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Only one drop of Crimson Fire Gilded Gold remained. Qin Sang had placed it between the cracks of a stone by the stream’s edge.
Dawn had not yet broken. It was the darkest hour before light.
After a whole night of bustle, Butterfly Valley had now quieted, touched with a sense of stillness.
A group of butterflies fluttered across the stream.
Suddenly, all the butterflies above that section of water froze mid-air, suspended in their dancing postures, motionless.
It was as if time itself had stopped here.
In the next moment, a figure appeared by the streambank.
Qin Sang swept his gaze across the butterfly swarm, then looked toward the stones along the bank. After a moment’s hesitation, he extended his hand and beckoned. A small butterfly, shaped like a common cabbage white butterfly, emerged from the crack in the stone.
It was tiny, with snow-white wings speckled with black spots. This...
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