Chapter 65 Falling Among Butterflies

Beautiful lies often wound more deeply than violence; the scars of the flesh may heal, but those borne within the heart are beyond remedy.
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When she opened her eyes again, the dazzling light momentarily blurred Xue Zuinian’s memories, and the unfamiliar setting felt oddly familiar in its emptiness.

The man had slipped away at some unknown hour. After changing clothes and going downstairs, she found Old Yang, the driver, carrying luggage out the door. Xiaoyu, noticing her puzzled gaze, lifted her chin with a smile and explained, “Sir is leaving for a two-week business trip in America. Uncle Yang is preparing his luggage.”

“Where is he?” Xue Zuinian glanced around the vast space, but the man was nowhere to be seen.

“Mr. Lu has gone to the company to handle matters before his departure. He’ll meet me at the airport later. If you’d like, Miss Xue, you’re welcome to join me and see him off,” Old Yang replied, pausing respectfully in his task.

“Thank you. I won’t trouble you,” Xue Zuinian nodded, and seeing he would say no more, she headed toward the dining room.

In the days that followed, Xue Zuinian spent nearly all her time in the sound studio. She was responsible for the ending theme, “Butterfly’s Lament,” for the film “Fallen Petals,” yet no matter how she revised it, satisfaction remained elusive. Originally slated for a New Year’s release, the film’s tragic tone prompted an early premiere, and with the opening night looming, the mounting pressures left her flustered—two blemishes appeared on her forehead.

“Sister, you barely touched your breakfast. I made red bean soup for you; come down and have a little,” Xiaoyu said, opening the door to see her hunched over a pile of sheet music, pencil darting across the pages with endless edits.

Only when footsteps approached did Xue Zuinian look up and realize Xiaoyu was there. She pushed herself upright and sat at the piano. “Xiaoyu, I’ve revised the piece. Listen and tell me if it’s better than before.”

She gazed intently at the new section, inspiration drawn from Beethoven’s “Ode to Joy,” yet tinged with the gentle sorrow of “Castle in the Sky.”

She softened the entire melody, letting each note become a poem of lovers’ entangled grief, as poignant as a butterfly with broken wings.

When the music faded, Xiaoyu clapped excitedly, “It’s wonderful!”

“Really?” Xue Zuinian gripped the score, satisfaction shining in her eyes; this version indeed carried a distinct emotional hue, no longer a bland arrangement.

Xiaoyu’s affirmation nearly made her leap with joy. “That’s fantastic! I’ll send the revised score right away.”

Outside the recording studio, Heng Yuan, the music director for “Fallen Petals,” listened through his headphones, the melody abruptly ending yet leaving him wanting more.

“Interested in joining my studio?” He handed her a business card. “You truly have talent—don’t let it go to waste.”

“In ancient times, discerning talent was as precious as a thousand gold coins; it’s rare to find someone who understands,” Xue Zuinian replied with a smile, accepting the card. “But I don’t think I have the courage to risk it.” If she devoted herself to music production and failed, fate might close all doors to her, and she lacked the means to gamble her future.

Heng Yuan regarded her—a mix of confidence and timidity. He smiled in understanding. “If ever you change your mind, you’re welcome anytime.”

“Certainly!” Xue Zuinian shook his hand warmly. “See you at the premiere.”

“Next Thursday—don’t miss it!”

As she stepped out of the studio, sunlight poured into the vast room. Xue Zuinian lifted her face to the bright light, spread her fingers, and for a fleeting moment, it seemed she glimpsed the distance to her own future...

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With unprecedented investment and a stellar production team, “Fallen Petals” had become Shengtian Media’s crowning achievement of the year. It was also the reason the media clamored to know why such a monumental film had chosen Xue Zuinian, with no background, as its lead actress.

“Am I making you nervous?” As the flashbulbs lit up, Xu Ze suddenly leaned close and whispered in her ear, his gaze filled with hazy affection. In that instant, all the attention converged on them.

Xue Zuinian glanced at her hand resting lightly in his arm. “Am I?” she asked, attempting to step away.

Xu Ze quietly blocked her retreat. “This is precisely the effect the company wants. Otherwise, the premiere would be meaningless.”

“Do you realize that sometimes, the ambiguity of being close yet distant is the most enticing material for the media?” Xue Zuinian’s gaze swept past the approaching man, and she lifted her head with a faint smile.

“Heng Yuan?” Xu Ze hadn’t expected such a low-profile figure to appear so prominently, and he was truly surprised.

“Long time no see, you two.” Heng Yuan greeted Xue Zuinian with a polite smile, then lightly tapped Xu Ze’s chest with his elbow. “Young man, your dramatic display for your beloved last time was quite the sensation!”

“You know each other?” Xue Zuinian looked at them, seeing the two men exchange a smile.

“How could we not! Everyone in the industry knows that most of the songs he’s sung were produced by me, so of course we’re acquainted.” Heng Yuan winked at Xu Ze, then turned to her with a broad smile. “If he hadn’t specifically recommended you, I wouldn’t have entrusted you with the ending theme. Honestly, when you first submitted your work, I was so furious I kept calling him to complain—wondering if love had muddled his judgment! How could he boast about that level of craftsmanship?”

“Hey, now, you’re making it sound like I’m not worth much!” Xu Ze interrupted, clearly annoyed, but Heng Yuan ignored him and continued.

“Miss Xue, don’t misunderstand—I’m not belittling anyone. No matter what unpleasantness happened before, you’ve forced me to see you in a new light.” One song, “Butterfly’s Lament,” had changed everything. Heng Yuan, always proud and aloof, now sincerely admired the unassuming woman before him—and understood why Xu Ze wished for her to leave the entertainment world. Truly, remaining untainted in such an environment was no easy feat.

Xue Zuinian smiled, relieved at their exchange. “Thank you both.”

“…A thousand turns in a dream, songs end in sorrow, quietly awaiting happiness, falling amidst the butterflies…”

Heng Yuan’s lyrics always carried his ancient poetic chill; the singer’s gentle, winding voice left Xue Zuinian momentarily lost. As the song ended, when the authoritative producer announced that “Butterfly’s Lament” would officially be retitled “Falling Amidst the Butterflies,” and revealed the composer’s identity, it was her role as musician—not actress—that sent shockwaves through the entertainment industry.

After the press conference, Xue Zuinian, still in makeup, hurried into the lounge and dialed her mother’s phone, only to be met by the perpetual busy tone that cooled her joy. She glanced at the clock—it had just passed eleven. The surgery was scheduled for three in the afternoon. Why was no one answering?

Lu Huaining received a call from his secretary while it was still early morning in America.

“Mr. Lu, there’s been an incident. During surgery, the patient suffered shock from an overdose of anesthesia. By the time the doctor noticed, it was too late—the operation failed. The nurse found a syringe with leftover anesthetic in the patient’s restroom.” Yang Qiong’s heavy voice pronounced the news like a verdict, shattering the quiet of the night.