Refuse to marry and won't return the betrothal gifts? Hu Liena fell on the spot.

Chen Guangyi and the other two exchanged glances.

The female spirit master named A-Yue clutched her shoulder, her wound still oozing blood, yet she looked even more nervous at these words than she did about her injury.

"You... wish to see Her Highness the Saintess?"

Ye Lingling nodded, offering no further explanation.

"Fine, I will take you."

Chen Guangyi brushed the dust off his body and began to limp ahead.

Martial Soul City, East Gate.

Chen Guangyi produced his patrol token. The captain of the gate guards inspected it twice, then scrutinized Ye Lingling several times.

Ye Lingling was dressed in a faded blue cloth skirt, the hem stained with mud, the soles of her shoes frayed, and the red mark on her forehead from a bump had yet to fully fade.

Standing amidst a line of heavily armored Martial Soul Hall guards, she looked completely out of place.

The captain's hand rested on the hidden weapon pouch at his waist, hesitating to let them pass.

Chen Guangyi leaned in and whispered a few words into his ear.

The captain's expression shifted.

He cleared them for entry.

There was no further obstruction along the way.

From the East Gate to the Pope Palace, they passed through three sets of courtyard walls, two corridors, and one side courtyard.

Martial Soul Hall spirit masters along the way cast suspicious glances as they saw Chen Guangyi leading a strange girl toward the Pope Palace, but no one stepped forward to question them.

Because Chen Guangyi was walking too fast.

An old patrol soldier whose leg injury had just healed was walking with the gait of someone marching to their death.

The stone steps in front of the Pope Palace had been mostly repaired, but a close look still revealed traces of cracks—leftovers from the battle three days ago.

In certain spots on the plaza, the stone tiles were two shades lighter than the surrounding area; those had been replaced.

Ye Lingling stepped onto the stairs, her soles grinding over a shallow fissure.

She did not know what had happened here, but a faint scent of rust lingered in the air.

The palace doors opened.

Chen Guangyi led her inside, stopped at the threshold, and knelt on one knee.

"Subordinate Chen Guangyi, I have an urgent matter to report to the Pope!"

The interior of the palace was deep.

It was a full forty paces from the door to the main dais, flanked by twelve sandalwood pillars wrapped in gold-lacquered coiling dragons.

Candelabras hung high, and the glass shades filtered the candlelight into a dark gold, casting it across the floor tiles, the pillars, and the high platform at the very end.

Bibi Dong sat upon the Pope's throne.

Her dark purple, gold-embroidered ceremonial robes added a sense of gravity to her presence.

Her right hand rested on the armrest, and the residual black veins between her five fingers flickered under the light.

She was reviewing a document.

She did not even lift her eyelids upon hearing the report.

"Speak."

Chen Guangyi pressed his forehead against the floor tiles, his voice steady:

"While on patrol, my unit was ambushed by retreating Heaven Dou soldiers. We were fortunate to be saved by a senior, who... claims to be acting under the orders of the Celestial Master of Taixu Temple to seek an audience with Her Highness the Saintess."

The hand turning the page stopped.

Bibi Dong's fingers rested on the edge of the document, motionless.

One breath, two breaths.

She closed the document.

"Let her enter."

Ye Lingling walked into the palace, covering the forty-pace distance at a steady, measured pace.

The aura of a level ninety Titled Douluo was not deliberately restrained, nor was it flaunted—it naturally radiated around her, following her wherever she went.

The elite Martial Soul Hall guards stationed on both sides shifted their bodies in unison.

It was not a retreat, but an instinctive reaction.

The density of this spirit power made their spines tighten.

Ye Lingling stopped in the center of the hall.

Bibi Dong looked down from the throne.

The dark golden candlelight fell upon Ye Lingling's face, illuminating a young, slightly immature countenance.

Eighteen or nineteen years old, with fair skin and features that were not stunning but pleasant to look at, her almond-shaped eyes were clean and clear, devoid of even a trace of impurity.

Her temperament was strange.

She wore a faded cloth dress with frayed soles on her shoes, and there was even a red bruise on her forehead from a knock—yet standing there, she was neither humble nor pushy.

The soul power fluctuation of level ninety rested steadily upon her, showing not a hint of restraint.

Bibi Dong's right hand lifted from the armrest, her five fingers curling slightly.

"You are from Taixu Temple?"

Ye Lingling bowed in salute. Her waist bent to sixty degrees, the angle just right—neither sycophantic nor lacking in courtesy.

