Over the next two days, a strange, fragile rhythm established itself within the cold, echoing halls of the Supreme Pontiff's Palace. It was a routine born of necessity and veiled agendas, a dance performed on the edge of a knife.
Every evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the spires of Spirit City in shades of bruised purple, a spirit-powered carriage would deposit Zhang Tian and Qian Renxue at the gates. They would walk the long corridors, past the silent, silver-armored guards, into the main audience chamber where Bibi Dong waited on her throne of obsidian and gold.
The first order of business was always the "treatment." Bibi Dong would dismiss the guards and even Qian Renxue, her face a mask of regal indifference that barely hid the desperate hunger in her eyes—a hunger not for power, but for silence. She would descend from the throne, and Zhang Tian would unleash the crimson vines of his Blood Silver Emperor.
For Qian Renxue, this part was a surreal torment. She stood outside the chamber while she waited Zhang Tian who was touching the women she feared.
It was the only time Bibi Dong looked vulnerable, the only time the iron mask slipped to reveal the exhausted woman beneath.
After the treatment, the atmosphere would shift. The vines would recede, the mask would slide back into place, and soon Qian Renxue would be invited inside and the three of them would sit in the vast, empty hall.
It was awkward. The air was thick enough to choke on, filled with decades of unsaid words and resentments.
Zhang Tian, acting as the bridge over this chasm, steered the conversation towards the only neutral ground that existed between a Supreme Pontiff and her estranged daughter: ambition.
"The board in Heaven Dou is set," Zhang Tian said one evening, pouring wine into three crystal goblets. He swirled the dark liquid, watching the light catch in it. "But the endgame requires precision. Renxue, tell Her Holiness about the piece you've placed on the throne."
Qian Renxue straightened, her posture shifting from that of a daughter to that of a strategist. She looked at Bibi Dong, her chin lifted. "The imposter is secure," she stated, her voice cool and professional. "His name is Liam. He is a loyal subordinate I cultivated years ago. He has worn the face of Xue Qinghe for so long that I believe he sometimes forgets his own name."
Bibi Dong took a sip of her wine, her pink eyes sharp over the rim of the glass. "A face is not enough to hold a kingdom. The nobles are wolves. They will smell weakness."
"He is not weak," Qian Renxue countered. "And he is not alone. We have arranged a marriage for him with a woman from a minor noble house—a woman who is actually an operative of the Spirit Hall. She is already pregnant."
Bibi Dong's eyebrows rose slightly. "An heir?"
"A bloodline," Qian Renxue corrected. "Or the illusion of one. Once the child is born, the legitimacy of 'Xue Qinghe' will be cemented in the eyes of the court. Emperor Xue Ye is old. His health is failing, aided by a slow, undetectable poison we have been introducing into his tonic for months. When he abdicates, or dies, the transition will be seamless. The Heaven Dou Empire will fall into our hands without a single soldier marching on the capital."
She continued, outlining her plans to seize influence from the recalcitrant noble houses. She spoke of the Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Sect's covert financial support, of mercenaries bought and paid for, of a web of alliances that would strangle any resistance before it could draw breath. She spoke with a cold, ruthless intelligence that mirrored the woman sitting across from her.
Bibi Dong listened. For the first time in years, she didn't see the face of the man she hated when she looked at her daughter. She didn't see Qian Xunji. She saw a tactician. She saw a predator who understood the laws of the jungle.
"You rely heavily on the Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Sect," Bibi Dong noted, her tone losing some of its icy edge. "Ning Fengzhi is a fox. He does not give without taking."
"He takes profit," Qian Renxue said. "We take the throne. It is a fair exchange. Once the empire is ours, we can isolate the Star Luo Empire. We can cut off their trade routes, starve their economy, and incite rebellion in their border provinces. We will not need to conquer them; we will make them beg to be absorbed."
Bibi Dong nodded slowly. A flicker of something appeared in her eyes. It wasn't love—that well had run dry long ago—but it was respect. "A sound strategy," she admitted, the words quiet. "You have... planned this well."
Qian Renxue felt a tiny, fragile warmth bloom in her chest at the words. It was a crumb, a speck of dust, but coming from her mother, it felt like a feast.
