Since ancient times, butterflies have been the metamorphosis of souls, using their beautiful appearance to confuse all who behold them, and employing Poisonous Qilin Powder to bring the captured ones to their synchronized deaths in confusion.
A vividly colored butterfly fluttered around Xiao Lin's shoulder. Even in the midst of this stormy weather, it remained unaffected, flying freely. Xiao Lin extended his left hand, palm up, with fingers naturally relaxed. He slightly raised the corner of his mouth, incredulous at seeing such a subtropical creature in such ghostly weather.
The butterfly, like a rose with thorns, is beautiful yet deadly. Its antennae twitched at his fingertips, the subtle sting barely lasting a blink. Few cultivate beautiful creatures into killing machines. No wonder they've never met; they've been around all along.
