21: frank

Mo Yuhan’s small body trembled violently, as if he was suffocated by the weight of this tear, and he suddenly looked up.

On the stone bed, Bibi Dong still had her face turned away, as if the shocking tremor and the heaven-burning hatred in her eyes had never happened.

Only a faint, almost imperceptible wet gleam remained in the corner of her eye, like a star about to shatter but not yet, reflecting the outline of her pale, almost transparent profile in the dim candlelight.

That fragility was heartbreakingly beautiful and suffocatingly heavy.

Bibi Dong bit her lower lip so hard that she almost bit through the tender skin, a dazzling line of fresh red blood oozing out, winding down her pale chin like a desperate flower blooming in the snow.

The stone house fell into a deeper silence. The distant roars of beasts from the Monster Mountain Range had stopped at some unknown time, leaving only the faint crackling of firewood in the fire, like silent sighs.

Mo Yuhan looked at the water stain from the tear on his palm, then slowly raised his gaze to stare at the stubborn and despairing gleam in his aunt’s eye and the striking bloodstain on her lip.

His black eyes, belonging to a child and normally clear as crystal, now swirled with complex emotions far beyond his age—pity for that extreme fragility and beauty, helplessness at that heavy pain, and, deeper from his bloodline, a cold anger silently burning.

He was silent for a moment, his small chest rising and falling slightly. Finally, he extended his other hand, which was not stained with tears, and with the softest part of his fingertip, with an almost reverent gentleness, carefully wiped the striking bloodstain from her lip.

As his fingertip touched her cold and trembling lips, he clearly felt the forced, rigid tension on the verge of collapse.

“Auntie.”

He spoke, his voice very low, with the clear brightness characteristic of a child, yet unusually steady, like a stone thrown into still water, trying to awaken a sinking soul, “Don’t be afraid.”

He paused, his gaze sweeping around the simple but sturdy stone house, which isolated all the darkness of Spirit Hall, every word falling clearly and firmly:

“You still have me.”

He spoke the last four words very softly, yet it was as if he had used all his strength, carrying an undeniable promise that settled heavily in this small, firefly-lit space.

Mo Yuhan’s words, “You still have me,” echoed softly in the silent stone house, like a stone dropped into a deep pool, its ripples spreading until they finally touched the edge of Bibi Dong’s consciousness, which was drowning in the abyss of pain.

Her empty purple eyes turned very slowly, her gaze finally moving from the cold, rough ceiling to the small figure by the bed.

His youthful yet unusually calm profile was illuminated by the firefly light, and she could see the complex concern in his eyes.

Her lips moved ever so slightly, and the voice that emerged from Bibi Dong’s lips, now re-moistened and lustrous by Mo Yuhan, no longer carried its former pride, but rather the weakness of someone who had survived a catastrophe and a deep-seated confusion.

“… Yu Han, where… is… this?”

She asked, each word seemingly squeezed out of her broken chest with difficulty, her gaze fixed on Mo Yuhan’s youthful face, as if he were the only piece of driftwood she could grasp in this void.

Mo Yuhan met those purple eyes, which held immense pain and a subtle, almost imperceptible fear of the unknown, and his small chest rose and fell slightly.

He was silent for a moment, seemingly weighing his words, or perhaps gathering courage.

Outside the stone house, the night wind of the Monster Mountain Range whistled mournfully through the treetops, making the place feel even more isolated from the World.

“Auntie.” He finally spoke, his voice still not loud, but with a strange certainty, as if stating an undeniable fact, “This… is no longer Douluo Continent, but, another World.”

Bibi Dong’s pupils contracted sharply, as if pricked by a needle.

The pain and confusion in her purple eyes were instantly replaced by a deeper shock and disbelief. Her gaze lingered on Mo Yuhan’s eyes, as if she were judging whether he was talking nonsense.

However, Mo Yuhan’s eyes were clear and frank, without the slightest hint of a child’s jest.

“Not… Douluo Continent?” She murmured, repeating the words, a hint of absurdity in her voice, her severe injuries making even her questioning seem weak.

“Mm.” Mo Yuhan nodded forcefully, his small face full of seriousness, “This is Dou Qi Continent. I… by chance, have a way to temporarily travel between the two Worlds. Qian Xunji’s hand cannot reach here.”

He paused, looking at the disbelief churning in Bibi Dong’s eyes, and did not continue to explain the reason for his ability to travel between Worlds, because even he himself did not know why.

Mo Yuhan then began to describe this strange World, “Dou Qi Continent is very big, much, much bigger than our side. There are no Spirit here, but people cultivate a power called Dou Qi.”

He held out his small hand, palm up, and a wisp of faint white airflow slowly appeared, like a candle in the wind, swirling and dancing in his palm before dissipating.

“Dou Qi?”

Bibi Dong’s gaze was drawn by the faint wisp of airflow, and a flicker of surprise crossed her purple eyes.

Even severely injured and near death, her instincts as a powerful individual still keenly sensed that it was an energy essence completely different from Soul Power, yet subtly sharing some common ground.

“Yes, Dou Qi.”

Mo Yuhan retracted his hand and continued, “Those who cultivate Dou Qi are called Dou Zhe. The ranks start from Dou Qi, then Dou Zhe, Dou Shi, Great Dou Shi… all the way to the legendary Dou Di.”

His voice had the crisp clarity of a child, yet he clearly articulated those rank names that were completely unfamiliar to Bibi Dong.

“There are many powerful Sect and forces here, such as Yunlan Sect, Canaan Academy… and many, many dangerous Monster, living in the mountains outside us.”

He pointed to the deep night outside the stone house.

Bibi Dong listened quietly. Her severe injuries prevented her from showing much emotion, but in the depths of her purple eyes, shock and confusion gradually settled, replaced by an extremely complex array of thoughts.

A completely new World, filled with unknown power rules… This information was too vast, impacting her precarious mind.

She instinctively tried to clench her fist, but found it incredibly difficult even to move a finger. Waves of emptiness and sharp pain from within her body, like cold tides, instantly pulled her back to the cruel reality.

In those empty purple eyes, the faint spark of light that had just ignited upon hearing of the new World was rapidly swallowed by a deeper and more despairing gloom.

Bibi Dong tried to mobilize her Soul Power, but only a deathly cold silence responded, along with excruciating pain in her meridians, as if they were being crushed inch by inch.

This feeling of emptiness terrified her more than Qian Xunji’s betrayal.

“… My injuries…”

Bibi Dong’s voice was even lower than before, carrying a fatalistic stillness. Each word seemed steeped in ice water, “My Soul Power… my meridians… are they… all destroyed?”

She turned her head with difficulty, her gaze fixed on the low stone ceiling, as if she dared not look into Mo Yuhan’s eyes again. Her long eyelashes trembled violently, as if unable to bear the weight of that despair.