Moonlit Chess Match, Liu Erlong's Tremor

Su Chen lowered his gaze.

His line of sight perfectly avoided that flash of crimson, as well as the hands Bibi Dong had retracted into her sleeves, her fingertips slightly pale.

No words, no exposure.

He turned and walked toward the tea table, pulling out a wooden stool; the wooden legs scraped against the floor tiles, emitting a harsh, screeching sound.

He sat down.

He steadied the edge of the food box, taking out the dishes from the top layer one by one and arranging them on the table.

Picking up the wooden chopsticks, his movements were as steady as if he were not a prisoner who had just returned from the gates of hell.

The tip of his chopsticks picked up a piece of fish with rough-cut edges and delivered it into his mouth.

Bibi Dong froze in place.

She watched Su Chen's movements, but her feet did not instinctively turn toward the door as they usually did.

With a light shift of her heels, she walked toward a row of bookshelves that had not yet collapsed and pulled out a high-backed wooden chair.

Turning around, she smoothed her moon-white skirt and sat down.

Her back was held straight, her chin slightly lifted, and her gaze passed over the top of Su Chen's head, landing on a few newly nailed boards on the window lattice.

She wore an air of scrutiny.

But her hands, folded over her lower abdomen with the backs pressed together, were clenched tightly, betraying a trace of tension that was difficult to detect.

The sound of chewing was very soft.

Su Chen did not weep or wail like last time, nor did he offer any further pledges of loyalty.

He was simply eating.

Lifting the bowl, picking up food, shoveling rice, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed.

Every time his chopsticks touched the rim of the bowl, it made a crisp, light sound, like a rhythm that settled the heart.

In this sound, there was the simple, grounded feeling of a common household treating their meal.

Although Bibi Dong's gaze was locked onto the window crack, her peripheral vision remained fixed on Su Chen's hand holding the chopsticks and his throat as he swallowed.

This fellow... is he not afraid of me?

She had been the Pope for forty years; for forty years, every living thing that faced her would only tremble, kneel, and submit.

This instinctual awe of power, carved into the bones, was being chipped away and dismantled, bit by bit, by the steady rhythm of Su Chen's eating.

The thought she had originally held—to leave as soon as he took the first bite—was pressed firmly back into the chair by the sound of his focused chewing.

Her legs felt as if they had been nailed to the spot.

Outside the Library Pavilion, the night wind whistled through the corridor.

Angela leaned against the cold stone wall, the lining of her red robes already soaked through with cold sweat, clinging damply to her back.

According to the rules, when the Pope conducted an inspection, no matter the matter, it should not exceed a quarter of an hour.

But now, half an hour had already passed!

Inside that dilapidated door, nailed shut with wooden boards, it was as quiet as a tomb.

There was no oppressive force of Rakshasa soul power, no murderous intent, nothing at all.

Angela raised her hand to cover her mouth tightly, forcing her rapid breathing back down her throat.

Beside her, sixteen Temple Knights stood motionless, but the knuckles of their hands gripping their swords had turned deathly pale from excessive force.

No one dared to move.

And no one dared to discuss this act of "staying the night," which was enough to overturn the entire power structure of Martial Soul Hall.

An hour later.

The rice in the food box had reached the bottom.

Su Chen picked up the bowl, drank the last drop of fish soup, and let out a sigh of satisfaction.

He set down the wooden chopsticks, laying them across the rim of the bowl, stacked the three empty plates, placed them back into the food box, and closed the wooden lid.

"Thud."

After the muffled sound, Su Chen stood up.

He did not seek out any topic to break the eerie silence, but turned and walked toward the wreckage of the bookshelves.

He bent down and pulled a tattered copy of the Chronicles of the Continent from a gap.

He brushed the wood shavings off the cover, walked back to the bamboo recliner, and sat down.

Pulling a thin blanket over his lap to cover his waist, he leaned back, his entire frame sinking into the chair.

