A week drifted by within the imposing, yet strangely serene walls of Spirit Hall.
For Liu Erlong, it settled into an unexpected, almost comfortable routine.
Her mornings were often spent in the company of the Supreme Pontiff, Bibi Dong.
Surprisingly, after that first intense conversation, Bibi Dong rarely spoke of Yu Xiaogang directly.
Instead, she would share stories.
Anecdotes, delivered with a nostalgic, almost maternal fondness, about a much younger Song Qing.
"He arrived here barely six years old," Bibi Dong recounted one morning over fragrant tea, her gaze distant, a soft smile playing on her lips. "So serious, even then. His eyes held an adult's intensity."
She chuckled softly. "I remember him trying to lecture Elder Ghost on the proper application of spectral energy after reading one advanced scroll. Ghost was utterly baffled."
Another time: "He mastered basic meditation techniques faster than disciples twice his age. But he had a peculiar fondness for sweet pastries. Had to hide them from him, or he'd devour a week's supply in an afternoon."
These glimpses into his past, stories of his childhood genius mixed with rare moments of boyishness, captivated Liu Erlong. They painted a picture of the man he was becoming, grounding his extraordinary abilities in a relatable past.
She found herself smiling genuinely during these sessions, forgetting her own troubles for a while, charmed by the image of the small, serious boy who would grow into the remarkable Holy Son.
'He was always special, wasn't he?' she'd think, feeling a warmth spread through her. 'Even Bibi Dong, the Supreme Pontiff, speaks of him with such open affection.' She interpreted it as deep mentorship, profound pride in a successor, never suspecting the true, hidden depths of that affection.
The name 'Yu Xiaogang' rarely surfaced in her own thoughts now, and when it did, it was the full name, detached, stripped of the old intimacy of 'Xiaogang'. He felt like a figure from a past life, a foolish mistake long corrected.
But as pleasant as the mornings with Bibi Dong were, it was the afternoons or early evenings she truly anticipated.
Those two hours spent with Song Qing.
Sometimes they walked through the vast, meticulously maintained public gardens surrounding the main Spirit Hall complex.
Sometimes they sat in a quiet pavilion, discussing cultivation theory – Liu Erlong asking questions, Song Qing answering with insights that consistently astounded her with their depth and clarity.
He never flirted overtly. He maintained a polite, almost respectful distance. Yet, his presence was magnetic. His intelligence shone brightly, his calm confidence was deeply attractive, and the occasional gentle smile he offered her sent unexpected flutters through her heart.
'Just being near him…' she often found herself thinking, '…it feels… right. Peaceful. Stimulating.' She enjoyed his company so much, the thought of returning to the Blue Tyrant Academy, to the old routines, the old ghosts, felt increasingly unwelcome.
But she knew she couldn't linger indefinitely.
Responsibility called. She was the Dean. Her academy needed her. Her students relied on her. This interlude at Spirit Hall, however healing and eye-opening, had to end.
Furthermore, the past week had solidified things. Bibi Dong's candid revelations, combined with Song Qing's subtle reinforcement, had cemented her view of Yu Xiaogang as a fraud and a failure. She felt… cleansed. Ready to move on. And the informal alliance, the promise of resources Song Qing had mentioned – tangible support from Spirit Hall to ensure Blue Tyrant Academy wouldn't fall behind Heaven Dou Imperial Academy – was a significant boon she couldn't ignore.
She sought Song Qing out during their scheduled walk on the seventh day.
"Holy Son," she began, stopping near a fountain depicting leaping spirit fish. "I must thank you, and the Supreme Pontiff, for your incredible hospitality this past week."
He turned to her, his expression calm, attentive.
"It has been... profoundly helpful," she continued sincerely. "But my duties at the Blue Tyrant Academy require my return. I plan to depart tomorrow morning."
Song Qing nodded graciously, accepting her decision without question. "Your responsibilities are understandable, Dean Liu. Spirit Hall was honored by your visit."
He paused, then smiled slightly. "But before you depart, there is something I wish to give you."
