The Pope Qian Xunji Dies Without Treatment

The rain fell throughout the night.

Inside the bedchamber of the Pope's Palace, the candlelight flickered, on the verge of extinguishing.

Qian Xunji lay upon the bed, his complexion ashen and deathly.

The sunken wound on his chest was clearly visible even beneath the silk quilt, and the bandages on his severed arm were soaked through with blood, emitting a pungent, iron-heavy stench.

He had been unconscious for two full days; on the rare occasions he opened his eyes, he merely stared turbidly at the ceiling, unable to utter a single word.

There was no one else in the hall.

He had driven the attendants away, dismissed the cardinals, and even sent Qian Daoliu off to the Worship Hall under the pretext of wanting to be alone.

At this moment, he was the only one in this bedchamber.

No.

The palace doors were pushed open.

The night wind, laden with rain, surged in, causing the last candle to sway precariously.

A purple figure stood at the threshold.

Bibi Dong.

She was barefoot, her purple dress soaked through by the rain and clinging to her body, outlining her gaunt silhouette.

Her silver hairpin was gone, and her long hair hung loose over her shoulders, left in disarray by the wind.

She held no umbrella.

Nor did she bring anyone with her.

Qian Xunji's eyelids twitched.

Seeming to sense something, he turned his head with great difficulty, his murky golden eyes fixed on the doorway.

The moment he saw that purple shadow, his pupils constricted slightly.

"...You."

His voice was so hoarse it was barely audible, like air leaking from a broken bellows.

Bibi Dong did not answer.

She walked into the hall and closed the door behind her.

The sound of the rain was shut out, and the hall fell into a sudden silence, broken only by the occasional "crackling" of the candle flame.

She walked to the side of the bed and looked down at Qian Xunji.

The candlelight cast flickering, uncertain shadows across her face.

"What... are you here for?" Qian Xunji's voice was intermittent; he had to gasp for a long time after every word.

Bibi Dong looked at him.

In those purple eyes, there was no hatred, no sorrow, and not even any superfluous emotion.

There was only a bottomless, bone-chilling calm.

"To see you."

She said.

Her voice was very soft, as light as if she were speaking of some trivial matter.

A vague, wheezing sound emerged from Qian Xunji's throat, sounding like a laugh, yet also like a gasp.

"To... see me die?"

Bibi Dong did not deny it.

She sat down on the edge of the bed, her purple dress spreading out on the floor like a withered flower.

"You are heavily wounded."

She said.

"The Clear Sky Hammer struck you down, destroying your body, and I intend to scatter your soul to the winds."

She tilted her head to look at him.

"You will not live past tonight, Qian Xunji."

Qian Xunji's breathing grew suddenly rapid.

He stared at Bibi Dong, and a trace of fear finally surfaced in his murky golden eyes.

"Are... are you going to kill me?"

Bibi Dong did not answer.

She took a handkerchief from her sleeve and lowered her head to wipe the non-existent dust from her fingertips.

Her movements were slow and composed.

"When you did those things to me back then, did you ever think... that a day like this would come?"

Qian Xunji's body began to tremble.

It was not because of his injuries, but because of fear.

He remembered, of course.

How could he ever forget?

That rainy night, this very secret chamber, the girl who had knelt on the ground, begging him to spare her.

"You... you bitch!"

His voice suddenly rose, as if in a final burst of strength, and he lunged out with his hand.

His only remaining left hand gripped Bibi Dong's wrist with a death-like hold.

"You... you!"

His voice cut off abruptly.

Bibi Dong lowered her eyes, looking at the hand clamped onto her wrist.

Her expression remained unchanged.

Then, she reached out her other hand and gently covered the back of his.

"It's too late."

She said.

Purple soul power surged from her palm, spreading wildly through his meridians.

Qian Xunji's pupils dilated sharply.

He could feel that soul power devouring his Martial Soul.

The phantom of the Six-Winged Angel appeared behind him, struggling desperately and letting out a shrill, mournful cry.

But Qian Xunji was too severely wounded.

The Clear Sky Hammer had already shattered the better part of his Martial Soul; at this moment, he had no strength to resist.