During these talks, Bibi Dong's attention would inevitably turn to Zhang Tian. The man who sat between them, comfortable in the presence of two of the most powerful women in the world.
"Your 'fiancé'," she said to Qian Renxue on the second night, the word dripping with a heavy, complex irony. "Tell me of him. His talents seem... boundless. He commands the loyalty of a great sect... what else does he hide?"
Qian Renxue looked at Zhang Tian. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Tell her.
Empowered by his permission, Qian Renxue spoke freely. "He is a genius," she said, her voice filled with an unhidden pride. "The pills that the Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Sect sells? The ones that can cleanse impurities and boost cultivation? Those are merely the watered-down versions. The scraps."
Bibi Dong leaned forward. "Scraps?"
"The true pills," Qian Renxue said, "the ones he makes for his inner circle... they can raise a person's innate talent. They can push a bottleneck to breaking point. I have taken them. I know."
She told her mother of his mastery of spirit tools—not the clumsy imitations the Spirit Hall was trying to forge, but true artifacts of power. She told her that he had learned these things not from a teacher, but from his own analysis, tearing apart ancient remnants and understanding the fundamental laws of the world.
The more Bibi Dong heard, the more the ice in her eyes melted into intrigue. A self-taught genius? A man who had the Seven Treasure Glaze Tile Sect in his pocket, who had married their heiress and another woman, establishing a harem that even the proud Ning Fengzhi accepted? A man who had somehow made her own daughter—a girl raised in the cold, loveless halls of the Elder Palace—look at him with such devotion?
He was a variable. A nexus of power. And he was sitting right there, sipping her wine, smiling that calm, knowing smile.
"You are a dangerous man, Zhang Tian," Bibi Dong murmured.
"I am a useful man, Your Holiness," he corrected gently.
The stage was set. The rapport, however cold, was established. It was time for the hook.
A few minutes later, as the conversation lulled, Zhang Tian swirled the wine in his glass, staring into the deep red liquid as if reading the future.
"Speaking of interesting individuals," he said, his voice casual, as if mentioning the weather. "I saw someone unexpected in the city today. While I was walking through the market... I saw Yu Xiaogang."
The name hit the room like a bomb.
The air instantly left the chamber. Bibi Dong's mask, that perfect, porcelain facade she wore like armor, cracked. Her eyes widened, the pupils constricting. For a split second, the Supreme Pontiff vanished, replaced by a woman in raw, agonizing pain.
"The Grandmaster?" Qian Renxue asked, breaking the silence, her brow furrowed in confusion. "Why mention him? He is a failure. A waste. His team was humiliated in the qualifiers. He should be hiding in a hole somewhere, not walking the streets of Spirit City."
Zhang Tian didn't look at Bibi Dong. He kept his eyes on his wine. "Indeed. And yet, he seemed... unbothered. He wasn't hiding. He was walking in the open market."
He took a sip, letting the suspense hang for a moment. "He was with that woman. Liu Erlong. The Dean of the Blue Tyrant Academy. They looked... happy. Like a couple on a honeymoon. Holding hands, laughing, buying trinkets. It seemed he has forgotten his students' suffering, and his own defeat, quite easily in the arms of his lover."
Bibi Dong's face went pale, the blood draining away until she looked like a marble statue. Then, a flush of color returned—not healthy, but a feverish mix of anger and a desperate, hungry hope. Her hands clenched on the arms of her throne, the stone groaning under the pressure.
"He is... here?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "In Spirit City?"
"Yes," Zhang Tian confirmed, looking up now, meeting her gaze with eyes that pretended innocence. "They are staying at the Gilded Rose Inn, I believe. A rather romantic spot."
He watched her closely. He saw the conflict. The lingering, obsessive love warring with the sudden, sharp stab of jealousy. She was picturing him. With another woman. Happy. While she sat here, alone on a throne of ice, tormented by demons.
The trap was laid. Now, he had to give her the means to spring it.
Later, the time came for their private session. Qian Renxue had left, her expression thoughtful, still wondering why Zhang Tian cared about a nobody like Yu Xiaogang.
