The silence that descended upon the vast, ornate throne room was thicker and far more ominous than the thunderous roar of the Supreme Pontiff's anger. It was the silence of men who had just stared into the abyss of absolute power and found themselves wanting.
Hidden within the impenetrable shadow cast by the largest, most intricately carved obsidian pillar—a shadow Bibi Dong had woven around herself with centuries of practiced stealth—she felt the lingering psychic pressure of the level 96 Title Douluo power fade, but not entirely dissipate. It clung to the heavy silk banners and marble floor like a cold, metallic vapor.
Bibi Dong remained perfectly still, a silent, unseen sentinel. She was digesting the sudden, overwhelming acceleration of her timeline.
The mention of Ah Yin, the hundred-thousand-year-old soul beast, and the confirmation of Qian Xunji's breakthrough had cracked the foundation of her carefully constructed future.
Her original impulse was to flee, to rush back to her chambers, verify her children's safety, and begin the frantic, desperate scramble to recalibrate her plan.
She had just begun to gather her soul energy, preparing the slow, agonizing departure that would ensure her continued anonymity, when the first whispers reached her ears.
The nine remaining Title Douluo, the apex of Spirit Hall's military might, were huddled together, violating the very decorum the Supreme Pontiff demanded of them.
The Elders spoke in hushed tones, their voices tight with a shared, professional dread—the primal fear of being caught by a volatile, recently empowered tyrant.
The knowledge that the massive throne room often carried sound across its expansive, vaulted ceiling forced them to speak almost inaudibly, creating an intimate, fearful conspiracy among the highest ranks.
Ling Yuan, the newest among them, known by her Title Douluo designation, the Spirit Kite, was visibly pale, her normally vibrant blue robes seeming dull against her colorless skin.
She was an ascendant, having achieved the Title Douluo rank relatively recently, and her exposure to Qian Xunji's unfiltered, rage-fueled aura had clearly shaken her to the core.
"H-hey, can you guys feel that?" Ling Yuan stammered, her gaze darting nervously towards the colossal, empty throne. Her voice was high-pitched, barely rising above a whisper, betraying the sheer terror that had seized her.
"The Pope's aura… it's become impossibly strong. I genuinely felt suffocated, like the air itself had turned into a leaden shield pressing down on my spirit. I really thought my soul core would compress and shatter."
She Long, the Snake Lance Douluo, a man whose face was a roadmap of wrinkles earned from years navigating the treacherous currents of the continent, closed his eyes for a long moment.
He was one of the truly experienced elders, capable of discerning subtle shifts in cultivation that escaped the younger ones. When he opened his eyes, they held a mixture of alarm and grudging respect.
"You are right, Ling Yuan, the surge was undeniable. It wasn't a momentary explosion of anger, but a display of terrifying, stable cultivation," She Long confirmed, his voice a gravelly, low rumble that barely carried across the stone floor.
"I can confirm it. The Pope has definitely broken through. It honestly surprised me. To successfully challenge that bottleneck at his current age… it suggests a deeper commitment to power than we previously accounted for."
A murmur of agreement rippled through the gathered elders. This was not merely bad news; it was a fundamental shift in the balance of power within the Spirit Hall hierarchy.
A stronger Qian Xunji meant fewer checks on his already absolute authority, and less tolerance for failure among his subordinates. His power had ascended, and so had the stakes of their servitude.
Gui Mei, the Ghost Douluo, remained characteristically aloof. He did not move, did not speak, his ethereal presence a silent anchor of dread within their anxious circle.
His quiet observance was more unnerving than any vocal comment, affirming the gravity of the situation without expending a single word.
Ling Yuan, driven by the instinct for self-preservation that always accompanies a Title Douluo, asked the hopeful, naive question that was truly on everyone's mind.
"Is it possible, though, that the punishment will be a light one? I mean, we've expended all our resources, and the fault lies with the cunning of the soul beast and that mysterious human. I don't think His Holiness would be too severe… right?"
The air grew heavy again, weighted by the collective, unspoken answer: No. You are wrong.
Ci Xue, the Porcupine Fish Douluo, who had served Spirit Hall through multiple crises and several power transitions, sighed—a deep, world-weary sound that spoke volumes of his long, often thankless career.
"My friends, listen to an old man who has endured His Holiness for many long years," Ci Xue implored, his tone serious and paternal, meant to cut through Ling Yuan's denial.
"This matter is exceptionally serious. You all saw the fury in the Pope's eyes, didn't you? That look was not about a botched report; it was a cold, absolute demand for a deeply personal objective. The outcome will not be good for us if we fail to take this seriously, or if we return with anything less than a tangible lead."
He then turned his full attention to the newly ascended douluo, offering advice that was both a caution and a genuine senior's counsel.
"You are a new presence here, Ling Yuan. A very talented woman to cross that 90th rank without major hurdles. But understand this: a lack of results now, after that display of power, can lead to a truly heavy punishment for all of us. When the Pope's personal agenda is involved, expediency is the only acceptable virtue."
Yue Guan, ever the peacock, couldn't resist injecting a subtle jab into the serious counsel. He offered a slight, knowing smirk, his elegant features barely disturbed.