He gestured for her to wait a moment, then produced several objects from a storage soul tool. They glowed faintly with contained power, radiating potent life force and specific elemental energies.
Liu Erlong gasped softly as he laid them carefully in her hands. She recognized the aura of Immortal Herbs, treasures beyond measure. There was one that pulsed with gentle but persistent heat, resembling a fiery apricot (Inferno Delicate Apricot). Another was a tough, serpentine vine with scale-like patterns (Dragon Scale Vine). A third was a golden, multi-rooted plant humming with spiritual energy (Soul Stabilizing Golden Root). Several others accompanied them, each radiating unique, powerful energy.
"Holy Son, what is this?" she stammered, overwhelmed.
"Consider them," Song Qing said calmly, "an investment from Spirit Hall in a valued ally. And," his gaze sharpened slightly, "a catalyst."
He elaborated, his tone becoming instructive. "Ingest these carefully upon your return, following the sequence I will provide. They are specifically chosen to resonate with your Sacred Fire Dragon King spirit and your current cultivation level. They should provide the final push needed, significantly shortening the time required to breach the Rank 90 bottleneck."
His eyes met hers, holding a spark of expectation. "Your martial spirit possesses immense potential, Dean Liu. It longs to evolve further. Only as a Titled Douluo can its true majesty, the power of a true Dragon King, be fully displayed."
Liu Erlong stared down at the herbs, then back at him, deeply touched, almost trembling. His words resonated. Reaching Titled Douluo had been her lifelong dream, a goal that had seemed frustratingly distant. And he was just… giving her the key?
"Holy Son! I… I cannot possibly accept these!" she protested instinctively, trying to push the precious herbs back towards him. "These are treasures beyond price! Please, use them for your own cultivation! Or for Spirit Hall's other geniuses!"
Song Qing held up a hand, stopping her decisively. His expression was firm, leaving no room for argument.
"These specific herbs are more suited to your attributes and current needs than mine, Dean Liu," he stated flatly. "My own cultivation utilizes different, and frankly, more potent resources available to me." He didn't elaborate, but the implication of his access to superior treasures was clear. "Do not refuse this. Spirit Hall supports its allies. Especially allies with the potential to reach the peak and become true pillars of strength."
Liu Erlong looked from the herbs to his resolute face. 'Does he truly not need them? Or is he merely saying that so I'll accept?' The sheer generosity was staggering. It created a debt she felt she could never possibly repay. 'His status as Holy Son… Bibi Dong's personal disciple… He likely has access to unimaginable resources, Titled Douluo protectors, countless Spirit Bones… What could I, the Dean of a struggling academy, possibly offer him in return?'
The thought solidified her resolve in an unexpected way. Refusing further would be pointless, perhaps even insulting. Accepting, getting stronger, reaching the peak he spoke of… that was the only path forward. Only as a Titled Douluo would she have any standing, any capability.
'Yes,' she decided firmly. 'I must accept. I must reach Rank 90. For myself… and perhaps… if the opportunity ever arises… to somehow repay this immense favor. To be useful to him.'
She took a deep, steadying breath and carefully secured the Immortal Herbs. Her eyes met his, filled with profound gratitude and newfound determination.
Overcome with emotion, she stepped forward impulsively, closing the distance between them, and wrapped her arms around him in a heartfelt hug.
"Holy Son Song Qing…" Her voice was thick, muffled against his robes. "Thank you. Truly. More than words can say." She squeezed tightly for a moment. "I… I don't know how I can ever repay this kindness."
She pulled back slightly, still holding onto him, looking up into his face earnestly. "But I swear this – if there is ever anything you need from me, anything at all… please, do not hesitate to ask. If it is within my power to accomplish, I will not refuse. No matter what the request is."
Song Qing didn't stiffen or immediately pull away from the embrace. He allowed it, his own hands coming up to rest gently, firmly, on her slender waist, holding her there.
Crucially, his hands remained still.
They didn't roam. They didn't squeeze possessively. They simply rested there, a steady, warm pressure against the fabric of her clothing.