The doors closed. Zhang Tian approached the throne. His vines emerged, connecting with her, beginning the process of siphoning the dark energy.
"You asked about Martial Spirit Evolution the other day," he said softly, his voice blending with the hum of spirit power.
Bibi Dong's eyes snapped open. The fog in her mind was clearing, the whispers retreating, leaving her with a sharp, painful clarity. "Yes," she breathed. "Can it be done? I want to know about how I can evolve my disciple Hu Liana's Martial Spirit, which is a Charming Fox Martial Spirit."
"It varies," Zhang Tian explained, his tone academic. "It depends on the spirit. For your disciple, Hu Liena... her fox spirit is potent, but unfocused. It needs a pure mental attribute boost to transcend its current limits. A skull bone from an Evil Eye Tyrant, perhaps. Or, if you can find it, an immortal herb that awakens the ancient lineage of the Nine-Tailed Fox."
Bibi Dong nodded, absorbing the information. It made sense. But that wasn't what she truly wanted to know.
"And..." she hesitated. Her voice became uncharacteristically small, stripped of its imperial command. "What about... a spirit that has mutated? A beast spirit that became... external? Weak? A spirit that halted a man's cultivation?"
Zhang Tian smiled internally. The fish had bitten the hook. She was asking about Luo Sanpao. She thought she was being subtle.
"Ah," he said, feigning thoughtfulness. "You speak of a malignment mutation. Like the one Yu Xiaogang possesses? I observed him once, years ago, in Suotuo City."
Bibi Dong flinched at the name but leaned in, her hunger for the answer overriding her pride.
"That is a difficult case," Zhang Tian continued. "His spirit, the Luo Sanpao, is essentially a Golden Holy Dragon that failed to form. It is full of impurities. To fix it... one would need a baptism. Not of water, but of lightning. Powerful, pure lightning attribute resources—dragon blood, thunder herbs—to cleanse the impurities and force a re-evolution. It would be painful. Dangerous. But... possible."
Bibi Dong's eyes lit up. It was a light of fanaticism. A hope she had buried decades ago. She had a way. She could help him. She could fix the one thing that had always tormented him, the one thing that kept him from standing beside her. If she gave him this... if she gave him his dignity back... surely, he would look at her again?
"Lightning resources..." she muttered, her mind already cataloging the contents of the Spirit Hall's vast vaults.
Zhang Tian finished the treatment and withdrew his vines. "Of course," he added, stepping back. "That is just a theory based on his specific case. Without examining the individual you speak of, I cannot be certain."
"You have done well, Zhang Tian," Bibi Dong said, her voice distracted. She stood up. "You may go."
She didn't even wait for him to bow. She turned and swept towards her private chambers, her movements hurried, desperate.
Zhang Tian left the palace, a cold smirk playing on his lips. He walked back to the carriage where Qian Renxue was waiting.
As the carriage pulled away, Zhang Tian pulled out his Pager. He typed a simple message.
'It's time. Begin the performance.'
At the Gilded Rose Inn, in a room that smelled of lavender and cheap perfume, Liu Erlong's eyes glazed over for a second as the message arrived. The mental command from her master settled into her mind, absolute and unbreakable. Her expression went blank, then reset into a mask of gentle concern.
She turned to Yu Xiaogang, who was sitting at a small table, staring into a cup of tea, looking every inch the tragic, misunderstood genius.
"Xiaogang," she said, her voice soft, laced with a worry that felt real. "You've been brooding all evening. Let's go for a walk. The night air will do you good. Being cooped up in here isn't helping."
Yu Xiaogang sighed, the weight of the world on his shoulders. "Perhaps you are right, Erlong. A walk might clear my head."
She led him out of the inn, guiding him through the winding streets towards a quiet, secluded park near the Spirit Hall. It was a place of shadows and moonlight, perfect for a private conversation. And perfect for an eavesdropper.
Miles away, in the garden of Zhang Tian's estate, Ah Yin sat in a meditative trance. Her consciousness, vast and subtle, flowed through the earth, connecting to the network of Blood Silver Grass that grew in the park. She found them instantly.
