Bibi Dong turned her head slightly, avoiding Dai Chengfeng's searing gaze.
Moonlight slanted through the window, casting a soft, hazy glow over her exquisite profile. Her long lashes cast delicate shadows on her cheeks, fluttering faintly with each blink.
Unbidden, she recalled the words the Rakshasa God had spoken to her not long ago:
"To continue your divine trials… you must fully…"
She'd already made her decision. She'd been preparing herself.
Yet now—feeling Dai Chengfeng's warm hand around her ankle, enveloped by his familiar scent—Bibi Dong couldn't suppress a sudden wave of flustered unease.
She was the Pope of the Spirit Hall—the supreme ruler above thousands, a merciless and decisive powerhouse.
But in front of Dai Chengfeng, she always found herself shedding that hardened shell, revealing the vulnerable woman beneath—one who could still feel shy, uncertain, and achingly human.
The sensation was unfamiliar… and deeply unsettling.
Dai Chengfeng watched her silently, his eyes lingering on the faint blush creeping up her ear.
He let out a low, knowing chuckle.
"Teacher," he murmured, voice laced with gentle teasing, "what are you thinking about?"
Bibi Dong didn't answer. In the moonlight, the curve of her profile only grew softer.
She felt his breath drawing closer—warm air brushing against the sensitive skin of her neck—sending an involuntary shiver through her.
The next moment, a tender kiss landed on the side of her neck.
At first, it was feather-light—tentative, almost reverent.
Bibi Dong stiffened slightly, fingers instinctively gripping the bedsheet beneath her.
But she didn't push him away. She didn't scold him with her usual stern "insolent disciple." She simply let him kiss her—quietly, surrendering.
Dai Chengfeng's kiss deepened gradually, shifting from gentle contact to a slow, heated press of lips and suction.
One hand still held her ankle; the other had somehow found its way around her waist, pulling her flush against him.
She could feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of her robe, the quickening rhythm of his breath, and the thunderous pounding of her own heart.
A strange, electric warmth spread from where his lips touched—rippling up her spine, leaving her limbs tingling, her body faintly trembling.
Bibi Dong closed her eyes. Her lashes cast fan-like shadows across her flushed cheeks.
His kisses trailed upward—along her jawline, then finally to her lips.
It began as the softest meeting of mouths—careful, hesitant.
Bibi Dong's breath caught for a heartbeat. Then, as Dai Chengfeng gently traced the shape of her lips with his own, she finally parted them—just slightly.
That silent permission was all he needed.
One hand cradled the back of her head; the other stroked her waist with slow, deliberate tenderness.
At first, she remained tense—but soon, under his patient, unwavering affection, her resistance melted away.
Her arms rose, circling his neck.
The chamber fell utterly silent—save for the soft sounds of their kiss and the increasingly ragged rhythm of their breathing.
Moonlight bathed the entwined pair in liquid silver.
The kiss lasted so long that Bibi Dong felt her thoughts begin to blur at the edges.
Only when her lungs burned for air did Dai Chengfeng finally pull back.
They clung to each other, chests heaving, warm breaths mingling in the cool night air.
Bibi Dong's cheeks glowed with a rosy flush. Her usually icy eyes shimmered with moisture, hazy and dreamlike.
Her lips were slightly swollen, glistening under the moonlight.
Her Pope's robes had grown disheveled—collar loosened, revealing the elegant line of her collarbone and a glimpse of fair skin beneath.
Dai Chengfeng gazed at her, his eyes burning with unguarded desire and deep affection.
He reached out, thumb gently tracing her tender lower lip—his touch impossibly tender.
"Teacher…"
Bibi Dong looked into his face—so close, so achingly handsome—and opened her mouth to speak.
But just then—
"Your Holiness, this humble servant has urgent news to report."
Yue Guan's voice cut through the silence from outside the chamber—respectful, yet edged with urgency.
Bibi Dong jolted as if struck by lightning. In an instant, she pulled away from Dai Chengfeng's embrace.
Her movement was astonishingly swift. The fleeting softness and vulnerability vanished—replaced by the Pope's familiar composure and icy authority.
(Though a careful observer might still notice the lingering pink at her ear tips.)
Dai Chengfeng didn't stop her. He simply sat quietly on the bed, watching as she rapidly smoothed her robes and tucked stray strands of hair back into place.
He knew her too well. Before others, she would always be the untouchable, exalted Pope—never allowing a crack in her divine facade.
"Don't move," she whispered to him, voice low but firm, as she fastened the last clasp of her ceremonial robe.
Her motions were practiced, efficient—clearly not the first time she'd had to compose herself in haste.
Dai Chengfeng nodded in understanding.
Though he loved teasing her, he knew when to draw the line.
If it had been Hu Liena, he might have risked continuing—after all, she was a woman.
But Yue Guan was different—despite his effeminate manner, he was still a man.
In moments, Bibi Dong took a steadying breath, confirmed her regal poise was restored, and walked calmly to the chamber door. She didn't open it—only spoke through the wood, her voice now perfectly composed, cool, and resonant with papal authority:
"What is it?"
Not a trace of warmth or tremor remained—no hint of the woman who'd just been kissed breathless.
"Your Majesty," Yue Guan replied respectfully from outside, "urgent news regarding the Young Mistress's return…"
"Speak."
"The Young Mistress has sent word from Tian Dou City. Her entourage has entered the outskirts of Spirit Hall City. At their current pace, they will arrive in approximately three days."
Three days.
At those words, Bibi Dong froze for the briefest moment.
Qian Renxue was coming home.
Her daughter—the one she'd once resented, distanced herself from… yet somehow never stopped worrying over.
A flicker of complex emotion crossed her eyes: guilt, quiet joy, awkwardness, and an unspoken anxiety she couldn't name.
She remembered the small child from years ago—the girl who'd looked at her with yearning eyes, yet dared not approach. She remembered the invisible wall that had grown between them over the years.
On the bed, Dai Chengfeng watched Bibi Dong's back—silent, still.
He couldn't see her face, but he felt the sudden tension in her posture, the weight of her silence.
He understood the tangled bond between mother and daughter…
And as for himself—when he heard "three days," a quiet thrill stirred in his chest.
Would he see his little angel again in just three days?
That proud yet fragile girl.
That strong yet tender soul who needed protecting.
The one who, on their last night together, had blushed fiercely as she made him a promise.
The Young Mistress who, only with him, would shed every mask and show her truest self.
Unconsciously, the corner of Dai Chengfeng's lips curved into a soft, anticipatory smile.
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