Pope in Person

Fang Mo understood this very clearly.

A woman filled with resentment and unwillingness had taken up residence in his soul in the form of a Remnant Soul.

This was not an opportunity.

It was a ticking time bomb.

"Y-you... what Martial Soul did you awaken?" The Awakening Master's voice trembled slightly.

Fang Mo could not tell the truth.

So he could only shake his head and pretend not to understand. "I... I don't know either."

Fang Mo lowered his head, his voice very soft, with just the right amount of confusion and fear. He looked as though it were all real.

The Awakening Master's expression changed repeatedly.

He had worked as an Awakening Master for twenty years and had never seen a Martial Soul like this. He did not dare draw a conclusion lightly.

"Wait here. Don't go anywhere." The Awakening Master's voice was taut. "I need to report this matter."

Fang Mo nodded obediently.

Report it.

Good.

Let him report it.

This would definitely alert Bibi Dong. A Martial Soul containing Rakshasa Divinity had awakened in Spirit City—no one would be more sensitive to it than the Pope.

So she would certainly come in person.

Fang Mo sat down on the orphanage's stone steps, hugging his knees and adopting the appearance a six-year-old child should have.

Curled into a ball, trembling faintly, his face practically screaming, "I'm so scared."

But his mind began turning again.

The timeline of the original story.

Qian Xunji had died less than half a year ago.

Bibi Dong had succeeded him as Pope and was consolidating her power. The old ministers of the Elder Hall were restless, while Qian Daoliu sat in the Consecrated Hall and watched coldly.

This was the most fragile period in Spirit Hall's power structure.

And he, an orphan of unknown origins, had awakened a Martial Soul deeply connected to the Pope herself.

Would he become a chess piece, or a chess player?

The news traveled faster than Fang Mo had expected.

In less than half an hour, two squads of the Pope's Guard had appeared before the orphanage.

They sealed off the entire street and drove away all bystanders. Even the old man selling flatbread next door had been persuaded to move two streets away.

Fang Mo sat on the stone steps and watched it all happen.

"Little Seventeen!"

The orphanage matron's face was deathly pale as she staggered out from the back courtyard.

"Come... come quickly! Someone... someone wants to see you!"

Fang Mo rose and dusted off his trousers. Then he followed the matron through the front courtyard to the orphanage's back entrance.

A black carriage stood there.

It was drawn by Spirit Hall's exclusive soul beasts. Ordinary nobles could not possibly afford them.

The carriage curtain remained closed.

Fang Mo stopped before the carriage because he sensed an aura.

Cold, noble, carrying pain and fury suppressed to the extreme, like a volcano that could erupt at any moment.

It was the aura of the Rakshasa God Position.

But it was denser, more real, and more complete than the one within his Martial Soul.

Pope Bibi Dong.

Fang Mo's breath stopped for an instant.

Instinctively, he wanted to summon his Martial Soul, but he forcibly suppressed the urge.

Because a child who had only just awakened a Martial Soul should not be able to sense such an aura.

Fang Mo adjusted his expression again.

Confusion, fear, and a hint of curiosity.

The carriage curtain was lifted.

A hand emerged first.

Slender and pale, with distinct knuckles and neatly trimmed nails, entirely devoid of decoration.

At the sight of that hand, Fang Mo's heart suddenly skipped a beat, because he had fantasized about it countless times in his previous life.

Then, someone stepped down from the carriage.

She wore a casual deep-purple dress, without the Pope's crown or formal papal robes.

Bibi Dong.

She looked around twenty-five or twenty-six, her features so exquisite that she hardly seemed human.

Her skin was so pale it was almost translucent. Her lips bore no color, and that faint pinkish white was particularly eye-catching.

She was beautiful.

And then there were her eyes—violet eyes, deep and cold, like two bottomless pools of icy water.

But she was not in good condition.

Her expression was extraordinarily complex, filled with pain so suppressed it was about to overflow, along with an almost pathological vigilance.

Bibi Dong's gaze fell upon Fang Mo.

There was no preamble, no pleasantries. She simply stared straight at him, as though examining some object of unknown origin.

Fang Mo felt tangible pressure.

"You..."

She spoke, but her voice was very soft. "You carry my aura..."

Fang Mo raised his head and looked at Bibi Dong.

There was no killing intent in her eyes.

But there was no goodwill, either.

Bibi Dong did not linger at the orphanage.

She only said three sentences.

The first was directed at the captain of the Pope's Guard. "Take this child away."

The second was directed at the orphanage matron. "From today onward, he is no longer one of the orphanage's children."

The third was directed at Fang Mo.

She slowly crouched down, meeting Fang Mo's eyes for the first time.

Her violet eyes were close enough for him to smell the faint, cool fragrance on her body and see every curve of her eyelashes.

"What is your name?"

"Fang Mo."

Bibi Dong fell silent for a moment.

"Come with me."

This was not an invitation, but an order.

Fang Mo nodded.

A member of the Pope's Guard carried him into the carriage, where he sat directly opposite Bibi Dong.

Fang Mo curled up in the corner, assuming the demeanor a six-year-old orphan should have: nervous, restrained, and afraid to speak.

But from the corner of his eye, he continued observing Bibi Dong.

Bibi Dong had closed her eyes and leaned against the backrest, one hand resting on her knee as her fingers tapped lightly in a steady rhythm.

That was her habit whenever she was thinking.

What was she thinking about?

Fang Mo did not know.

But he knew one thing very clearly: if Bibi Dong wanted to kill him, he had no room to resist.

The carriage passed through Spirit City's main streets and entered Pope Palace through its rear entrance.

For the first time, Fang Mo stepped into Spirit Hall.

Pope Palace was quieter than he had imagined.

It was not because there were too few people, but because there were too many.

Every ten paces or so, a servant or guard stood watch.

Everyone kept their heads lowered and did not dare make a sound. The entire palace was as silent as a tomb.

Bibi Dong walked ahead.

Her long legs made her stride very quickly.

Fang Mo jogged behind her, occasionally "accidentally" tripping over his own feet and nearly falling several times.

This was not an act.

In a six-year-old's body, his legs really were short.

Bibi Dong said nothing and did not turn back, but her pace unconsciously slowed somewhat.

Fang Mo noticed it as well.

Bibi Dong brought him to a room.

It was large and clean.

There was a wooden bed, a desk, a chair, and a window facing the rear garden of Pope Palace.

The bedding had recently been replaced and still carried the scent of sunshine.

"You'll stay here tonight." Bibi Dong stood in the doorway. "Tomorrow, I'll have someone test your Martial Soul."

She paused. "Don't run around."

After saying that, she turned and left.

The door closed.

Fang Mo stood in the middle of the room, listening as Bibi Dong's footsteps gradually faded away until they disappeared completely.

He slowly let out a breath.

Bibi Dong had not killed him, nor had she even interrogated him.

She had brought him back to Pope Palace, arranged a place for him to stay, and said she would test his Martial Soul tomorrow.

What did that mean?

It meant that the "curiosity" he had aroused in her had outweighed the "caution" she possessed during this period.