Yet, even that simple contact sent a jolt through Liu Erlong. His hands on her waist… It felt intimate. Possessive, almost.
'He's holding me…' A thrill, sharp and unexpected, shot through her. Her heart hammered against her ribs. 'What does he mean by this? Does he… does he feel something?' Her confidence in her own mature beauty, often neglected during her years pining for Yu Xiaogang, flickered tentatively. 'Perhaps… perhaps he does find me attractive after all?' The thought made her cheeks flush hotly.
The moment stretched, suspended in the quiet garden setting. Their faces were close. His calm, emerald eyes met her wide, slightly flustered blue ones. He offered a small, gentle, unreadable smile. The intimacy of the moment felt profound, charged with unspoken possibilities. She found she couldn't hold his gaze and quickly looked down, her blush deepening.
After another beat of silence, Song Qing gently released her waist, stepping back slightly, breaking the intensity.
His smile remained gentle. "Safe travels tomorrow, Dean Liu." His voice was soft again. "I trust your journey will be swift. And I sincerely hope," he paused, his eyes holding hers again, "that the next time our paths cross, I will have the honor of addressing Titled Douluo Liu Erlong."
He leaned fractionally closer then, lowering his voice to a near whisper, a conspiratorial tone meant only for her ears.
"...Because only then, perhaps," he murmured, the words brushing against her ear like a physical touch, "will you possess the capability... the true qualification... to stand properly by my side."
The whispered words hit Liu Erlong with the force of a physical blow. Her breath caught in her throat. Her blush deepened to a shade that rivaled her hair.
'By his side? Qualification?'
The implication was unmistakable. Blatant, even. He wasn't just talking about political alliances or strength. He meant something far more personal. Possessive. Romantic?
A dizzying mix of shock, disbelief, and overwhelming excitement surged through her. He was interested!
'But… am I any different?' The honest answer screamed in her mind. Since realizing the truth about Yu Xiaogang, her heart, adrift for so long, had found a new anchor in this extraordinary young man. The thoughts she'd been having about him… especially in the quiet hours of the night… they were certainly not platonic. They were vivid, intense, and far more 'depraved', as she thought of them with a blush, than the simple hint he'd just given.
'He's nothing like Yu Xiaogang,' she affirmed fiercely to herself. 'Xiaogang was weak, deceitful, indecisive. Song Qing… he is ambitious, yes, but also brilliant, decisive, strong… even kind, in his own way. He sees the truth. He acts upon it. Being with him… even just in his presence… feels like standing next to a rising sun.'
Her path was clear now. He had given her a goal, a condition. Become a Titled Douluo. Gain the 'qualification' to stand by his side.
She wouldn't falter. She would reach Rank 90. For herself, yes, but now, powerfully, undeniably, also for him. To meet his challenge. To earn that place he hinted at.
She managed a small, shaky nod, still unable to fully meet his intense gaze. Her heart felt like it might beat out of her chest. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she gathered the last shreds of her composure.
With one final, lingering look into his emerald eyes – a look that promised future possibilities – she turned. Purposefully. And as she walked away, heading back towards her temporary quarters to prepare for her departure, there was a new confidence in her bearing, a deliberate, almost provocative sway to her hips that hadn't been there before. Liu Erlong was a decisive woman. Her heart had chosen its new direction.
Song Qing watched her retreating figure, the seductive sway of her hips not lost on him. He noted her flushed cheeks, her flustered demeanor, her determined stride.
'The seeds are well and truly planted,' he thought, a faint, calculating smile touching his lips. 'Give her power, give her a goal tied to me… she will pursue it relentlessly. Titled Douluo Liu Erlong… yes, she will be far more useful then. A powerful piece, firmly aligned, indebted, and personally… motivated.'
He let out a soft sigh as she disappeared from view. Dealing with Liu Erlong required finesse, careful words, strategic gifts. It was… work. Necessary, but work nonetheless.
His thoughts shifted immediately. 'Duty addressed. Time for… personal matters.' The image of another woman surfaced – voluptuous, blue-haired, utterly devoted, waiting in his garden. Ah Yin.
