Bibi Dong streaked through the sky like a flash of blood, tearing through the clouds all the way from Spirit City.
When she landed outside the Tang Sect's former site, the ashes at her feet had not yet cooled, and the air was thick with the stench of burning and rotten blood.
Scattered figures in the ruins were gathering the corpses. Nearby laborers and branch hall stewards were carrying charred, mangled bodies beneath hastily erected thatched shelters.
No one dared speak loudly. The entire street was as silent as a graveyard.
Bibi Dong paid no attention to anyone.
She crossed half the street, the hem of her Pope's robes dragging through ash and bloodstains, her eyes fixed on the rows of corpses beneath the thatched shelter.
Someone recognized her and fell to their knees in terror.
She acted as though she had not seen them.
Until she saw Yu Xiaogang.
He lay on a wooden door at the very back of the shelter, covered by an old garment that had been found somewhere.
Only his face was exposed.
Half of it was charred black, a wound split his temple, and his lips were slightly parted, as if he still had something left unsaid.
The body was relatively intact.
Bibi Dong walked toward him step by step, as though treading on knife points.
She stopped before the door and looked down at him for a long time, as if she did not recognize him.
Then she threw herself onto him.
"Xiao Gang!" She embraced the stiffened body and buried her face against his shoulder. Her sobs squeezed from her throat, faint at first, as though something choked them back. Then they spiraled out of control, hoarse and shrill enough for the entire ruin to hear.
"Aren't you the Grandmaster?! Aren't you