Chapter 19: The Beauty of an Angel
Angel Palace.
On the vast grassy square, a gentle breeze blew, with four towering stone statues standing proudly at its center.
The statues were magnificent and solemn, seated among a sea of flowers.
Each statue was formed of three round spheres, with small wings attached at the back; atop their spherical heads rested a crown, a phoenix coronet, and a chancellor’s hat, respectively.
These were the Three Great Angels, while the last statue depicted a many-armed butterfly.
Tap, tap—
Among the blossoms, numerous small winged spheres, little angels, hopped and bounced about.
Though naturally creatures of flight, they had taken to bounding along like little rubber balls, fluttering their tiny wings as they hopped adorably forward.
One could not help but admire the aesthetic sense of the butterfly tribe.
Who says beauty must take a humanoid form?
They had no such concept of humanoid figures; to judge other civilizations through a human lens was far too narrow. They simply sought out what they deemed beautiful.
“Where shall we attack today?”
“Don’t know.”
“Let’s go to the ironworks.”
“Sigh, tending the furnace is so tiring.”
...
One after another, the little cuties chatted away.
Since the angel tribe had defeated all their enemies, they had entered a period of rest and recuperation.
Outside, the square was peaceful and serene, but within the palace above, the atmosphere was tense and fraught.
High above, two angels wearing crowns sat round and plump upon the imperial throne; to their left rested a golden scepter, while a golden longsword hung at their right side.
They were the King of Angels and his queen, the Archangel.
Below, a group of elderly ministers were visibly excited:
“Your Majesty, you are the Angel King who has vanquished the mightiest dragonkind.”
“And we are already the strongest of the butterfly tribe; why not attack the Azure Wu Tree?”
“The First-Generation Butterfly Species? How could they be our match?”
“The exalted gods of immortality and wisdom could also be challenged!”
“As long as we seize the divine authority, immortality, wisdom, and other treasures, we will surely become new gods, and you shall become the greatest king of all gods.”
Chong Thirteen quietly observed the scene.
The veteran generals who had fought alongside him had gradually changed before his eyes.
Aging, in pain, fearful, greedy...
Their spiritual energy and strength were drained inch by inch.
Every nerve and silken thread in their bodies snapped like broken strings on a lute; this slow, chronic decay had contorted their features grotesquely.
Chong Thirteen’s voice was solemn and calm as he posed two pointed questions: “Who granted us wisdom, and who, then, delayed our aging?”
Silence fell below.
Chong Thirteen fixed his gaze on the battle angels beneath him; his expression suddenly sharpened, and his voice softly echoed through the palace:
“How many years have you been with me?”
The battle angels answered in unison: “Twenty-one years.”
Chong Thirteen smiled faintly. “The angel tribe was formed just over twenty years ago. We have pacified the vast Saxi Grasslands, renamed it Angel Prairie, defeated various dragon kinds, and expanded outward without rivals.”
“Now we have conquered all living species under heaven, and the prairie is filled with hopping little angels. Only one species remains undefeated… those two gods.”
“We claim to be the most beautiful beings. Back then, countless young green larvae gazed at us with timid, innocent eyes, chasing after us, wanting to join us, to follow our ‘Angel’ knot patterns, to become the most beautiful angels.”
Chong Thirteen recounted calmly: “But now, merely twenty years later, look how hideous we have become.”
Some battle angels, misunderstanding his meaning as agreement, excitedly exclaimed: “We have become ugly, so we must wage war against the gods to regain youth and become the most beautiful beings once more!”
Chong Thirteen shook his head: “I mean, we are a race that pursues beauty. Do not let us die so hideously, becoming too repulsive.”
At these words, the battle angels shuddered inwardly.
They suddenly grasped the King’s meaning.
His Majesty was unwilling to wage war.
The situation twisted unexpectedly; they had thought the King’s previous words signaled a readiness to attack, but now...
The hall fell into a deathly silence!
Chong Thirteen sighed: “Chong Eight-Nine, do you remember what you said when you spun your cocoon back then?”
A battle angel below trembled; he no longer answered to that shameful nickname.
The entire tribe knew him as the invincible Seraph!
He was called the King’s Sword, the Power Angel with ninety-nine victories, the Punishing Angel, the Dragon Slayer.
Being called by his childhood name left him momentarily flustered.
The Seraph adjusted the longsword at his side, whispered: “Your Majesty, when I wove my cocoon, I said I was not afraid to die.”
“Good, good.”
Chong Thirteen sneered: “Chong Eight-Nine, you are afraid to die now.”
His tone grew heavier, and those present could hear the anger.
The Seraph’s round form was drenched in sweat, his small wings behind him trembling uncontrollably.
Chong Thirteen’s gaze shifted to another battle angel, and again he named him by a childhood nickname:
“Chong Forty-Six, do you remember what you said to me back then?”
“You were just a larva then, spinning your cocoon in the weaving garden. You proposed altering the brain structure of the secondary angels. I told you it might kill you. Do you remember your reply?”
