Hammered?

The living room fell into an eerie silence once more.

Jiang Bai digested this earth-shattering information, his heart filled with indescribable shock.

How was this still the world's number one support-tool Martial Soul?

This was clearly... a divine artifact for raising Soul Beasts with limitless potential for growth!

It was just... unclear how it had mutated...

The Fire Dragon, meanwhile, froze completely.

The first three pieces of information had shocked it, yet also allowed it to glimpse a different kind of hope for "eternal life" and "growth."

But the final underlying rule was like the coldest shackle, utterly crushing its last hopes of rage, resentment, and revenge.

Acknowledge him as master... unable to harm him... absolute loyalty...

It was a proud Fire Dragon with the bloodline of a true dragon! How could it possibly...

Yet the unmistakable, immovable mark deep within its soul constantly reminded it of this cruel reality.

The "Master" it had blurted out earlier, as well as its attack being forcibly turned into possession, were irrefutable proof.

It raised its head, its shrunken dragon eyes looking at Jiang Bai with incomparable complexity.

Jiang Bai looked back at it, the ecstatic shock in his eyes gradually settling into calm depth.

They stared at each other for a long time.

In the end, the Fire Dragon seemed to have exhausted all its resolve. It gave Jiang Bai a long, deep look, its gaze impossible to decipher.

Then, it said nothing more and moved with a thought.

Whoosh—

A flash of red light streaked past as it voluntarily transformed into a crimson ray and flew back into the first level of the Seven Treasures Glazed Pagoda in Jiang Bai's palm.

Jiang Bai withdrew his Martial Soul.

He looked around but saw neither Qian Renxue nor any attendants.

After adjusting his breathing and expression, Jiang Bai pushed open the villa's heavy wooden door and walked out.

Outside, an attendant immediately stepped forward and bowed slightly, his tone respectful yet appropriately distant.

"Young Master Jiang, you're awake. The young mistress instructed that once you finish absorbing the Spirit Ring, you should return to the dormitory and rest first. The young mistress had urgent business and has already returned to Spirit City."

Urgent business? Returned to Spirit City?

Jiang Bai's heart stirred.

Qian Xunji... got hammered?

But his expression did not change in the slightest. He merely nodded to the attendant and said evenly, "I understand. Thank you for informing me."

With that, he did not linger and headed toward the dormitory district along the forest path by which he had arrived.

Jiang Bai had guessed correctly.

At that moment, deep within the Pope's Palace in Spirit City, the atmosphere in the Pope's private bedchamber was grave.

Beneath the enormous dome, Qian Xunji, the usually majestic and revered Pope, lay on the bed with an ashen face.

His eyes were tightly shut, his brows deeply furrowed, and his lips pale and cracked. His breathing was weak and disordered. He had clearly suffered grievous injuries.

Several of Spirit Hall's most elite healing-type Soul Masters worked in a sweat by the bed, gentle yet powerful healing soul light continuously falling upon him.

They struggled to stabilize his continuously fading life force and repair his severely damaged meridians and internal organs.

Several figures stood solemnly along one side of the bedchamber.

At their head was none other than the Great Pontiff, Qian Daoliu.

He still wore a simple white robe, standing with his hands behind his back, his posture as upright as a mountain.

Yet frost that could not be dispelled now shrouded his handsome, dignified face. His deep eyes watched his son on the bed, a storm seemingly brewing in their depths, only to be ruthlessly suppressed by absolute reason.

Half a step behind him stood several of Spirit Hall's core elders, including Chrysanthemum Douluo Yue Guan and Ghost Douluo Gui Mei.

Even Yue Guan, who was usually seductive and composed, had turned pale, sweat beading at his temples. His posture was so respectful it bordered on humble as he reported to Qian Daoliu in a low voice, his tone carrying an imperceptible tremor.

"Great Pontiff... we failed in our duties. Even death a thousand times would not atone for our sins... We... we never expected that Hundred-Thousand-Year Soul Beast to be so decisive... She would rather choose sacrifice than allow us to obtain her..."

Yue Guan's voice was full of remorse and fear. "The energy eruption and soul shock triggered by that sacrifice completely exceeded our expectations..."

He paused and swallowed before continuing, his tone carrying even deeper lingering fear.

"Moreover... that Tang Hao... He had clearly only just broken through Rank 90, and his condition should have been unstable... Yet under the stimulation of that Soul Beast's sacrifice, the aura and combat power he unleashed... were simply unimaginable!"