She found Yu Xiaogang's mental signature. It was a messy, chaotic thing, filled with self-pity and frustration.
She prepared to do as her Emperor had commanded. To plant the seeds of hate. To force him to say words that would break a heart.
She probed his memories, looking for the right triggers. She sifted through his thoughts about Bibi Dong, expecting to find regret, perhaps a lingering, tragic love that she would have to twist.
She paused.
There was no love.
As she dove deeper into his psyche, she found a festering swamp of resentment. He didn't love Bibi Dong. He hated her. He hated her for her success. He hated her for surpassing him. He blamed her for his own stagnation. In his mind, she wasn't a tragic lover; she was an arrogant woman who had once been useful, and was now a reminder of everything he wasn't. He thought she was stupid for being so easy to fool, and he despised her for it but always found her stupidity useful.
Ah Yin's spiritual eyes widened in disgust. 'He… he actually despises her,' she realized. 'I don't need to plant a lie. I don't need to force anything.'
She sent a signal to Zhang Tian. 'My Emperor. The seeds are already there. They are rotten and deep. I just need to lower his inhibitions. I just need to make him speak the truth he hides behind his mask of stoicism.'
In the park, the shadows deepened. A figure cloaked in a simple black robe moved silently through the trees, her presence completely masked. Bibi Dong had come. She had to see him. She had to tell him she had found the cure.
She saw them sitting on a stone bench, the moonlight illuminating Yu Xiaogang's profile. Her heart hammered against her ribs. He looked so sad. So noble.
She moved closer, desperate to hear his voice. She was about to step out, to reveal herself, when Liu Erlong spoke.
"Xiaogang," Liu Erlong asked, her voice soft, adhering perfectly to the script Zhang Tian had written. "I've always wondered... about her. The Supreme Pontiff. You were... close once, weren't you? All those years ago. Do you... do you still love her?"
Bibi Dong froze. Her hand, reaching out to part the bushes, stopped in mid-air. This was the question. The question that had haunted her for twenty years. The question she was terrified to ask, and desperate to have answered.
Ah Yin, sensing the moment, sent a subtle pulse of mental energy into Yu Xiaogang's mind. It wasn't a command. It was a release. It pushed past his usual caution, his carefully constructed persona of the tragic hero. It uncorked the bottle of bile he had kept stoppered for decades.
Yu Xiaogang scoffed.
It was a harsh, ugly sound, devoid of any warmth.
"Love her?" he said, shaking his head, a sneer curling his lip. "That arrogant woman?"
Bibi Dong felt as if a blade had been shoved into her chest.
"Erlong," Yu Xiaogang said, turning to the woman beside him. "You don't understand. You never did. She was... useful. That was all."
"Useful?" Liu Erlong asked, her eyes wide.
"She was the Holy Maiden," he explained, his voice filled with a dismissive contempt. "She had the keys to the Spirit Hall's archives. The records. The secrets of the martial spirits that no one else could see. I needed that information. My theories... they required data. And she was the only way to get it."
"But... she loved you," Liu Erlong pressed. "Everyone said..."
"It was easy," he bragged, leaning back, a cruel, self-satisfied smirk on his face. "She was so... naive. So desperate for affection. A few kind words, a little attention, pretending to care about her problems... and she opened the library doors for me. She practically threw herself at me."
He laughed, a dry, rasping sound. "I seduced her with my eyes closed. She thought it was a great romance. She thought it was true love. I just wanted to read her books. She was an idiot then, and she's probably an idiot now."
In the shadows, Bibi Dong's knees hit the earth. The world was spinning. The pain was absolute. It wasn't the corruption of a god. It was the corruption of a memory.
"I never loved her," Yu Xiaogang said, looking Liu Erlong in the eyes, his voice firm. "She was a stepping stone. A tool. You, Erlong... you are the only one I have ever truly cared for. She... she was just a means to an end."
~~
A/N: Check out my BTTH Fanfic [Doupo: Plundering the Plot with God-Tier Comprehension].
Also, check out 20 Chapters Ahead for this fanfic on my P.atreon.
Patreon link: https://www.patreon.com/c/evildragon04