"Junior Ye Lingling, by the order of the Celestial Master of Taixu Temple, has come to deliver a message to Saintess Hu Liena."

Celestial Master.

The four words landed in the hall, quiet, yet they echoed in Bibi Dong's mind.

Bibi Dong stood up from her throne.

This movement caused every soul master of Martial Soul Hall in the hall to tense up—the Pope never stood up to receive guests, but she had made an exception today.

She tilted her head toward the attendant at her side.

"Go and invite the Saintess here."

The attendant practically ran out.

In the interval of waiting, Bibi Dong sat back down on her throne.

She did not continue to scrutinize Ye Lingling, but instead picked up the teacup beside the armrest, lifted the lid, and blew on it.

"Taixu Temple, is it just you?"

Ye Lingling nodded:

"The Celestial Master has been in seclusion for a hundred years; I am the only one serving in the temple."

One person.

A hundred years of seclusion, one temple, one attendant.

Bibi Dong's teacup paused at her lips.

The steam from the tea drifted up from the rim, blurring half of her face.

A master who could make someone guard an empty mountain for a hundred years—was either a great saint or a great terror.

Or perhaps both.

Footsteps came from outside the hall.

Light, with a hint of urgency.

The hall doors opened.

Hu Liena walked in from the entrance.

She had changed into new clothes—a light purple narrow-sleeved long dress, with a silver-patterned belt cinched at her waist.

The wound on her left shoulder had basically healed, and the scab from the scratch on her cheek had half fallen off, revealing the tender new flesh beneath.

Six Fox Tails were half-retracted behind her, the tips swaying gently with her steps as she walked.

The moment she entered the hall, her gaze swept across the room—Bibi Dong was sitting in the main seat, sipping tea.

A strange girl stood in the hall.

Cloth dress, cloth shoes, a red mark on her forehead.

She was about the same age as her, perhaps even younger.

But—

Hu Liena's footsteps slowed by half a beat.

Soul power.

The soul power fluctuation emanating from the other party was no less dense than her own.

Level ninety, Titled Douluo.

A young girl wearing a faded cloth dress with a bruised forehead was a Titled Douluo.

Hu Liena stopped twenty paces away.

She looked at Bibi Dong.

Bibi Dong used the tea lid to push aside the tea leaves and tilted her chin slightly toward Ye Lingling.

"From Taixu Temple, looking for you."

Hu Liena turned her head to look at Ye Lingling.

Ye Lingling met her gaze.

"Your Highness, Holy Maiden."

Ye Lingling's voice was steady.

After three days of travel, a battle, and the faint, imperceptible ache in her chest at this moment, her voice remained surprisingly calm.

"The Celestial Master asked me to convey to you—"

The hall fell silent.

Even Bibi Dong, who was stirring her tea leaves, paused.

"The eighteen betrothal gifts are condensed from heaven and earth; they are things you deserve."

Hu Liena's breath hitched.

Ye Lingling continued.

Every word, every sentence, was exactly as the Celestial Master had told her in the Stone Chamber, without a single syllable changed.

"Even if you are unwilling to marry him in the future—"

The air in the hall froze.

Bibi Dong's hand, holding the teacup, hung suspended in mid-air, unable to set it down.

"He will never take back even a fraction of these betrothal gifts."

The final word landed.

Ye Lingling straightened her back.

Hu Liena stood twenty paces away, motionless.

Not taking them back.

Whether she marries him or not, he will not take them back.

Primordial Spirit Bead, Fate-Suppressing Cauldron, Severing Thought Sword—and fifteen more to follow.

All of them, not taken back.

Hu Liena's fox ears drooped.

It wasn't nervousness, nor was it fear; it was that her earlobes were burning so hot they could no longer hold themselves up.

The flush burned from the tips of her ears to their roots, spreading down to her neck.

She pressed her lips together. They formed an arc, a very, very faint arc.

She couldn't control it.

It wasn't a deliberate smile. The corners of her mouth had curled up on their own.

That man she had never met, separated by a distance of ten thousand miles, had entrusted someone to bring such words to her.

No demands, no conditions, no threats of "you must marry me or else."

He simply said—these things are yours, regardless of whether you marry me or not.

Hu Liena walked forward and stopped in front of Ye Lingling.

The two were very close now.

Close enough for Ye Lingling to smell the faint scent of calming incense on Hu Liena, along with a trace of the lingering, cool aura of the Severing Thought Sword.

Hu Liena looked at her.

Her fox eyes reflected the candlelight, shimmering brightly.

"What kind of person is he—Shen Yichen, really?"