"Bibi Dong... you..."

His voice was intermittent, and with every word he spoke, more blood gushed from his mouth.

Bibi Dong did not answer.

She simply watched him quietly, her purple soul power flowing into his body without end.

Devouring the Martial Soul, annihilating the soul.

Qian Xunji's body began to convulse violently.

The angel phantom behind him grew fainter and darker, until finally—

"Pop."

It sounded as if something had shattered.

The Six-Winged Angel phantom collapsed with a boom, turning into golden specks of light that drifted throughout the bedchamber.

Qian Xunji's eyes widened, his mouth agape, but he could no longer make a sound.

His body stiffened for a moment, then went completely limp.

His head lolled to one side, his eyes still open, but his pupils had already lost their focus.

The Pope, Qian Xunji, had died in his own bedchamber.

Bibi Dong withdrew her hand.

She looked down at her palm, where the warmth of Qian Xunji's body still lingered.

With an expressionless face, she took out a handkerchief and wiped it clean, slowly.

Then, she dropped the handkerchief onto the floor.

She stood up and turned to walk toward the chamber doors.

She did not look back at the corpse even once.

The doors pulled open, and the sound of rain rushed in to meet her.

She stepped barefoot into the rain, her purple dress soaked through, her long hair plastered against her cheeks.

After a few steps, she suddenly stopped.

She tilted her head back, letting the rain beat against her face.

A long time passed.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

When she opened them again, only a profound calm remained in those purple eyes.

She continued walking, disappearing into the end of the curtain of rain.

When dawn broke, the maid pushed open the doors to the bedchamber.

Then, a scream rang out.

Qian Daoliu was the first to arrive.

He stood by the bedside, looking at Qian Xunji's ashen face and those eyes that refused to close.

He looked for a long time.

No one in the hall dared to speak.

Qian Daoliu reached out his hand and slowly closed Qian Xunji's eyelids.

Then, he turned around.

"Pope Qian Xunji, having succumbed to his severe injuries, has passed away this day."

His voice was hoarse, yet unusually calm.

"Martial Soul Hall shall observe seven days of mourning, and I shall temporarily oversee the affairs of the church."

The cardinals knelt across the floor.

Qian Daoliu did not look at anyone else and strode toward the outside of the hall.

At the corner of the corridor, he encountered Bibi Dong.

She wore a simple purple dress, her hair pinned meticulously, her face as pale as ever.

The two brushed past each other.

Neither looked at the other.

Neither spoke a word.

Qian Daoliu's footsteps did not falter, nor did Bibi Dong's.

It passed just like that.

As if nothing had ever happened.

Several days later, Qian Xunji was laid to rest.

The Seventy-Two Bell Towers tolled their funeral knells, and the entire city was draped in white.

Qian Daoliu stood at the very front, a white cloth tied over his grey robes, his expression unchanged.

Qian Renxue stood by his side, a white flower pinned to her golden hair, her eyes slightly red.

Bibi Dong stood on the other side, a plain white mourning garment draped over her purple dress, her eyes cast downward.

No one spoke.

The coffin sank into the grave.

Qian Daoliu grabbed a handful of soil and scattered it over the top.

"The rites are concluded."

The crowd dispersed.

Qian Renxue stood where she was, looking at the tombstone, motionless for a long time.

Qian Anci walked to her side.

"Sister."

Qian Renxue did not look at him.

"Anci, was Father... killed by Mother?"

Qian Anci was silent for a moment.

"Why does Sister ask that?"

Qian Renxue did not answer.

She turned and walked toward the Pope's Palace.

After a few steps, she stopped.

"I saw it."

Her voice was very soft.

"That night, I saw Mother coming out of Father's bedchamber."

"She was soaked through, and there was blood on her hands."

Qian Anci did not speak.

"But Grandfather said it was from injuries that could not be healed."

Qian Renxue tilted her head slightly, her golden eyes reflecting the grey light of the sky.

"So... it must be from injuries that could not be healed."

She continued walking.

Qian Anci stood where he was, watching her retreating figure.

In the distance, the funeral bells were still ringing.

One toll, then another.

They echoed far, far away into the wind.