By the moonlight, he turned to the yellowed first page.

"Rustle—"

The dry sound of turning pages strangely smoothed out all the tension and defenses within this enclosed space.

Bibi Dong hid in the shadows.

Moonlight outlined Su Chen's pale and calm profile.

She leaned against the back of her chair, feeling a moment of trance.

For countless nights in the past, whenever she sat, she was surrounded by either hidden schemes or absolute awe.

She had never stayed beside a living person for so long without feeling her nerves being pricked.

Tonight, that damned system in her mind was pitch black.

There was no scarlet countdown, no warning of punishment.

She surrendered the weight of her body, bit by bit, to the wooden chair beneath her, feeling the defenses in her limbs and bones slowly fade away.

Deep in her heart, there even sprouted a secret, shameful craving.

A craving for this... tranquility, devoid of any calculation or oppression.

The air was so quiet that one could hear a pin drop.

Su Chen's fingers rested on the edge of the page.

"Rustle."

Another page turned.

His gaze never left the ancient book, and his voice was like wind, extremely light, almost inaudible.

"Did Your Excellency grow up in Martial Soul Hall as a child?"

These thirteen words were like an ice-tempered needle, precisely piercing Bibi Dong's eardrums.

Her shoulders jerked, her back pulling away from the chair with a "swish," tensing into a rigid line.

Her pupils instantly shrank to pinpricks!

The dark secret chamber, the cold stone slabs, the slaughter training that never met the requirements, and those cold, scrutinizing eyes of Qian Xunji...

Countless fragments of memory exploded, instantly dragging her back to that hell!

Her hands, hidden in her sleeves, clenched tightly, and the newly healed scabs of her knife wounds were pierced again by her nails, sending a sharp pain through her.

A wisp of extremely dangerous purple-black Rakshasa aura surged from her hairline!

The surrounding temperature plummeted, and her killing intent instantly hit the ceiling!

Yet, Su Chen did not even lift his head.

He maintained his leaning posture, his gaze glued to the yellowed pages, his chin not moving an inch.

No prying, no interrogation, no looking at her current out-of-control expression.

This attitude of "you don't have to answer" was like punching a pile of cotton, instantly blocking all of Bibi Dong's paths for a counterattack.

The frenzy she had built up, enough to destroy everything, lost its target and hung suspended in the air.

A few seconds later.

Bibi Dong watched Su Chen's steady breathing rhythm, and her tense shoulder blades softened inch by inch.

The overflowing Rakshasa soul power retreated into her meridians like a receding tide.

A long half-cup of tea passed.

Bibi Dong looked at Su Chen's profile, her lips moving, her voice as dry as sandpaper rubbing together.

"...Yes."

Su Chen nodded slightly.

The fingers resting on the page paused for half a second.

Then, he turned the page.

His gaze swept to the new paragraph, not asking a second question.

The topic ended just like that.

Bibi Dong's chest heaved violently once, then her body completely relaxed, collapsing back into the chair.

Her gaze swept over the broken door frame and the drafty walls.

An absurd thought, yet one that felt incredibly real, took shape in her mind.

This dilapidated house, which could collapse at any moment...

Actually felt safer and more comfortable than that Pope Palace, which symbolized supreme power.

It felt more like a place where a... "human" should stay.

The night deepened.

The two of them sat and read like this, neither disturbing the other.

Deep within Su Chen's mind, two notifications quietly leapt into view.

The Eye of Omniscience whirred silently, and a pale blue light screen illuminated.

A line of gold-red text jumped domineeringly to the center of the screen:

[Binder 002, Qian Renxue, has completely departed Heaven Dou Imperial City. Speed is extremely high. Estimated arrival at Martial Soul City coordinates in three days.]

In the bottom left corner of the screen, a circle of secret crimson ripples expanded.

Cold text flickered in alternation:

[Detected in the far distance, in the direction of the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan. Liu Erlong's martial soul is experiencing its first instance of homologous palpitation.]