"The power far surpassed that of an ordinary Title Douluo... Even joining forces, we were unable to stop him completely..."

Yue Guan's voice grew softer and softer, and he lowered his head even further.

He knew that the responsibility for the failure of this operation, especially Qian Xunji's severe injuries, was far too great.

Ghost Douluo Gui Mei remained silent beneath the shadow of his black robe, but the cold aura around him revealed the unrest in his heart.

Qian Daoliu listened silently without interrupting or displaying any emotion.

Tang Hao... Clear Sky Sect... the sacrifice of a Hundred-Thousand-Year Soul Beast... His fingers slowly curled beneath his sleeve.

"Daddy... sob..."

A young, grief-stricken cry choked with sobs broke the heavy silence within the bedchamber.

Qian Renxue's small body was pressed against the bedside, both hands tightly clutching Qian Xunji's hand.

Tear tracks covered her fair little face. Her large eyes brimmed with tears that rolled down one drop at a time, splashing against Qian Xunji's hand.

She bit her lip, trying hard not to cry aloud, but her trembling shoulders and reddened eyes exposed the fear and helplessness in her heart.

She did not understand what had happened. She only knew that her powerful father had suddenly been gravely injured, unconscious, and breathing so faintly that it terrified her.

Those elders who were usually lofty and imposing now remained silent as cicadas in winter.

She could only grip her father's hand tightly, as though doing so would keep hold of him and prevent him from leaving.

Her little heart was filled with fear of the unknown, worry over her father's injuries, and a faint, inexpressible, childish hatred toward the "enemy" who had caused all this.

At the same time, inside a secret chamber beneath the Pope's Palace.

Several lamps embedded in the walls cast a dim glow.

A broad dressing table stood in the secret chamber, its mirror polished smooth and its edges carved with intricate patterns.

Before the mirror sat a graceful figure.

Bibi Dong.

She wore only a casually draped layer of nearly transparent gauze. Her silky long hair cascaded down like a waterfall, covering part of her smooth back while making her snow-white skin appear even more striking, its ivory-like delicate sheen glimmering beneath the dim yellow light.

Her brows resembled distant mountains, her eyes autumn pools, her nose straight, and her lips crimson.

Facing the mirror, she held a tube of vivid red lip balm and slowly, carefully applied it to her already full and alluring lips.

Her eyes remained focused on her reflection.

Yet deep within them, an unusual, bewitching violet gleam flashed past, adding several traces of strangeness and demonic allure to that peerlessly beautiful face.

"Xiaogang..."

Her lips parted slightly. Her voice was low and ethereal, like a lover's whisper, yet also like the muttering of a nightmare.

In the mirror, her lips curved into a gentle smile, as if she saw that refined yet somewhat timid figure from her memories.

She imagined reuniting with Yu Xiaogang. She imagined a beautiful future with only the two of them, free of this filth and oppressive power.

However, that gentleness lasted only an instant.

"Wait for me..."

Before the words had fully faded, the hand clutching the lip balm suddenly tightened uncontrollably!

Crack!

That exquisite tube of lip balm was crushed and snapped in her grip!

Bright red paste stained her fair fingers.

Bibi Dong seemed completely unaware.

She did not even glance at the broken lip balm or her reddened fingers. Her gaze remained fixed tightly upon her reflection.

The violet light in her eyes surged again. The gentleness faded, replaced by a complicated expression mingling madness, hatred, venomous resentment, and a hint of twisted pleasure.

Her gaze slowly shifted away, falling upon a spot not far beside the dressing table.

There, a small red-clay brazier burned quietly. Its fire neither rushed nor slowed, and a ceramic medicine pot rested above it.

Steam rose faintly from the pot's mouth, and an indescribable medicinal fragrance mixed with the scents of many herbs spread through the secret chamber.

The fragrance was not unpleasant. It even carried a strange sweetness and bitterness.

Yet here and now, combined with Bibi Dong's expression, it inexplicably sent a chill through anyone who sensed it.

This was the "medicine" she had carefully brewed for her heavily injured, bedridden teacher.

She watched the curling steam and the dark brown liquid gently bubbling inside the medicine pot.

The curve of Bibi Dong's lips gradually widened, eventually forming an utterly distinct yet bone-chilling, sickly smile.