A different kind of anticipation stirred within him, less strategic, more primal. 'First, check on the little lion's progress. Then… it has been a week. Time to see how diligently my maidservant has been performing her duties. Time to remind her of her place… and perhaps indulge myself a little.'
He turned, heading back towards the Herbal Garden with renewed purpose.
He entered the familiar sanctuary, the air thick with life energy. He went directly to the secluded zone where the Three-Eyed Golden Lion was cultivating.
The creature remained curled in a tight ball, but it was noticeably larger than a week ago. The aura surrounding it was denser, more stable, a vibrant mix of gold, red, and white light pulsing gently. The faint draconic pressure was stronger now, a constant, low hum of ancient power.
'Progress is excellent,' Song Qing confirmed with satisfaction. 'Absorption is steady. Another two weeks, perhaps slightly less. It will be formidable.'
Satisfied, he turned his attention elsewhere. He scanned the garden, looking for his maidservant.
He found Ah Yin near the edge of the lion's seclusion zone, meticulously pruning a luminescent vine. She worked with quiet focus, yet he sensed her immediate awareness the moment he entered her vicinity. She looked up, and her face instantly lit up with that radiant, almost worshipful devotion that always slightly unsettled yet satisfied him.
"Holy Son!" she breathed, immediately setting aside her tools and approaching him, bowing respectfully. "You have returned!"
Song Qing gave a curt nod, his expression shifting, losing the gentleness he'd shown Liu Erlong, becoming cooler, more possessive. "Come," was all he said, turning and walking towards a different secluded corner of the vast garden, one hidden by ancient, broad-leafed trees and thick flowering bushes.
Ah Yin followed without a word, her heart beginning to pound with anticipation, her body already tingling with memory and need. She knew what this meant.
Once they reached the spot, Song Qing waved his hand. Drawing on his deep connection to the garden, thick wooden vines emerged from the earth and surrounding trees, weaving together rapidly, forming a dense, impenetrable barrier around them, creating a private, shadowed enclosure. The sounds of the outside garden faded, leaving only the rustling leaves and their own breathing.
He turned to face her. His eyes, no longer gentle, held a familiar demanding fire. He didn't speak. He simply reached out, his fingers hooking into the collar of her simple servant dress.
RIIIIIIP!
The sound echoed loudly in the sudden quiet. He tore the fabric straight down the front with one swift, brutal motion, exposing her naked flesh beneath. He pulled the ruined garment away, tossing it aside onto the mossy ground. Her undergarments followed, ripped away with equal disregard for the material or any sense of gentleness.
Ah Yin gasped, instinctively trying to cover herself, but he caught her wrists, pulling her hands away, forcing her to stand exposed before him.
"Master…" she whimpered, a thrill of fear and excitement shooting through her.
He ignored her plea, his gaze sweeping over her mature, voluptuous form – the heavy breasts, the soft stomach, the generous hips, the nest of blue hair below. His eyes were purely predatory now.
He pushed her roughly back against the smooth trunk of one of the large trees within the enclosure. Her back hit the wood with a soft thud.
Then, he descended upon her.
His mouth closed over hers— no, not her lips. He avoided her lips, instead attacking the sensitive skin of her neck, sucking hard, biting down sharply enough to make her cry out, undoubtedly leaving a dark, possessive mark.
His hands were equally rough, seizing her breasts, squeezing them hard, kneading them without care, pinching the nipples until she sobbed his name.
"Ah! Master! Yes! Please!" Her cries weren't of pain, but of overwhelming, addictive pleasure mixed with the thrill of his dominance.
He pushed her down onto the soft moss, kneeling over her. "Serve your Master, Ah Yin," he commanded, his voice a low growl.
Instantly, eagerly, she scrambled to obey, her mouth finding him, her hands working desperately to please him, her entire being focused on fulfilling his command, lost already in the familiar cycle of degradation and ecstasy that only he could provide. The night was young, and her Master had returned.