📍Pope's Hall — A Meeting of Two Paths
The grand doors of the Pope's Hall creaked open. Qian Yusheng stepped inside, his eyes settling on the empty throne ahead. He paused.
"I can see you. Will you come out?" he said softly, his gaze drifting toward one of the stone pillars.
From behind it, Bibi Dong emerged. Her steps were quiet, but her eyes betrayed her shock. For a moment, she almost mistook him for Qian Xunji—his presence, his voice—but no. This man was taller, leaner, more composed. Elegant. His aura was not oppressive, but calming.
Still, she remained tense. She had no fondness for the Qian family.
"You must be the Saintess… Bibi Dong," Yusheng greeted, voice warm but formal.
She didn't reply. Her wariness remained.
He sighed lightly.
"I know what my brother did to you," he said. "And though I cannot erase the past… I ask, sincerely, for your forgiveness on behalf of the Qian family."
Then—he bowed.
Bibi Dong froze.
She had imagined many versions of this meeting: confrontation, disdain, perhaps veiled threats. But this? A sincere, humble apology? She hadn't expected it.
"I know forgiveness is a process," Yusheng added gently, still bowed. "But I will take responsibility for what was done to you. Say whatever you need. I will accept it, so long as it helps ease your burden."
She remained silent, stunned by the turn of events.
Then, she noticed his gaze had shifted—once again staring at the Pope's throne.
"What does that throne mean to you?" Yusheng asked suddenly.
"…What?" she replied, uncertain.
"That seat. What does it represent to you?"
After a pause, Bibi Dong answered, "It symbolizes power. The power to rule the world."
Yusheng stood before the throne, his hand resting lightly on its cold armrest.
"This?" he said, voice steady. "This seat cannot rule the world. The world is too vast, too layered—its people too different, its truths too many—for any single throne to claim ownership over it."
He let his hand drop.
"And the power it promises?" He turned slightly toward her. "That's the real illusion. It draws people in with the promise of control… of clarity, of being able to shape the world as they wish. But it gives none of those things. Not truly."
Bibi Dong listened, her arms crossed, but her gaze fixed on him. There was something unsettling in the way he spoke—like someone who had already seen where all this leads.
"It's an illusion," he continued, "crafted so well that it convinces the one sitting in it that they matter more than the people they serve. That their judgment is truth. That their will is justice. Slowly… subtly… they stop listening. They mistake fear for obedience. They start believing that order exists because they are in charge—and if they were to fall, everything else would fall with them."
He stepped away from the throne, eyes never leaving it.
"Power like that doesn't just corrupt action—it corrupts perception. A person sitting there starts seeing the world through a lens of threat and control. Every dissenting voice becomes an enemy. Every compromise becomes weakness. And before they know it, they've become the very thing they once despised."
There was silence. The weight of his words lingered in the marble hall.
Then Bibi Dong asked quietly, "But… what does that seat represent to you?"
Yusheng turned his head and gave a faint, almost amused smile.
"To me?" he said. "It's just a chair. It should be melted down and placed in the ballroom with the others."
Bibi Dong's eyes widened slightly. "That's the seat of the Pope… the highest authority in Spirit Hall. Why throw it away?"
Yusheng met her gaze with calm certainty. He didn't raise his voice; he didn't need to.
"Because the Qian family was never meant to rule. No family should." His voice was firm now. "Spirit Hall wasn't born to dominate. It wasn't built to bend the world to its will. It was founded to serve. To protect. To speak where others were silent. To shield those without strength."
He took a breath and softened, not in weakness, but in clarity.
"When others chased power, we were meant to stand beside the powerless. That was the purpose of Spirit Hall. Not to rule—but to remember those who are forgotten."
đź•Š Bibi Dong's Inner Reaction:
His words struck her like a wave—unexpected, disarming, relentless.
For a moment, Bibi Dong stood still, not because she agreed, but because something inside her had shifted. She had spent so long climbing, grasping, fighting for control… for the very throne he now dismissed as an illusion.
Her mind raced. Was he right?
She thought of Qian Xunji—his cold eyes, his commanding tone, the way he had always spoken from the throne, never beyond it. She had hated him, yes—but she had also longed to surpass him. And in chasing that power, had she begun to become him?
For a breathless instant, she didn't know what she believed anymore.
But the doubt passed—like a shadow crossing her heart. A part of her clung still to her ambitions, to her scars. The hunger she carried wasn't so easily unlearned. Still, something else now lived beside it: a question she could no longer ignore.
She looked again at the throne—not as a prize, but as a mirror.
And it no longer looked the same.