The archangel renowned throughout the dynasty was silent for a moment:
“I said, this is the divine trial for the butterfly tribe to become beautiful. To become beautiful, one must endure pain. Even if I die today, if I make a mistake, so that other larvae need not follow my path to beauty, it is worth it.”
The red-caped archangel paused, murmuring softly:
“But Your Majesty, isn’t this trial ugly enough? I do it for you. We will wage war against the High Heaven’s gods, and we will gain wisdom, and… immortality!”
Chong Thirteen stared at the assembly of angels beneath him, his aura terrifying as he jeered:
“Killing the gods of immortality and wisdom will make us beautiful?”
“If the heart is filthy, what use is repairing a beautiful shell? No matter how well the knots are tied, no matter how beautiful, it is an empty husk.”
“If the angels’ hearts become ugly, how can we face those who idolize us, those newborn larvae who pursue beauty?”
“Do not betray their hopes. Do not become ugly.”
The entire palace fell silent.
Chong Thirteen folded his golden wings behind his back, the golden scepter resting against his form as he regarded the angels below.
This founding emperor who had conquered the world now appeared somewhat haggard; his gaze swept across the battle angels, who instinctively avoided his eyes.
Those eyes seemed to see right through them.
This war king of conquest radiated a fierce aura, causing the ministers present to tremble, as if their heads might fall at any moment.
They feared he might call out their names, recounting the past.
But he no longer named anyone. His voice turned hoarse, filled with helplessness:
“You are all mighty warriors, now bent on battle, on slaughtering your way to the Azure Wu Tree. Have you considered the consequences?”
“We claim to be the messengers of wisdom from the heavens, possessing unparalleled beauty and intelligence, yet you have not thought of a single consequence.”
“Some orders, once broken, can never be restored.”
“If we open the door to internal strife, ugly survival at any cost, even if we win, we will live in fear of being overthrown by our own kin at the Azure Wu Tree.”
“A lifetime of fear and pain—is that meaningful?”
“If we inaugurate this internecine strife, we will be eternal sinners of our civilization. The entire butterfly tribe will change because of us.”
“We will lose purity, lose faith, and our hearts will grow ugly. The little larvae will no longer burn themselves like moths to the flame, no longer pursue beauty, no longer die chasing the fire of civilization.”
“This path will only make every larva millions of years hence ugly, unable to break free from their cocoons to become butterflies.”
“All of you here are masters of weaving fate’s threads, but some threads must not be touched, must not even be thought of!”
With these words, his spiritual energy surged into a murderous aura that swept through the palace.
“You brainless fools! By starting this rotten path, you doom your descendants to be ugly caterpillars, bristling with spikes, filthy and base, forever scheming internal battles, never to emerge with beautiful colors again.”
“Excessive greed will cause us to lose the backbone of our race, lose our beauty.”
He glared furiously at his followers.
“You angels! How could you now forget your origins, becoming hideous and foul-smelling?”
His will surged, his sword pointing toward the outer square.
“The beauty we should pursue is to become heroic statues, eternally standing in that very square outside.”
“To remain in murals, epics, and ballads, so future generations witness our splendid beauty.”
“An eternal instant.”
“Everlasting radiance.”
Chong Thirteen’s lofty voice softened suddenly:
“This—that is true beauty.”
The hall was utterly silent.
They quietly regarded the Angel King, whose powerful presence captivated their minds.
A single glance filled them with dread.
A single dialogue stirred guilt and profound fear.
They were undermining their own roots, breaking the backbone of their race.
Chong Thirteen pointed to the prophetic butterfly statue behind him:
“The former emperor gave us wisdom.”
“The prophet taught us knowledge.”
“Poetry, books, rites, laws, propriety, frugality, and filial piety—they were meant to cultivate thoughtful minds, not moral decay.”
“We are angels.”
Chong Thirteen’s voice suddenly weakened, a soft sigh escaping him:
“And I am the Angel King, the most beautiful being in the world.”
“It should not be. You truly should not be…”
His tone abruptly shifted.
“Ministers, heed my command.”
Below, the assembly instantly fell silent, awaiting orders.
“Seraph, Archangel, Power Angel, Wisdom Angel… you conspired to rebel, harmed the nation and people, sought to commit an ancient crime, and destroy the spirit of our butterfly tribe. But considering your contributions to the founding of our realm, you are all hereby stripped of your posts and placed under house arrest.”
As his voice rang out, the rebellious battle angels fell silent, their spirits drained, nearly collapsing to the ground.
Half a day later.
After imprisoning all the ministers, the palace was left empty and desolate.
Beside him, the Wisdom Angel Chong Thirty whispered: “Is this really necessary? Clearly, we could have…”
Chong Thirteen gazed at his former comrades, then at his queen, Chong Seventy-Seven— the many-handed butterfly—before turning sternly to his three friends:
“Do not speak of it again.”
He took a deep breath, a wave of helplessness in his tone.
He vaguely suspected that one among his three comrades had secretly signaled for this outcome.
But here were his meritorious ministers.
Here was his wife.
Here were his children.
Here were his comrades-in-arms through life and death.
He could not kill them.
Nor could he reveal the truth.
The Angel King turned away, a sigh echoing through the halls.