The sprites arranged the food upon a white jade table that had silently materialized beside them, then bowed respectfully and dissolved into the air.
Dai Chengfeng rose, casually draping an outer robe over his shoulders. He gathered Bibi Dong's scattered inner garment and, with reverent tenderness, helped her into it. She'd meant to refuse—but seeing the solemn devotion in his eyes, as if performing a sacred rite, she lifted her arms and yielded.
Once dressed, he swept her into his arms, settling at the stone table with her cradled upon his lap.
"I can feed myself," Bibi Dong murmured, flustered. Though intimacy had erased all barriers between them, being tended like a cherished child still stirred shy warmth in her cheeks.
"Don't move." He stilled her with a gentle hand, spooning congee, blowing softly to cool it before guiding it to her lips. "Open."
She met his unwavering gaze—and her resistance melted. She accepted the spoonful, the warm porridge soothing her hollow stomach with gentle spiritual energy.
"Is it good?" His voice was honey-soft, eyes shimmering with devotion.
She nodded. "Delicious. What rice is this? Its energy is so pure."
"Wind Spirit Rice," he said, feeding her another bite. "It grows only where wind essence gathers thick. It has the effect of nourishing your spirit."
Bibi Dong's heart swelled. As a Titled Douluo, ordinary food held no sustenance for her—but this rice carried palpable comfort. He prepared this for me.
They lingered in quiet communion: him feeding, her accepting. Sunlight dappled their entwined forms, gilding the moment like a painted dream.
Sated, she nestled against his chest, sipping the fruit wine. Sweet on the tongue, it carried a subtle warmth that deepened her languor.
"This wine…" Her eyes grew hazy.
"Wind Whisper Wine," he murmured, taking the cup and drinking from where her lips had rested. His gaze held hers, deliberate. "Drink enough, and truths slip free. Dong'er… when did you first fall for me?"
Her cheeks flushed—whether from wine or shyness, she couldn't tell. She turned her face away. "Who says I like you?"
"No?" Dai Chengfeng's brow arched. His fingers traced her waist, feather-light. She gasped.
"Then who was it just now—surrendering so sweetly beneath me, whispering pleas—"
"Hush!" She clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes glistening. Her glare held no threat—only the flustered charm of a kitten swatting air. It made his chest ache with longing.
He drew her hand down, kissing each knuckle. "Fine. No words. Let actions speak."
He leaned in—but she turned her head. He stilled her chin, forcing her to meet his burning gaze.
"Dong'er," he said, all playfulness gone, voice low and earnest. "Tell me. You carry me in your heart… don't you?"
She saw herself reflected in his eyes—hair tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes still soft with lingering passion. Where was the Supreme Pontiff's icy authority now?
In this world of wind and light, she chose truth.
"Mm."
A whisper. Faint as a moth's wing. Yet it reached him.
His breath caught. Joy surged through him like a tidal wave. He'd felt her love—but to hear it…
"Again," he rasped, voice trembling.
She gathered her courage, meeting his eyes squarely. "Dai Chengfeng… my heart holds you."
The words had barely faded when he crushed her to his chest. His arms locked around her, fierce and reverent—as if sealing her into his very bones.
"Dong'er… my Dong'er…" He breathed her name like a prayer, voice thick with awe.
She felt his heartbeat thunder against her ear. A smile bloomed on her lips. She wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face in his warmth.
Time stood still. The world, peaceful. The heart, whole.
After a long silence, he loosened his hold—but kept her close. His thumb brushed her cheek. "Move in with me, Dong'er."
She stilled. "I am the Supreme Pontiff of the Spirit Hall. I cannot—"
"I know." He silenced her gently. "I ask not for your throne. Only… a place where you may rest when weary. A shoulder you may lean on."
He cupped her face. "I will handle the Spirit Hall. No one will dare speak against you. No one will harm you."
Her throat tightened. She knew the storm his words would unleash—elders' outrage, political tremors, the shadow of him… Qian Daoliu.
Dai Chengfeng saw the shadow cross her eyes. He lifted her chin, compelling her gaze. "Trust me. While I draw breath, no hand will touch you. No voice will silence us. And if any dare…" A glacial light flashed in his eyes. "…I wouldn't mind thinning the ranks of Titled Douluos on this continent."
His tone was calm. Absolute. She believed him without doubt.
"Give me time," she whispered. "Let me settle matters within the Spirit Hall. Let me grow strong enough…"
"Good." He didn't press. He knew her pride. He would wait. Walk beside her to the summit.
"But," he added, mischief returning to his eyes, "until then—you must promise to visit this domain at least once a week. No—twice."
Bibi Dong laughed softly. "You're impossible."
"I don't care." He nuzzled her nose, breath warm against her lips. "Refuse, and I'll carry you to the Spirit Hall gates this instant—and proclaim to all that you are mine."
She glared—but melted beneath his gaze. Cheeks burning, she murmured into his chest:
"…One day."
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