Have you ever heard of the “Butterfly Dream” from Zhuangzi’s Qiwulun?
Is it I who am dreaming of becoming a butterfly,
or is the butterfly dreaming that it has become me?
“Seriously…”
That was exactly how Hyun-seung felt.
“How can this be…?”
Something beyond common understanding had happened.
Without a doubt, he…
…had once died alone, in loneliness and sorrow.
Yet somehow, here he was again.
When he opened his eyes, he’d returned to one day in his twenty-first year.
At first, he was bewildered by this inexplicable situation, but…
After a bit of time, he decided not to dwell on it.
‘No amount of agonizing will solve this…’
He spent several days tearing his hair out trying to figure out why this had happened, but eventually resolved to stop. After all, it wasn’t something he could find answers to just by worrying.
‘Instead of lying here doing nothing, might as well get up.’
Rising from the bed, Hyun-seung headed straight for his desk.
‘Man, this desk is tiny…’
Even in his youth, he’d thought the house was small, but now that he’d lived in a big place so lavishly, coming back here only made it seem even tinier and more worn out.
He opened a notebook and picked up a pen.
He intended to organize his thoughts by jotting down the current situation on paper.
- I died.
That was an undeniable fact.
‘I definitely died.’
After staring at what he had written for a moment, he drew a line through it and wrote something new off to the side:
- I’ve gone back to the past.
He hadn’t died; he’d returned to when he was twenty-one.
He didn’t know how it happened, but…
Hyun-seung chose to see it as an “opportunity” to correct all his past mistakes.
‘Yes, this is an opportunity.’
A chance to avoid repeating his old errors, keep making music, and live happily.
If he truly had another shot at life, what should he do?
‘How do I…’
…live a life without regrets?
Well, the only thing he really knew how to do was music.
‘Music is what I’m confident in.’
In his previous life, he’d produced hit songs even without formal training.
Contrary to the whispers that he’d be a “one-hit wonder,” nearly every track he released had been a success.
His secret was talent.
People in the music business call it a “money code”—in other words, the ability to create music that sells.
It wasn’t acquired through training but was something he’d been born with—true innate talent, you might say.
Simply put, for Hyun-seung, making money with music was incredibly easy.
However…
Unlike in his previous life—where work had completely consumed him—this time, he wanted to be more mindful of those around him. He knew all too well how many things he’d ignored, blaming his “busy schedule.”
‘This life will be different.’
This time, he planned to keep an eye on his surroundings.
Also, he intended to avoid doing anything that might cause a scandal.
‘In my previous life, I never had problems with drugs, women, or alcohol…’
But living under the assumption that “arrogance is a virtue” had inadvertently led him into various controversies, hadn’t it?
The death of the agency president who committed suicide because he wouldn’t give him a song was what triggered the world’s finger-pointing—and once people started, it was as if they’d been waiting to drag him down, hurling abuse and slander.
‘Because of that, I couldn’t even release songs under my own name…’
In this new life, he wanted to hide his identity a bit more and proceed with his music more cautiously.
No, to be precise, he wanted to work comfortably without showing his face to the public.
‘Yes, that’s the answer.’
He wasn’t sure he could avoid making enemies, so he figured he’d just hide his identity entirely.
‘Great.’
He felt like his plans were taking shape:
- This is my chance! Make music again!
- But don’t get buried in work!
- Keep my identity hidden and work quietly!
- Make my family happy!
Then he added one final goal:
- Compose a song for Dad.
In his past life, hadn’t he earned more money than he could ever spend, no matter how many times he tried?
‘I sure did.’
He realized that he’d treated his “work” like a sort of “game.” He would produce a song, confirm its performance, check the rewards, and bask in the dopamine rush that came with success.
Work, work, work, and more work.
In being so consumed by it, he only grew distant from his family.
‘I was so focused on my job that I didn’t even notice Dad’s condition worsening…’
And as a result, his relationship with his younger sister also deteriorated to an irreparable state.
“Sigh…”
Hyun-seung let out a heavy sigh.
Then, as if making a solemn vow, he wrote down one last sentence:
This time, it’ll be different.
It was both a resolution and a pledge to himself.
Let’s live happily, all of us, together.
A vow that seemed to come from a determined heart.
‘I’d better earn some money first.’
That was the first thought in Hyun-seung’s mind as he walked into the living room, having finished drafting his future plans.
He looked around: the moldy floor, the stained walls and ceiling… The house was far too small for three people.
‘We need to move out.’
From what he recalled, the family’s finances were quite dire at this point in time.
In his previous life, they’d only moved out after he released his first hit song.
Right now, they were so strapped for cash that they even had to worry about paying the utility bills and putting food on the table.
Flinch.
Sensing him nearby, his father hurriedly gathered the payment notices that were on the table and shoved them into a drawer.
Using sign language, his father asked:
– “Have you eaten, Hyun-seung?”
Shaking his head, Hyun-seung signed back:
– “I’m fine.”
Then he asked:
– “What about you?”
His father responded:
– “I’ve already eaten.”
He added a bit more:
– “There’s a chance I’ll get a full-time position through a new job placement program for the disabled. It’s simple assembly work at a factory, but it’ll mean steady income. So don’t worry about anything, okay?”
