"Yes," Dai Chengfeng nodded with a smile, pulling a gift box from his soul-guided storage ring.
He'd specially commissioned it several days ago. The box itself looked unremarkable—but as he lifted the lid and carefully took out a neatly folded garment, his movements were tender, almost reverent.
Then he stepped in front of Bibi Dong.
Candlelight danced across his handsome profile, illuminating the eager glint in his eyes.
"This is it."
With that, he unfolded the fabric gently, his expression bright with the pride of someone presenting a prized treasure.
But the moment Bibi Dong glanced at it, her entire face flushed crimson—so deeply that even her pale neck bloomed with color.
It was technically "clothing"—if one could call something so nearly transparent a garment at all.
The black fabric was astonishingly sheer, almost translucent in the flickering candlelight, clearly revealing the silhouette of whatever lay behind it.
And its design… was downright scandalous!
Where modesty demanded coverage, there was none—instead, strategic lace panels and delicate cutouts adorned the waist and back, drawing attention precisely where concealment was expected.
The material was undeniably luxurious, the craftsmanship exquisite—every stitch spoke of meticulous artistry…
Which only made Bibi Dong more mortified. That such a shamelessly provocative piece could be crafted with such care and seriousness felt like an affront to decency itself.
"You…"
She pointed at the garment, her finger trembling slightly—whether from anger or embarrassment, even she couldn't tell. "Where did you even get this?"
She tried to keep her voice stern, regal—the voice of the Pope—but the faint quiver betrayed her.
Dai Chengfeng looked utterly innocent, his eyes wide and pure, as if he'd merely presented a simple evening gown.
"I had it custom-made by the finest tailor in Spirit Hall City, tailored exactly to your measurements. It took half a month to finish. Don't you like it, Teacher?"
Like it?
How could she possibly like something so brazen—something that flagrantly defied every boundary she held sacred?
Bibi Dong turned her face away, ears burning as if they might bleed. Her voice came out tight with suppressed shame:
"Take it away. Now. I will never wear such a thing."
"Just try it on, Teacher," Dai Chengfeng coaxed, stepping closer until his warm breath brushed her ear. His tone softened into something almost petulant, endearingly wheedling. "Just once. I promise—it'll suit you perfectly."
"Your skin is so fair… black would look absolutely stunning on you."
"Dai Chengfeng!"
She snapped his full name, trying to mask her flustered heart with authority.
"Mind your place—and mine. I am the Pope, not some girl you can toy with at will."
Instead of retreating, he moved closer still, gently taking her hand where it hung at her side. Her fingers were cool against his warmth.
"To me," he said softly, thumb stroking the back of her hand, "you are Bibi Dong first—and only then the Pope."
His voice dropped lower, intimate. "Just this once. If you truly dislike it, I swear I'll never mention it again."
Most would have melted at such earnest pleading—but Bibi Dong was no ordinary woman.
She was the ruler of the Spirit Hall, a survivor of countless betrayals and storms, long accustomed to shielding her heart beneath layers of ice.
"Flattery won't work," she said, forcing her voice to sound cold and unyielding—though the slight tremor at the end gave her away. "I've told you once. Take it away."
"Or I won't hesitate to burn it to ash with my soul power."
Dai Chengfeng studied her—the flutter of her lashes, the tense line of her lips, the subtle pulse at her throat betraying her nerves.
He knew: tonight would not be the night.
A quiet sigh escaped him—not of frustration, but gentle disappointment.
"Alright."
He obediently refolded the garment with the same tenderness, as if handling fragile silk. "I'll put it away for now. You can wear it whenever you're ready."
"There will never be such a day," Bibi Dong shot back immediately, voice firm.
Dai Chengfeng only smiled—his eyes flashing with a hint of mischief she failed to catch.
He carefully tucked the black lace back into his storage ring, then returned to her side.
He understood well: haste brought ruin—especially with a woman like Bibi Dong.
She was nothing like Liu Erlong.
Liu Erlong was fire—passionate, direct, her emotions written plainly on her face, her heart easy to read.
But Bibi Dong was water—calm on the surface, yet swirling with hidden currents beneath. She wore authority and coldness like armor, burying her true self so deep few dared—or could—reach it.
To melt such ice required not a blaze, but steady, patient warmth.
He needed gentleness. Time. And above all—patience—to let her lower her guard of her own accord.
"Tired, Teacher?"
He shifted tone effortlessly, voice softening as if their earlier tension had never existed. "You handled so much today. Are your shoulders stiff again?"
"How about a bath? The hot spring will ease your fatigue."
Bibi Dong looked at him—and nodded.
Her shoulders relaxed slightly. The exhaustion of the day truly weighed on her now, amplified by the emotional whirlwind he'd just stirred.
Dai Chengfeng's lips curved into a quiet smile. Suddenly, he bent down—scooping her up effortlessly, one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back.
"What are you doing?!"
Bibi Dong gasped, instinctively wrapping her arms around his neck to steady herself.
"Carrying you," he replied matter-of-factly, striding steadily toward the private hot spring chamber deep within the palace. "You're tired. Every bit of rest helps."
"I can walk myself," she murmured in protest—but her arms didn't loosen.
The position was far too intimate. Her cheek rested against his shoulder, feeling the solid strength of his frame beneath his clothes, breathing in his clean, sun-kissed scent.
His heartbeat—steady, strong—resonated through his chest, oddly soothing.
"I know you can," he said, amusement threading his voice from above. "But I want to carry you."
Such blunt honesty sent another wave of heat rushing to her cheeks. She fell silent, turning her face slightly to avoid the warmth of his breath.
The hot spring chamber lay at the innermost sanctum of her quarters—her private retreat.
As he pushed open the door, humid air infused with the delicate fragrance of flowers enveloped them.
Soft light glowed from pearl-gauze lanterns, casting a moonlit haze over the room.
The pool itself was carved from white jade—spacious enough for ten, its surface scattered with fresh rose and jasmine petals. Steam curled upward, wrapping the space in a dreamlike, fragrant mist.
Dai Chengfeng set Bibi Dong down gently onto a plush divan beside the pool—its thick velvet cushion yielding softly beneath her.
Then, without hesitation, he reached for the intricate ties of her Pope's robe, his hands moving with natural familiarity.
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