Qian Daoliu

The main hall of the Offering Hall.

Passing through the grand hall and winding past layers of curtains, one arrives at the true core of the Offering Hall—the main hall itself.

Unlike the austere exterior, the space inside the main hall is incredibly vast. The vaulted ceiling towers into the clouds, dozens of meters high, while the four stone walls are embedded with nameless night-luminescent pearls that bathe the entire hall in a light as bright as day. The floor is paved with a single massive slab of green jade, polished to a mirror finish; every step taken upon it produces a faint, deep resonance.

At the very center of the main hall stands a white jade statue over ten meters tall.

It is a Six-Winged Angel.

The angel's face is compassionate and solemn, carved entirely from the finest mutton-fat white jade. Under the glow of the pearls, it radiates a warm, holy luster. Three pairs of wings spread from its back, layered and fluid in their lines, appearing incredibly lifelike. Every feather is rendered in exquisite detail, as if the statue might beat its wings at any moment, rising from its stone pedestal to soar into the highest heavens.

And at this moment—

The surface of the angel statue is emitting a layer of soft, bright shimmer.

The radiance is not blinding, yet it carries an indescribable pressure, as if one step closer would force all things to bow in submission.

The entire main hall is enveloped in this ethereal holy light; with every breath, even one's thoughts seem to grow tranquil.

Standing before the statue is a person.

A man with a tall, upright figure.

He stands with his back to the hall doors, clad in a snow-white robe trimmed with gold that falls to his ankles. The hem is embroidered with intricate silver-threaded patterns of a Six-Winged Angel, echoing the statue behind him. His hair is a rare white-gold, reaching his waist, with a few stray locks falling against his shoulders, catching the hall's halo in a faint, golden flow.

His face is obscured.

Yet, that upright silhouette possesses an immovable, mountain-like presence. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and a posture as steady as a pine or cypress; he seems to have merged with the angel statue behind him, becoming an inseparable part of the hall.

He is praying.

No one knows how long the Great Offering of the Offering Hall stands silently before the angel statue each morning.

It is only known that at this hour, the entire Offering Hall falls into an absolute silence. Even the most restless Feather Light Douluo will subconsciously lighten his footsteps and detour quietly past the main hall, not daring to make a single sound.

—At this moment, the brothers Qian Jun and Jiang Mo are standing just outside the threshold of the main hall.

The two exchange a glance, stopping in tacit agreement.

The Great Offering is praying. At such a time, not even the Pope would dare to disturb him, let alone them.

Qiangu Jun turns slightly, pulling the coarse cloth bundle in his arms closer to his chest to ensure the small body inside stays warm. Qiangu Po stands quietly at his brother's side, hands hanging at his sides, eyes fixed straight ahead, his breathing deliberately lightened.

At the entrance of the main hall, two stone carvings crouch on either side.

Whether it is an illusion or not—the shimmer released by the angel statue inside seems brighter today than usual. The halo spills through the gaps in the doors, landing on the bluestone slabs at their feet, warm and cozy like a quilt baked in the sun.

The two wait there in silence.

One breath. Ten breaths. A hundred breaths.

Time within the hall seems to have frozen. The air holds only that gentle light flowing in silence, dyeing everything in a tranquil and sacred hue.

I do not know how much time has passed.

—

"You two have returned."

A magnetic voice resonates through the hall, steady and warm.

"Why are you carrying a child?"

"What has happened?"

As the words fall—

The figure with his back to the doors turns slowly.

—It is an incredibly handsome face.

He appears to be in his thirties, as if time has never left a mark upon him. His sword-like brows slant toward his temples, and his golden eyes are as deep as an abyss. His features are sharp and three-dimensional, his contours as if carved by a blade, every line perfectly placed. His expression is solemn and calm, revealing neither joy nor anger.

His figure is tall and upright, broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, with an air of dignified grace. He wears a deep blue robe adorned with gilded angel shoulder armor. His white-gold hair falls behind him, swaying slightly with his movement, shimmering like molten gold in the light.

He is the Great Offering of the Offering Hall.

The supreme authority of the Offering Hall, the core of the four halls of Spirit Hall.

A ninety-nine-level Limit Douluo—

Qian Daoliu.

—

"Greetings, Great Offering!"

Qian Jun and Jiang Mo bow in unison, their posture respectful. Even as Title Douluos and fellow members of the Offering Hall, they never dare to overstep in the presence of Qian Daoliu.

This Great Offering is one of the strongest humans in the world.

He is the true pillar of Spirit Hall.

"Rise." Qian Daoliu nods slightly, his golden eyes shifting from Qian Jun's face to Qiangu Po's, then back to the coarse bundle in Qian Jun's arms.

"Put the child down first and tell me what happened." Qian Daoliu's voice remains unhurried as he walks toward a rosewood desk at the side of the main hall.

Qian Jun and Qiangu Po exchanged a glance and followed closely behind.

Qian Jun carefully placed the coarse cloth bundle in his arms onto the long table, his movements as gentle as if he were handling fragile porcelain. He then straightened up, collected his thoughts, and began to recount the events in full detail.

His narrative remained concise and restrained.

Speaking at a measured pace, he reported the events of their journey one by one. From that rainy night at the west market of Heaven Dou City, to the coercion by the Blue Lightning Tyrant Dragon Clan, to that seven-year-old child cutting flesh from bone and taking his own life with a sword in public, and finally to the two brothers discovering signs of life within the grave—

From beginning to end, Qian Daoliu did not interrupt, listening with an unruffled expression.

Once the two had finished, Qian Daoliu remained silent for a moment.

His voice sounded slowly, devoid of joy or sorrow, yet his eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"These people from the Upper Three Sects are truly becoming increasingly unscrupulous."

Following this, Qian Daoliu's gaze settled upon Ning Zha.

"Resurrection from the dead..."

He stepped forward and gently lifted the coarse cloth from the long table.

Ning Zha's full appearance was revealed before Qian Daoliu.

His face was as pale as paper. He wore two topknots, and a faint vermilion mark remained between his brows. His simple clothes were neat, and he slept in silence. His chest rose and fell slightly, his breathing so shallow it was almost imperceptible. Were it not for that faint movement, he would be indistinguishable from a corpse.

Qian Daoliu's brows furrowed slightly as he reached out his hands to gently lift Ning Zha from the cloth.

He hovered his right hand three inches above Ning Zha's chest, a golden halo of light glowing faintly in his palm. His soul power seeped in like a wisp of silk, beginning a meticulous examination of the small body.

As a ninety-ninth-rank Limit Douluo and possessor of the Six-Winged Angel martial soul, his perception had transcended the realm of mortals. His mastery over the power of heaven and earth allowed his senses to pierce through skin, flesh, and bone, reaching the most microscopic energy flows within a soul master's body.

Even the meridian pathways and blood circulation of a soul master were laid bare to his scrutiny.

Let alone a child.