When Hyun-seung nodded, his father continued:
– “You haven’t been out of the army long. You should go meet your friends, chat, have some fun. Take it from me—there’s only a certain time in life when you can really hang around and laugh without worrying.”
That was the kind of man his father was.
He lived each day feeling pressed for time, yet he never imposed that on his son.
‘Seriously…’
If he recalled correctly, he’d spent half a year after his discharge doing nothing at home, failing to find a job. He didn’t feel like applying anywhere, nor did he have anything particular he wanted to study—so he basically wasted his youth.
Even so, his father, though he must have been exasperated, never once scolded him.
He’d say that having time to rest, to attempt things, and even fail—those are privileges of the young.
It had been the same when he suddenly announced he wanted to learn composition out of the blue.
– “I’ll support you.”
That was all he said. He believed in Hyun-seung, who hadn’t even taken a single piano lesson, and silently cheered him on.
– “What about Hyun-ah?” (he asked about his sister).
His father signed:
– “She’s been coming home late from the study room these days.”
Then he grabbed his coat and said:
– “I should probably go pick her up.”
After his father left,
“Hmm.”
Hyun-seung took out the overdue notices his father had hidden in the drawer and calculated the outstanding balance.
2.2 million won in total.
While that might be a laughably small amount in the future, at this moment—
‘That’s a huge burden for Dad.’
In his past life, Hyun-seung had basically ignored this environment.
Pretended not to see it, idled away his time playing video games in his room…
‘Right now, I’ve got about 1.5 million won.’
That was the money he’d saved from his military pay and a few day-labor stints.
He had no friends, thanks to his prickly personality, so he never really spent anything.
‘This should be enough to get started.’
He muttered quietly,
“Let’s try making some money.”
After that, Hyun-seung devoted himself to picking up used gear.
“Yes, the total amount is correct.”
He nodded and replied,
“Alright, thanks. I’ll put it to good use.”
He glanced at the secondhand headphones he’d just purchased.
‘That just about wraps it up, I think?’
A master keyboard, audio interface, condenser mic, speakers, and headphones—their quality was laughably low compared to what he used in his previous life.
These were low-end, even used, but still enough to start working right away.
He’d already spent most of his money upgrading his computer specs so it could handle music production: a decent SSD and enough RAM.
‘Anyway, that’s it.’
He’d spent all his savings, but he wasn’t worried.
‘I can just earn more.’
Some might laugh at a musician claiming it’s easy to make money, but no one could rival his talent for creating profitable music.
‘Money code.’
In pop music, that term refers to chord progressions that sell.
He had hundreds of such “money codes” figured out.
By mixing and matching them in unexpected ways, the possibilities only multiplied.
Thanks to that, each time he released a song, it rose near the top of the charts.
Making money through music was, for him, just “what he always did.”
And now:
“Let’s begin.”
He got started on the work he knew so well.
Tap, tap, taptap—
His fingers flew across the keyboard, transferring the melodies in his head into the software. He had only the free tools bundled with the program, so his resources were limited. Even so, each track he laid down had its own unique line.
He tried out an electronic pop track emphasizing electric guitar sounds and percussive rhythms, scrapped entire parts, then pulled in a drum sample to lay down new patterns. The thought of creating something completely unexpected made him smile.
Since he’d made everything so hastily, there were no lyrics, so he recorded a rough guide track by humming, then ended with some basic mixing and mastering.
e knocked out two more songs, and by the time he checked the clock, it was already 8:00 in the morning.
He’d composed through the night, producing three songs in a single sitting.
“Now, time to turn these into money…”
He cut each of the three overnight creations into 30-second intros.
Then he attached those samples to an email address he’d already looked up.
Click.
He hit send.
‘All I have to do now is wait for a reply.’
He took a satisfied sip of coffee.
He had emailed LS Entertainment.
His plan was to sell these quick demo tracks outright and secure the funds he needed immediately.
True, they could just take his sample without paying and have their in-house composers replicate it, but…
‘I weeded out companies that behave like that.’
He’d looked into firms that wouldn’t face major financial trouble or bankruptcy for at least the next twelve years and that possessed enough basic ethics to either purchase a rookie composer’s work or actually hire the composer, rather than just stealing the samples.
‘With LS…’
He’d seen his share of shady dealings in the industry, so he chose with great caution based on stringent criteria, and LS fit the bill.
“I wonder how soon they’ll bite.”
Now that the email was sent, they’d be in touch soon—assuming the staff member reading it wasn’t an imbecile.
“Perfect.”
Re-checking the email he’d sent, Hyun-seung smiled in satisfaction.
“Attached are three demo samples. I’d like to sell them outright at 3 million won per song. If you’re interested in purchasing, please get in touch.
—Composer HS, 010-XXXX-XXXX.”
The “Butterfly Dream” is one of the most famous passages from the Zhuangzi, often cited to illustrate Daoist themes of transformation and the fluidity of identity. In the story, Zhuangzi recounts a dream in which he was a carefree butterfly, fluttering about without a care in the world. Upon waking, he is left to wonder: is he now Zhuangzi who once dreamed he was a butterfly, or is he a butterfly now dreaming that he is Zhuangzi?
In essence, the “Butterfly Dream” serves as a metaphor for the Daoist idea that life is a continuous process of transformation, and our perceptions of reality are often no more than fleeting dreams.
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