The army swiftly retreated like a tide.
Fortunately, Liu Jun handled it promptly, and the investigation was timely.
And with thunderous methods, he strangled this coup before it caused more havoc.
The approaching Angel King seemed to have aged countless years.
After hurriedly saying goodbye, he took the army and escorted the Wise Angels back; there were too many matters for him to deal with.
Even the Amber Swallowtail Butterfly, usually only interested in eating, was stunned by this farce, feeling a bit dispirited.
"Everyone, go back," Liu Jun sighed softly.
Beside him, the Martial Fool responsible for war and security, the Fifth, Die Mingren, who was always silent, suddenly couldn’t help but speak, "It seems I need to accelerate my cultivation efforts."
Die Hongjun, being the implicated Butterfly, slightly frowned, "Why was I framed?"
This was a disaster out of nowhere.
Diechi Yin, happily munching on grilled Insect Dragon skewers, replied, "Because your reputation is the worst, it’s easiest to pin the blame on you, used as a pretext for an uprising."
"Oh, what madness is this?"
Die Hongjun’s emotions were complex.
The Fourth, taking advantage of the situation to watch, slipped into his lab to grill Insect Dragon, but he had lost interest in capturing the gluttonous Diechi Yin.
Although noisy and boisterous, these days were peaceful and warm.
But he feared even more that the five siblings would reach a point of mutual destruction.
We must never, ever reach such a day.
"Do we still need to deal with this?" Die Hongjun seemed eager to know the truth of who was framing him.
"Let things take their natural course," Liu Jun said coolly.
Investigating or not, how to investigate, that’s Insect Thirteen’s business.
...
...
Angel Sanctuary.
After Insect Thirteen returned, he stayed in the palace alone for a full three days.
He knew the Prophet wouldn’t deceive him; if not the Butterfly Race, then the culprit was by his side. Yet, the culprit, having meticulously orchestrated this war, probably didn’t expect tens of thousands of troops to not be a match for the Prophet.
The culprit was his bedfellow, once the innocent-faced green caterpillar who promised to transform and fly as butterflies together, his beloved Insect Seventy-seven, now the Angel Queen, the Angel Leader?
Was it his teacher of sorts back then, the one who taught him and selflessly instructed others, the honest and sincere Multi-handed Butterfly, Wheel Angels, Knowledge Angels?
Even when suspicion arose, he deliriously thought that the Wise Angel Insect Thirty might also be involved.
Spending countless years pretending to dote on children, then killing them to initiate a rebellion?
The more he thought, the more chaotic and wrong it seemed.
He suddenly didn’t want to face it, unwilling to accept any of the possible truths.
What would he do once the truth came out?
He lay quietly on his throne, under the sunset in the village below the Holy Hall mountain.
Listening to those vibrant Little Angels, chatting and laughing with close friends reminisced about their own youthful days.
It was then he truly realized: he had grown old and soft-hearted.
Old friends have aged too, with little time left in their lives.
Is it meaningful to pursue this further?
He was afraid, fearful of facing the truth.
He merely put Insect Seventy-seven, Insect Thirty, and the Multi-handed Butterfly under lifelong house arrest, never allowing them to leave their residence.
Just like the court in those days, no longer pursuing the true culprit, leaving them with some dignity.
Afterward, he began rehabilitating the mostly deceased Angel offspring.
Although two-thirds had died, those remaining were saved.
...
In the following years.
The Angel King grew increasingly aged and burdened with worries.
In his later years, he became paranoid, turning into a tyrant, fearful of subordinates rebelling, dismissing and investigating them at the drop of a hat.
He established Patrol Angels to capture traitors, supervise the world, and guard against close aides.
He would soon dismiss those he had just promoted, exhausting himself into a tyrant, gradually losing his reputation for kindness.
Some insects hurriedly exclaimed, "Tyrant, he is a tyrant!"
Some Angels said, "Such a person is unworthy of being the Angel King!"
"I spent my life pursuing beauty, and now I choose to abandon it," he quietly accepted the Little Angels’ criticism, feeling he had let down the Butterfly Race, failing the Late Emperor who endowed them with wisdom, and failing the Prophet who prolonged his life.
He was melancholy and reclusive, avoiding everything.
Three more years passed.
In his twilight years and as life neared its end, the Angel King suddenly wanted to see the Prophet, see the Late Emperor, to express his remorse.
But he didn’t dare!
Without any trusted friends, the guilt of once attacking the Cangwu Tree wrapped him like layers of silk, suffocating him.
Until that day.
He received an invitation from the Multi-handed Butterfly.
In Insect Thirteen’s image, this was an honest and kind, research-enthusiast scholar.
If he wasn’t the mastermind behind it all.
When Insect Thirteen came to the laboratory, he found that the Multi-handed Butterfly from those days had grown utterly frail.
Time was a soft knife, altering the mighty Angel warriors from past battles against the Insect Dragons; now they were entirely old.
"You have to tie the knots like this."
"Try this knot-tying method; it might optimize our race’s brain structure."
He was leading a group of research Angels, fiddling with bottles and jars, continuously contributing to the Angel Race.
"You’ve come."
The Multi-handed Butterfly guided the Angel King into the inner room to sit down.
"What has become of you?"
The Multi-handed Butterfly looked at his old friend, once radiant, now reduced to a suspicious and vigilant old king.