Volume One: Scroll of Fresh Rain Chapter Thirty-One: The Girl Dreamed by the Butterfly
“Mingke, remember Qingxi.”
Qiao Qiao turned her head, gazing into Ye Mingke’s puzzled eyes, and repeated herself, sadness clouding her expression.
“Qiao Qiao, what’s wrong?”
“Of course I remember this stream is called Qingxi. We’ve come here together so many times. How could I forget?” Ye Mingke’s voice was laced with confusion and concern.
“It’s nothing. Just promise you’ll remember.” Qiao Qiao smiled again, leaving Mingke to wonder if the sorrow he’d glimpsed was merely his imagination or had truly flickered across her face.
After leaving that familiar boulder, Qiao Qiao’s cheer and excitement returned. She and Mingke wandered along the stream, strolling, pausing, and meandering about.
Suddenly, she spotted something, curiosity lighting her face as she tugged Ye Mingke toward a concealed corner behind another large stone by the water’s edge.
“Mingke, look! There are words here.”
Ye Mingke, now equally intrigued, followed her gaze. In that secretive spot, faint traces of writing were barely visible. The creekside was damp and mossy, the boulder’s surface badly weathered, and those shallowly etched words were nearly erased by time.
Yet, one could just make out two names pressed close together: Qin so-and-so and Li so-and-so, followed by phrases like “until the seas dry and the rocks crumble,” and “forever and ever.”
The feelings of children and adolescents burn so fiercely that they yearn to declare them aloud, to chase the promise of eternity. They carve their forever into what they believe are the most enduring things: stone, walls—believing that by inscribing their names on something eternal, their companionship, too, will last forever.
“How romantic—to have two names together for all time, just like two people, always together,” Qiao Qiao murmured enviously, studying the faded letters.
“It’s just graffiti. No sense of public decency,” Ye Mingke muttered, rolling his eyes, his curiosity quickly fading.
“That won’t happen if we hide it well enough.”
“Huh? We?”
“Yes, come on!”
“Oh, Qiao Qiao, don’t pull me into this…”
Just as Mingke finished scoffing at others for scribbling everywhere, he found himself dragged into the very same mischief by Qiao Qiao.
They searched along the creek for a suitable boulder, and in the end, returned to the one they always favored. Qiao Qiao found a hidden, dry corner without moss, the rock there hardest of all.
With small, sharp stones, they carved—carefully, stroke by stroke—their names into the secret spot that belonged to them alone:
Mingke and Qiao Qiao.
No declarations of eternity, no vows until death—just Mingke and Qiao Qiao. Each stroke sank deep into the stone’s surface.
Qiao Qiao tilted her head, gazing for a long, long time at the two names nestled side by side, happiness etched into stone.
But a day passes too quickly. Dusk fell, and heavy clouds gathered above, as if the long-awaited spring rain was finally about to descend.
Ye Mingke took Qiao Qiao’s hand, leading her away from the creek and toward home. Qiao Qiao kept her head bowed, walking slowly, so very slowly, as if she wished to stretch their walk into eternity.
“Mingke, I…”
Behind him, Qiao Qiao suddenly called out. Mingke turned, seeing her lift her head, biting her lip, a thousand words trembling in her eyes—eyes beautiful, misted, and filled with a complexity he could not unravel.
But at last, she smiled.
For the final time, she reached out to him, head lowered, eyes shining with unshed tears, her smile gentle.
“Mingke, I’m tired. Will you give me one last piggyback?”
Once more, Mingke carried Qiao Qiao on his back, just as he had in that rainy forest, fleeing from hunger and wild beasts; just as he had, racing over the flagstones of their small town beneath the setting sun.
Step by step.
“Mingke, you’ve seemed so preoccupied lately. Is something wrong?”
“It’s nothing. I’ve just been having nightmares again, feeling scared. Mingke, do you remember the story Da Bai told us about the butterfly and Zhuangzi?”
“I remember. Why?”
“I keep wondering—what if we’re just a dream of some butterfly? What if, one day, the butterfly wakes, and we simply vanish?”
“That story’s pretty dull. Don’t worry about it. Besides, Da Bai also said: if something can’t be proven, it isn’t a real problem. Whether it’s Zhuangzi dreaming of a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming of Zhuangzi—if you can’t prove it, it’s meaningless.”
“But… what if there was proof?” Qiao Qiao said softly.
“What do you mean, proof?”
“For example, if one day, the butterfly dreaming of Qiao Qiao suddenly woke up.”
Mingke halted abruptly.
“Mingke, if one day you discovered you were just living in a butterfly’s dream, what would you do?”
“Mingke, if my butterfly woke and took me away, don’t be sad. Maybe, one day, you’ll meet that butterfly again, and it’ll tell you I’ve always remembered you, always thought of you.”
