17: Qianxunji

Under the magnificent dome of the Supreme Pontiff Palace, sunlight streamed through the enormous stained-glass windows, casting colorful and solemn light and shadow patterns on the floor.

The air was filled with the cool scent of ancient stone mixed with incense.

Mo Yuhan's small figure followed half a step behind Bibi Dong; the new sense of power brought by his recent breakthrough to twenty-third level Soul Power and the dark yellow Dou Qi vortex in his dantian made his steps a little lighter.

However, this lightness was suddenly replaced by an invisible heaviness in his heart the moment he stepped into the outer corridor of the Supreme Pontiff Palace.

Bibi Dong's steps remained steady, the hem of her purple-gold Saintess robe sweeping silent arcs across the mirror-like black stone floor as she walked.

Her posture was erect, her violet hair meticulously tied up, revealing her gracefully contoured neck and smooth forehead.

Now twenty years old, she was in the prime of her life, her coldness mixed with allure highlighting her increasingly settled majesty, like a volcano accumulating power beneath a blanket of ice and snow.

Her skin, even in the slightly dim light of the palace, remained so fair it seemed translucent, her exquisite profile like the most perfect sculpture, her purple eyes deep and calm, yet subtly glinting with an all-seeing insight.

Just then, a figure, like a ghost, silently darted out from the shadow of a pillar, blocking their path.

It was a middle-aged man dressed in the Spirit Hall's high-ranking deacon's attire, his face rigid, his eyes lowered, not daring to meet Bibi Dong's gaze, his posture respectful yet with an unyielding stiffness.

"Your Highness, Saintess."

The deacon bowed, his voice flat and emotionless, like reciting a fixed prayer, "His Holiness the Supreme Pontiff has ordered your immediate presence in the Privy Chamber for a discussion."

"The Privy Chamber?"

Bibi Dong's steps paused slightly, a faint flicker of wariness passing through the depths of her purple eyes.

Because this was not the usual main hall or side hall for discussions, but a small secret chamber located deep within the Supreme Pontiff Palace, near the core archives, a secluded place rarely used on ordinary days.

"Yes," the deacon's head lowered further, his tone still devoid of fluctuation, "His Holiness stated that there are urgent matters concerning 'recent anomalies in the Star Dou Forest' and 'preparations for the next Elite Tournament' that require private consultation with Your Highness, Saintess. As the matters are confidential, His Holiness requests Your Highness to proceed to the Privy Chamber."

The reasons were grand and proper.

The anomalies in the Star Dou Forest and the preparations for the Elite Tournament were all core affairs in which she, as the Saintess, should participate.

But the words "private consultation" and "Privy Chamber" slid into her heart like cold snakes.

She suddenly recalled a joke Mo Yuhan had once made to her: "Auntie, you are so beautiful, could that old man, the Supreme Pontiff, also like you?"

As expected, Mo Yuhan was severely punished by Bibi Dong that time, kept awake for two days straight in the simulated training ground before being released, and then confined for several more days.

Because she disliked Mo Yuhan's joke; it not only insulted her but also insulted the prestige of her teacher, Qian Xunji.

However, after that day, whenever she met Qian Xunji, she always felt as if she glimpsed, behind the highest window of the Supreme Pontiff Palace, a fleeting gaze carrying scrutiny and an indescribable meaning.

And after the deacon finished speaking, Mo Yuhan's heart suddenly sank heavily.

The dark yellow Dou Qi vortex, which had just stabilized in his dantian, unexpectedly pulsed with a subtle yet clear tremor, as if stimulated by an invisible malice.

His small fists quietly clenched inside his well-fitted sleeves, his dark eyes lifted, staring intently at the delivering deacon, trying to discern a clue from that rigid face, but only seeing a dead-water-like subservience.

Bibi Dong was silent for a moment, the corridor now only filled with the faint distant footsteps and the almost inaudible hum of the spirit-guided lamps.

The colorful light and shadow flowed in her calm purple eyes, finally settling into a deep pool of tranquility.

"I understand," she said faintly, her voice still clear and cool, showing no ripple of emotion, "Xiao Han, you go back to the training ground first."

"Lead the way."

"Yes, Your Highness, Saintess, please follow me."

The deacon turned sideways, gestured to lead the way, then turned and walked silently towards a deeper, darker area of the Supreme Pontiff Palace.

There, sunlight was blocked by thick stone walls, and only the spirit-guided lamps embedded in the walls emitted a faint blue cold light, illuminating the path ahead like a descent into the deep sea.

Bibi Dong stepped forward, her purple-gold robe sleeves brushing the cold stone floor. Her back remained straight, like a pine tree standing firm in wind and snow, but beneath that coolness, Mo Yuhan keenly caught a subtle tension.

Mo Yuhan did not hesitate, his small figure, like the most loyal shadow, silently followed after they had left, completely blending into the shadows of the corridor.

With every step, the Dou Qi vortex in his dantian subtly accelerated its rotation, the dark yellow Dou Qi flowing silently through his meridians, and the Xuan Huang Flame spirit core burned steadily in his chest, his perception heightened to its limit.

The eerie blue light stretched and distorted the figures of the leading deacon and Bibi Dong, casting them onto the cold, damp stone walls like some ominous premonition.

The air seemed to solidify, leaving only their barely audible footsteps, tapping out a suffocating silence in this deep corridor leading to the "Privy Chamber."

Deep within the Spirit Hall, beneath the grand and solemn shadows of the Supreme Pontiff Palace, lay hidden, unknown dark corners.

A winding stone staircase, perennially filled with the dampness seeping from the stone walls and a musty chill.

Spirit-guided lamps embedded in the walls emitted a faint blue cold light, barely dispelling the thick darkness, yet adding to the eeriness.

The air was stagnant, carrying a mixed scent of rust and old Soul Power residue, pressing heavily on the lungs.

Bibi Dong walked along this passage leading to the underground secret chamber, her steps still maintaining the steady composure of a Supreme Pontiff successor, but in the depths of her violet eyes, a layer of unyielding frost had congealed.

The purple-gold Saintess robe she wore, symbolizing her status, shimmered with a low-key yet luxurious glow in the dim light, yet it could not dispel the surrounding chill.

Qian Xunji's summons came abruptly, his reasons flimsy, and the covetous gaze hidden beneath his gentle mask, with Mo Yuhan's deliberate guidance and hints, she was no longer completely oblivious.

However, at this moment, though she possessed exceptional talent and held a respected position, her wings were ultimately not yet fully grown, and facing the Supreme Pontiff's authority, she had no choice but to come.

The thick stone door of the secret chamber closed silently behind her, cutting off the last sound from outside.

The space was small, the furnishings simple to the point of being crude, with only a cold stone table and a few iron chairs.

Qian Xunji stood with his back to her, beneath the only light source—a suspended spirit-guided lamp—his figure stretched long, cast onto the damp stone wall like a monstrous beast waiting to devour.

"Dong'er has arrived."

Qian Xunji slowly turned around, a habitually false smile on his face, tinged with an elder's authority, but the smile did not reach his eyes, instead appearing somewhat distorted in the eerie blue light.

His gaze fell upon Bibi Dong, carrying undisguised scrutiny, as if evaluating a rare treasure, from her meticulously combed, purple-silk-like long hair, to her fair, almost transparent neck, then to the rising curve of her chest beneath the perfectly tailored Supreme Pontiff robe, and the glimpses of her straight calves beneath the hem.

This beauty, cold and noble, like the purest ice lotus on a snowy mountain peak, now became the sole prey in the darkness, igniting the long-suppressed flame of possession and destruction deep within Qian Xunji's eyes.