Saintess or Caged Bird

The next morning, only ashes remained of the campfire, carrying the lingering scent of burned grass and wood.

"Chirp—chirp—!"

The piercing insect cries tore through the forest's stillness and woke the boy in the tree.

"So noisy!" Zhao Linchuan muttered, his voice hoarse from sleep and tinged with irritation at being disturbed.

He rolled over, sat up, and nimbly leaped down from the trunk.

"Into the city." He rolled his shoulders and neck, his joints giving faint cracks. "Since the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect said they would cover our tracks, I should get some peace for a few days."

"After running into a wall, they should settle down for a while."

With a thought, he held out his right hand, palm up.

Sizzle—!

Several tiny azure arcs of lightning sprang into existence, dancing in his palm like playful sprites.

Azure light rapidly gathered and solidified. An ancient longsword wreathed in a hazy blue glow—the Azure Light Demon-Slaying Sword—formed with a clear ring, hovering steadily before him.

Zhao Linchuan lightly tapped the ground with his toes and gracefully stepped onto the blade.

"Go!" With a sharp cry, the Azure Light Demon-Slaying Sword let out a clear Sword Cry, transforming into a swift azure streak that carried him low over the treetops and Galloped toward the distant outline of the city.

Spirit City, Elite Training Grounds.

A gauzy mist still lingered in the air.

The cold dampness, fresh with dew, flooded her lungs, yet it could not cool the heat brought by the surging Soul Power within her body.

Bibi Dong had just completed a round of extreme soul-pressure control training.

The smooth, mirror-like black floor clearly reflected her upright yet somewhat solitary figure.

Her fingertips trembled almost imperceptibly—not from exhaustion, but from the fine, web-like lingering pain deep in her meridians after each precise compression and release of Soul Power.

"Perfect." The Training Instructor's dry voice sounded from behind her, carrying unconcealed reverence. "Her Highness the Saintess, your control has reached the pinnacle."

Bibi Dong did not respond.

Perfect?

They only saw those despairingly precise Soul Power trajectories, the martial soul pressure capable of crushing her peers.

But who could glimpse the pain behind that "perfection," buried deep in her bones and hers alone to swallow? Or the suffocating loneliness that clung to her beneath that halo?

The vast training ground was empty and Deathly silent. Only the stone-statue stillness of the distant attendants, frozen by reverence, silently spoke of her status while deepening that invisible distance.

Amid the tide of monotonous praise and reverence, Bibi Dong returned to the Saintess's private chambers.

Before the enormous full-length mirror, its cold surface revealed every detail.

The reflected face was enough to shame the stars. Her skin was fairer than snow, her Purple eyes deep as an abyss, and her wine-red hair flowed with the sheen of silk down to her waist.

Bibi Dong silently gazed at herself in the mirror.

She was Spirit Hall's brightest star, the most perfect creation beneath Angel's Glory.

The world looked up to her heights, yet no one knew the chill above the clouds.

Her fingertips unconsciously brushed across her smooth cheek. In the depths of those purple eyes in the mirror surged an undercurrent utterly unlike the "perfection" the world saw.

A cold weariness, like silently spreading frost, was quietly covering her heart.

She was tired of this day-after-day precise path that allowed not the slightest deviation.

Tired of those awed gazes wrapped in ornate words, yet cold enough to pierce the bone.

Tired of this straight road, long planned to its very end, called "Spirit Hall's future."

She possessed everything—talent, status, beauty—all the very best in the world.

Yet why was there always a hollow void deep within her soul, screaming soundlessly?

It yearned for... something different.

It yearned for someone who could see through that dazzling halo and look directly at the burdens and struggles beneath it.

It yearned for a figure who could stand shoulder to shoulder with her, rather than prostrate themselves in reverence.

It yearned for... a trace of living warmth that truly belonged to her.

Outside the window, Spirit City's solemn and magnificent silhouette stretched beneath the morning light. Its halls towered high, its sacred statues stood imposing, its order immaculate and its sanctity awe-inspiring.

This was the land of her glory, yet it was also a prison of unparalleled splendor.

Just as she was about to bathe and wash away the dust and tension from her training, a maid announced respectfully from outside. Her voice was especially clear in the empty hall:

"Her Highness the Saintess, His Holiness the Pope summons you to the Council Hall at once. There is an important matter to discuss."

"Understood." Bibi Dong let out a long breath and buried all the turbulent emotions reflected in the mirror deep within her eyes.

Her Purple eyes instantly returned to their usual calm sharpness, like polished amethysts.

She pushed open the door and walked out, her bearing dignified, every step precisely measured against an invisible scale.

"Lead the way."

Pope's Council Hall.

Qian Xunji sat upright upon the throne that symbolized supreme authority, his gaze like a tangible probe as it instantly locked onto Bibi Dong as she entered the hall.

That gaze was sharp and cold, carrying a scrutiny that seemed capable of seeing through everything. It made her feel like a rare specimen under a spotlight, with every inch of her disguise laid bare.

"Dong'er," Qian Xunji's deep voice echoed through the vast hall, carrying unquestionable authority.

"The younger generation of Spirit Hall will depart for the various Great Soul Arenas today to undergo training. The goal—Gold Soul Master Badges."

He paused slightly before adding, "You will have full command of this operation. Yue Guan and Ghost Charm will accompany you, one in the open and one in the shadows, responsible for protection and support."

"Yes, Teacher!" Bibi Dong immediately bowed and accepted the order, her posture flawless.

Qian Xunji said no more. He merely asked a few brief questions about her recent breakthrough in her Soul Power bottleneck, his tone as flat as though he were handling routine business.

Then, with a single sentence—"I still have matters to attend to"—he ended the conversation.

He rose, and the invisible pressure followed his steps out of the hall like a tangible tide.

Only after the steady, imposing footsteps had completely vanished at the end of the corridor outside did the suffocating pressure slowly fade. Bibi Dong gradually straightened.

A sharp pain pricked her fingertips. She lowered her head and spread open her tightly clenched hand—several crescent-shaped, deeply embedded, pale fingernail marks stood out starkly on her soft palm, with faint streaks of blood even seeping from their edges.

In the vast, cold hall, she was the only one left.

An indescribable emotion quietly surfaced, mingling exhaustion with a faint sense of release.

"That works too..." She gazed at the morning light spilling in through the hall doors and whispered soundlessly. "I can go see the world outside..."

The weariness and longing churning in the mirror seemed to have found the tiniest of outlets.

"Perhaps... I really might encounter some... different 'ripples'?"

"Even... the simplest kind of fun would be enough."

Three days later, on the official road.

The sun climbed higher, and dust stirred faintly between the wheel ruts.

Zhao Linchuan had adopted a relaxed air as he rode a magnificent snow-white steed—this mount was called "White Snow."

It had been bought at the market with that weighty "token of regard" from the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Sect.

He let the horse wander at will, casually humming an off-key rustic tune.