"Indeed, girl, you should be more cautious. And perhaps call us seniors more often; we may be inclined to guide you through the treacherous political waters that often follow such a failed mission."
Ling Yuan, though intimidated, was too proud to be easily dismissed. She pouted slightly, the youthful gesture momentarily overshadowing the grim environment.
"Yes, yes," she replied, crossing her arms defensively. "Just you wait until I surpass you, Yue Guan. I am still the youngest female Title Douluo in the Hall now, and that counts for something!"
Yue Guan let out a brief, light burst of laughter, though his eyes remained calculating. "You are the youngest, girl, I admit it. Enjoy the title while it lasts. But do not forget the Saintess of Spirit Hall." His voice dropped conspiratorially, adding weight to the name.
"That one is the true challenge. A talent the Hall hasn't seen in centuries. She is already likely operating at the high Spirit Douluo level in her mid-twenties, and our projections suggest she could easily reach the Title Douluo rank in her early thirties. Be prepared for her, Ling Yuan. She is the shadow you should be worried about."
The atmosphere, which had been tense with fear, now subtly shifted, infused with a note of genuine, competitive awe around them. Ling Yuan also amazed by this fact as she can feel as being woman how difficult and rare is it to like the Saintess and she also admire it.
Gui Mei, who rarely offered opinions outside of mission logistics, confirmed the sentiment in his characteristic, somber whisper.
"Yue Guan is correct. The reports on the Saintess's progress are extraordinary. With her dual spirits and her unparalleled clarity of mind, she will not just join us; she will inevitably surpass all of us in the future. You all know this to be true."
The other elders nodded in silent, universal agreement. Even among the pinnacle of power, the potential of the Saintess—Bibi Dong's publicly recognized persona—was an object of both respect and distant, fearful admiration.
Hidden behind the pillar, Bibi Dong felt a surge of cold, concentrated satisfaction. It was a momentary flare of inward pride, a brief, internal triumph that quickly gave way to clinical strategic thought.
"Hmm, I think they all have a slightly good impression towards me," she mused, analyzing the nuances of their comments. Their words weren't born of loyalty, but of pragmatic political forecasting.
They saw her not just as the Pope's successor, but as an inevitable force that would dominate them. Their respect was a mixture of fear and self-interest. This is excellent.
Her mind, honed by years of playing this high-stakes political game, was already drawing up blueprints for the future. Support. That was the key.
Qian Xunji ruled through terror and coercion. She would rule through a combination of terrifying power and strategic cultivation of loyalty.
"Okay, it will be much easier for me if I need their support later on," she affirmed internally. She began planning her future moves:
Subtle Patronage: Identify the most pliable and competent elders (perhaps Ling Yuan, who was new and anxious, and Ci Xue, who was pragmatic).
Strategic Competence: Ensure her clone is seen excelling at certain, highly visible tasks, earning their professional respect outside of Qian Xunji's shadow.
The Counter-Tyranny: Present an alternative to Qian Xunji's erratic, fear-based leadership. Show them that serving her would be more professionally rewarding and less life-threatening."
The pride she felt for her public image quickly solidified into a concrete plan of political seduction. She knew she could not fight Qian Xunji alone in the long term, not with his new strength. She needed the Title Douluo to be neutral, or better yet, to view her as their inevitable Queen.
The elders, having inadvertently laid out the map of their own future submission, began to disperse.
Gui Mei, ever the timekeeper of Spirit Hall's operations, offered a final, quiet command that snapped the group out of their speculative reverie.
"We have spoken enough. We need to go for work, and focus entirely on the mission now. The longer we delay, the greater the Pope's wrath."
The others exchanged grim nods, realizing the immense expenditure of resources and time that lay ahead. They were hunting a ghost and a powerhouse, and their lives depended on success.
Lastly, Yue Guan reiterated the terrifying incentive one final time.
"Remember, we can use every single resource we have. This is not a standard hunt. For information, and for the capture of that soul beast—we all know how profoundly valuable and personally important that soul beast is for the Pope." His tone suggested the prize was not for the Hall, but for Qian Xunji's private, dark designs.
Ling Yuan, her earlier petulance replaced by steely resolve, replied for the group. "Yes, we understand. We will succeed."
A chorus of "farewells" followed, and the nine most powerful figures in Spirit Hall dispersed quickly, like mercury running into crevices, eager to begin the desperate hunt.
Bibi Dong waited a full fifteen minutes after the last footstep faded into the distance. She extended her soul power, gently searching every corner, every shadow, ensuring the great hall was truly empty.
Only when the profound silence of the Spirit Hall's core was absolute, when she knew, with the cold certainty of her training, that she was not being noticed, did she allow the tension to bleed out of her shoulders. She heaved a silent, profound sigh of relief.
This entire episode had taken up an enormous amount of her time—time she usually dedicated to monitoring her children or practicing her own private cultivation.
She had risked exposure to her greatest enemy. But the reward was priceless: confirmation of the crisis and a fresh, detailed psychological profile of her subordinates.
Calmly, yet with a deadly sense of purpose, she moved out from behind the pillar and began her stealthy, calculated journey back to her chambers. Her mind was no longer spinning in panic, but operating with the cold, sharp efficiency of a master chess player.
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Author's Note:
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