alone, then whispered, “You know who its true master is, right?”

“The head of the Eight Divine Lords, one of the Three Saints—‘Origin,’ also the master of the Fate Palace.”
Yun Yao set down her scroll, leaning against the shelf with a smile. “I’ve been ascended for centuries and never seen so much as a hair of this Divine Lord.”

“No kidding. I ascended a thousand years before you and haven’t seen them either,” Yun Qiao shrugged. “The Origin Lord is the most mysterious being in the immortal realm, the first of all gods. I bet even the other divine lords don’t know if they’re male or female.”

Yun Yao frowned. “Then why would their artifact need rotating caretakers?”

“There’s a theory I believe,” Yun Qiao said. “Creation artifacts are extraordinary. Even divine lords and maidens can’t bear their power for long, so the host changes every millennium.”

“I see.”
Yun Yao glanced at her wrist mark, then let it go, returning to her desk.

Yun Qiao finished her sorting and prepared to leave.
But she paused, concerned. “Two days ago, I heard from a duty lord that something’s off in the Land of Forsaken Heaven.”

“Land of Forsaken Heaven?”
Yun Yao looked up instinctively at the three thousand star lamps in the palace dome.
Deep in the starry sea, one lamp burned purest black, utterly lightless, with no chance of ever reigniting.

“It’s called Forsaken for a reason—cast out from heaven’s laws,” Yun Yao said, looking away. “What’s there to worry about?”

“I don’t know, but several high-ranking divine lords gathered to study it for two days, and when they left, their faces were grim. I heard they went straight to the Calamity Saint’s palace. Something must be unsettling them.”

“Maybe.”
Yun Yao leaned casually against the desk, smiling lazily. “It’s not for little maidens like us to handle. Even if Origin’s gone, there’s Calamity and Transcendence, plus the other divine lords to hold things up.”

“I know you,” Yun Qiao said, half-exasperated, half-concerned. “You talk lightly, act timid, but you’re always the first to charge in. I swear the Fate Palace pays you double wages.”

Yun Yao waved her off. “I know, I know. Go rest, my lady.”

“Get lost!”

After Yun Qiao left, the Fate Palace returned to its usual silence.

Yun Yao leaned against the desk, propping her head, gazing boredly at the three thousand star lamps.
“A millennium, same as a day…”

Musing, she picked up the unfinished storybook from the desk.

She didn’t notice.
In the deepest part of the starry sea, the blackest lamp flickered with a cold, silver glint.

…

The storybook engrossed her so much that, unknowingly, she fell asleep at the desk again.

When she woke, the Fate Palace was dark, like a mortal night, with only the star lamps glowing like a river of stars in the dimness.

Yun Yao, nestled in her arms, yawned, then froze.
She opened her eyes wide—

Wait.
This was the immortal realm.
Since when did it have nights?!

Startled, she sat up.

Only then did she notice, across the long sandalwood desk, a figure had appeared—

He was strikingly beautiful, with a languid air, skin pale as snow, lips red as blood. Most eerie and alluring was the faint, jade-like blood mark at the corner of his eye, a demonic pattern like the world’s most toxic, yet captivating, flower.
His black robes, edged with gold and silver thread, spread across the desk, their hem fueling the “night” that cloaked the Fate Palace—born from the inky demonic flames rising behind him, burning fiercely.

Yun Yao’s face changed. She swiftly raised her hand to summon the palace’s warning bell.

One breath, and she could alert others to the anomaly!

But before her wrist left the desk, the figure’s sleeve swept up. A dark vermilion flame shot from his pale fingers, coiling around her wrist and yanking it back—

*Bang.*

Her wrist slammed onto the desk, the warning bell crumbling to dust.

“Don’t move. I’ve killed enough today and don’t want another,” he said, his voice lazy, low, and seductive. “Besides, you look… a bit like an old friend.”

As he spoke, his lashes lifted, the blood-like mark seeming to come alive, growing more vivid and compelling.
He leaned closer, his cold fingers lifting her chin. Bound by his flames, Yun Yao couldn’t move or speak, every part of her constricted.

Gazing at her features, his eyes grew vacant, as if sinking into a river of sand, searching for a long-faded shadow in endless, hopeless time.

“Master…”

Before the word fully fell, his gaze sharpened.
A tidal wave of blood-red fury and madness surged in his eyes—

He seized her slender neck.

“Who allowed you to wear her face!?”