A month passed in the blink of an eye.
At the very center of the Douluo continent lay Wu Soul City—the base of Spirit Hall. Like a keystone, it pressed between two mighty empires: Tiandou sprawled across the north, and Xingluo pressed down from the south. Between them, Spirit Hall sat steady in the middle, like the referee neither empire could ignore.
Not far from Spirit City's walls stretched a border town once battered by war. Here Subei's new "palace" project had begun. This place, split between empires, was strategically perfect—just outside the Star Forest, easy to control, and quiet, with few inhabitants to complain.
Memories of War
Years ago, this town had been drowned in blood, caught in battles between Tiandou and Xingluo. Boundaries scraped like knives—neighbors turned to soldiers, armies clashed, and streets ran red.
But more recently, tensions had softened. Trade replaced war; caravans replaced soldiers. The border groaned not with cannons and howls, but with bargaining voices and clinking coins.
Plenty of men had already died. Those still left were the aged and frail, the crippled and ill, sticking to their soil out of stubbornness.
A drunken poet had written of this very town:
The bamboo bends in the clear spring, lonely and desolate,
The Jade Pool is muddied, ruins in place of palaces.
Through vast ages, no home endures,
An old man watches fires from the western hills.
Perhaps it was fate, then, that Subei chose to build here. A place scarred by war, ripe for rebirth. A place to plant his future.
On the Ground
One quiet afternoon, beneath a centuries-old red maple tree, two old men hunched over a chessboard, growling and laughing. At each move, they bickered harder than the warlords of empires.
"Will!" One old man, beard trembling with triumph, slapped his piece down.
The other groaned, rubbing his temples. "Hah, one step late. Always the wrong horse at the end!"
They argued like boys, flushed with competition, even pulling spectators into their quarrel.
"The gentleman's rule is to watch chess without speaking!" one scolded.
The loser snarled back. "I haven't been speaking! I was quiet the whole game. Now, by the rules, I've earned three hot meals from your sister-in-law!"
The winner rolled his eyes. "She's eighty! Do you still have the heart to torment her with cooking?"
Their laughter—and grumbling—carried across the empty fields.
Then wind rose, sand swirling, scattering the chessboard to ruin.
An orderly march broke the silence.
The Master Architect
"Stop here!"
Voice firm, steady, and utterly confident. A middle-aged man wearing square scholar's spectacles raised his palm. His name was Liang Sicheng—chief imperial architect of Tiandou. He had designed palaces, fortresses, entire imperial cities. He loathed mediocrity; he touched only projects grand enough to stroke his genius.
Behind him, Spirit Hall knights stood ready. Surveyors raised their measuring rods. Topographers unrolled maps to check soil and wind. Workers unloaded loads of stone, timber, bronze.
Liang flicked his hand like a conductor beginning symphony rehearsal.
"Measure the ground. Check Feng Shui, watch the seasons. Submit supply orders."
This palace was no mere building. It was history in stone, his legacy, his defiance of mortality.
He agreed reluctantly—pressed by Bibi Dong's authority and lured further by Qian Renxue's secret promise of reward. But once Liang saw Subei himself with his own eyes—ah, his heart shifted. He'd glimpsed that face, ethereal, born of poetry. Once he saw reality, he scoffed at the painters who tried to capture it.
He burned their scroll in rage. "Trash! Not a brush alive can reproduce even his shadow."
And so Liang vowed: If paper cannot honor him, then stone and jade must!
No mere palace would suffice. It must transcend kingdoms, stand like a jewel between two worlds.
Relocation
"What of the residents?" a knight asked, pointing to the old chess players.
Liang summoned his martial spirit: a giant, crystalline diamond mirror. Floating in air, it refracted light into shimmering facets. Through its lens, whole cities unfolded in miniature—his soul skill, a living three-dimensional blue-print. Soil, rivers, even the atmosphere were simulated here, fed by soul power until the image pulsed as real as life.
Within the glowing model, a magnificent palace had already begun to take shape.
"They're all elders, most over fifty," Liang said casually, brushing plans across the mirror. "Relocate them briefly. After the main hall is complete, build outer streets, relocate them back into villas. Such old roots should remain undisturbed."
The knight nodded and passed down orders. Soon, Spirit Hall's decree rang out:
"All residents within twenty miles—move to temporary housing at Spirit Hall's expense. Once the palace is complete, each family will be granted an independent villa, plus stipends of ten silver soul coins monthly."
The old villagers blinked, stunned.
"What, a villa?"
"Ten silver coins, every month?"
The entire red maple grove went into uproar.
"Brother Zhao, looks like your poor wife's cooking won't feed me after all. I'll be eating Spirit Hall gourmet soon!"
"Bah, I prefer her soup…" the loser muttered, but even his scowl was shining with greed.
Construction
And so it began.
Spirit Hall poured power into the project. Workers labored day and night, engineers surveying, soul tools assisting every cut of stone. Under Liang Sicheng's relentless planning, an imperial dream palace rose from mud:
Rockeries carved like living mountains, waterfalls tumbling into artificial lakes, koi sparkling like gold coins in sunlit waters. Gardens planted for every season: peach for spring, lotus for summer, maple for autumn, plum blossoms for winter. A dozen courtyards laced with fog and lantern light, a skyline that shimmered like fairyland.
This was no fortress merely for defense. This was a temple of beauty itself—an immortal residence worthy of the "King" who was half-man, half-myth.
Meanwhile, in the Forest
But while marble and jade were laid brick by brick, Subei's life was less peaceful.
Because until the palace was finished, he alternated—two months in Spirit Hall, two months in Star Forest. A compromise so each jealous heart could cling to fairness.
One afternoon in Star Dou's core, Subei lounged on a wooden deck chair beneath dappling leaves. Shadows played lazily across his face as cicadas hummed.
Xiao Wu emerged from the cabin, balancing a cup of fruit juice so brightly colored it sparkled. Her soft eyes burned into him with nervous excitement.
"Brother, this is Ten-Thousand-Year Dragonfruit Essence Aunt Bi collected. She says it strengthens men's vitality, nourishes essence, and promotes growth. Please try it!"
Subei cracked one eye and groaned inwardly. "Oh no…"
She practically giggled with hope, while he pictured Ziji's smirk behind it. Of course. Ziji, you wicked beast. This isn't medicine—it's a trap.
"Xiao Wu," he said flatly, "stay away from Ziji in the future. She's not a good influence."
Xiao Wu tilted her head earnestly. "At first I thought so too. Sister Ziji is a bad woman who only tries to seduce you. But she's been searching the forest for treasures to help your health. As long as she doesn't steal you from me… Xiao Wu forgives her!"
Subei rubbed his face. Forgives her? Children are too easily bought. Ziji, you cunning hunter—you've bought rabbit loyalty with carrots.
Still, with a sigh, he downed the glowing juice like medicine. Fine. For health, for survival. Old iron, respect the kidneys.
A shadow shimmered. Violet-gold light spilled through the forest.
Bibi Dong emerged slowly from between the trees, her presence radiant and commanding yet tempered with warmth. Long robes swayed, her eyes utterly focused on him.
Her lips curved into a soft, victorious smile.
"Xiao Bei," she said, her voice velvet and firm, "the palace is ready. It's time for you to… come home."
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