The void returned to silence.
----
The Asura God lowered his gaze to the Asura Divine Sword in his hand.
He realized, his palm was damp. His brows knitted together.
"…Why did I take my sword out?"
The crimson blade hummed softly, radiating authority of slaughter and judgment, yet there was no target before it.
Asura searched his memories.
Only a vague sense of interruption, like a thought cut short mid-sentence.
"Was I going to use my sword for something?"
He frowned, displeased with the unfamiliar blankness.
But the feeling vanished quickly.
To a god, losing a fleeting thought was insignificant. He dismissed it without hesitation and casually dispersed the divine sword, allowing it to dissolve back into authority and law.
What Asura failed to notice was something far more important.
At some point—He had stopped paying attention to the Douluo Continent.
He had simply… forgetten to observe. It would take roughly one week in the God Realm before Asura vaguely sensed that something was amiss.
A faint intuition that something had slipped past him.
And by the time he finally tried to check Douluo Continent— More than seven years would have already passed on the Douluo Continent.
-----
Meanwhile.
Within Heaven Dou City, Qian Renxue stood silently.
Her heart was still beating steadily, but deep within her soul, something cold and sharp lingered, from a sixth sense born of dreams, memories, and fate.
Run. Hide.
The urge had come without explanation, overwhelming and absolute, as if her existence itself had brushed against something it should not have.
After a brief moment, Qian Renxue exhaled slowly.
"…Was I overthinking?"
She frowned slightly. But after a moment of contemplation, her eyes hardened.
This wasn't fear. It was instinct.
Without hesitation, Qian Renxue raised her hand.
Her Spiritual core which had now become the God Core for her authority of Goddess of Dreams and Memories pulsed.
The world around her softened., the reality around her blurred.
Countless translucent bubbles emerged, each reflecting fragmented thoughts,, and memories of living beings across the continent.
She stepped forward.
Her figure dissolved into light, breaking apart into shimmering bubbles that floated upward and inward at the same time.
The next instant— Qian Renxue vanished from reality.
She had entered the Collective Subconscious of all living beings.
Only endless layers of dreams and memories overlapping each other.
----
Outskirts of Spirit City.
"EVEN GODS WILL BLEED."
Those words echoed across the desolate land like a verdict carved into fate itself.
Qian Xunji's eyes lost their light immediately after the declaration, the last trace of vitality extinguished. His body lay motionless on the scorched ground, blood slowly spreading beneath him, staining the earth an ominous crimson.
For a brief moment—The world was silent.
Bibi Dong froze.
The purple aura around her body flickered violently before receding like a tide forced back by an unseen shore. Her breathing grew uneven, and the madness in her eyes cracked, revealing fragments of clarity beneath.
She had killed him.
The man who symbolized her humiliation, her despair, her long years of resentment.
In a way, her revenge was complete.
Yet—There was no exhilaration or joy on her face.
Only a hollow ache spreading through her chest, cold and heavy, as if something essential had been torn away rather than reclaimed.
Inside her mind, the Rakshasa's divine intent stirred.
For a heartbeat, it was startled.
Then— "Heh…"
A low chuckle escaped.
"He! He! He! …He!"
The laughter rapidly escalated, echoing wildly through Bibi Dong's consciousness, filled with mockery and delight.
"This was the nicest joke I've heard in a long, long time," the Rakshasa sneered.
"Gods will bleed?"
"I should have kept this Qian Xunji alive. Such a shame… a truly entertaining joker."
"He! He! He! Might have even asked him—"
The Rakshasa leaned forward in her mind, voice dripping with malice.
"Who exactly is going to make a god bleed?"
The words had barely finished forming—
When the Rakshasa's laughter abruptly stopped.
Her pupils shrank.
The whites of her eyes flooded outward unnaturally, veins bulging as if something invisible had gripped her skull from within. Her tongue lolled out grotesquely, jaw slack, expression frozen into something pitiful and idiotic.
The divine intent— stalled.
A Plague Storm, with surgical precision, can interrupt thought itself.
The Rakshasa's divine intent fell silent.
----
Bibi Dong staggered.
Her mind felt… empty.
The oppressive whispers vanished, the constant malice receding like a nightmare dissolving upon waking. For the first time in years, she felt her thoughts were her own.
Before she could process what had happened—
She raised her head sharply.
Not far away, standing quietly amid the ruined ground, was a familiar figure.
Bibi Dong's pupils constricted.
"…Renxue?"
Her voice trembled.
She had imagined countless reunions—arguments, accusations, cold indifference, even hatred.
But not this time here.
Without the Rakshasa's influence clouding her emotions, an unfamiliar wave of nervousness and sorrow surged through her chest. She suddenly became acutely aware of the blood on her hands… of the corpse behind her.
She didn't know how to speak or what expression to wear.
"Renxue…" she tried again, her voice hoarse and uncertain.
But Qian Renxue did not answer.
She walked past Bibi Dong without a glance and crouched beside Qian Xunji's body.
Her gaze fell upon an object near his lifeless hand. A blood-soaked quill.
Its spine was threaded with intertwined strands of silver and gold, angelic inscriptions etched delicately along its length. Even stained with blood, it radiated a quiet, dignified brilliance.
Qian Renxue carefully picked it up, her voice was barely above a whisper.
"He kept this quill… even until his death."