“Mingke, maybe this world is only a butterfly’s dream, but it’s a beautiful dream, and Qiao Qiao is already content.”
She finished with a smile, but tears fell, one after another, onto Mingke’s neck.
“Qiao Qiao, what’s really wrong? Did something else happen the day you disappeared?”
A heavy sadness choked Mingke’s throat. He tried to look back at the girl on his back, but Qiao Qiao only clung tighter, pressing her warm cheek to his nape, her breath trembling against his skin.
“It’s nothing, Mingke. I just had a terrible, terrible dream.”
“In it, I wasn’t Qiao Qiao, the town wasn’t the town, everything was only a butterfly’s dream.”
“But… but…”
Mingke wanted to ask more, but the right words wouldn’t come.
“It’s all Da Bai’s fault! Telling such strange stories about dreaming butterflies!”
Fear, worry, and sorrow twisted inside him. He sensed something, yet it was beyond his grasp—tangled, elusive. All that remained was a helpless, formless anger.
He took a deep breath and started walking again.
The dyehouse was near now. The clouds pressed lower, a damp, chilly breeze sweeping the street. The rain would fall soon.
“Don’t be afraid, Qiao Qiao. We just haven’t come out together much lately, so you’ve been overthinking, scaring yourself.”
“Once you’ve rested at home for a few days, we’ll go out again and get everyone together. We’ll invite Tao Yao, Da Bai, and this time, Senior Sister Yi Wan too. We’ll all have a good time!”
At the dyehouse gate, Mingke set Qiao Qiao down and tousled her hair, smiling reassuringly.
“Rest up for a few days? Alright,” Qiao Qiao replied, her smile radiant.
“But Mingke, if I’m to rest well, you shouldn’t trouble yourself coming by so often these next few days.”
“I know you’re busy with training; you should catch up on what you’ve missed. Wait until…”
She glanced up at the sky, heavy with the promise of rain.
“Wait until the first new rain of spring has finished falling on the town. Then come see me.”
Their small town was humid; every spring, the first rains would last for days. Afterward, the damp streets would bloom again with flowers and fresh green leaves.
“Alright… but be sure to listen to Uncle and Aunt, and get well soon.” Mingke hesitated, then agreed, glancing into her eyes.
“See you in a few days, then!”
“Yes.” Qiao Qiao nodded.
“Head home now,” Mingke said.
“No, today I want to watch you leave first.” Qiao Qiao shook her head, her gaze steadfast and dreamy.
“Silly girl. Well, I’m off then. Goodbye.”
Mingke waved, turning toward the street behind.
“Goodbye,” Qiao Qiao replied softly, her smile gentle.
As he turned away, raindrops began to fall from the clouds above, spattering down.
The new rain had begun.
Mingke did not look back. He quickened his pace, breaking into a jog toward home.
Qiao Qiao stood beneath the eaves, stretching her hand toward his receding figure in the rain, as if trying to grasp something—but all she caught were cold drops.
Her smiling face was suddenly awash with tears.
So this is farewell, then? Will we meet again? Will he remember me?
The sorrow she’d held back for so long broke free, as heavy and unendurable as the storm clouds above, and a downpour surged from her heart.
“Mingke, I love you.”
Words that had circled her lips countless times finally spilled out, but only the relentless rain bore witness.
Grief burst its banks within her; all her worries, all her strength, all her restraint became meaningless.
Unable to hold herself back, Qiao Qiao wiped away her tears and suddenly dashed out into the pouring rain.
She shouted to the familiar figure vanishing in the distance.
“Mingke, I am Luo Qingxi!”
But in that instant, the entire town flickered imperceptibly. Part of the rain seemed to flow back into the sky, and the girl who had rushed into the storm found herself once again beneath the eaves.
The words she’d summoned all her courage to say were quietly erased by an unseen hand.
Mingke’s figure continued onward, undisturbed.
So, it really won’t work after all?
Qiao Qiao stood there, her body flickering like an unsteady candle flame. She no longer dared to rush into the rain, nor call out her secret, fearing that the dream would end and she would not even see his distant form one last time.
She huddled beneath the eaves, helpless and sorrowful, watching as Mingke’s silhouette finally disappeared around the corner. She murmured,
“Mingke, remember Qingxi.”
“Mingke, remember Qingxi.”
His figure vanished entirely into the rain. She buried her head in her arms, choking on tears, and said once more,
“Mingke, I love you.”
But in the end, she never told the boy those words.
The ending was already so sad—she could not bear to hurt him even a little more.
Two sets of footsteps approached. She raised her head to see the uncle and aunt who had cared for her so many years.
“Come, Qiao Qiao. It’s time to leave now.”