The Rakshasa God Discovered

However, the time is not yet ripe.

The Rakshasa God leaned back against her throne, unhurried, her fingertips twining a strand of purplish-black hair as her violet-red eyes narrowed slightly.

Watching the white-clad figure wielding a blade amidst a pool of blood through the heavy barriers of the God Realm, a meaningful curve remained etched upon her lips.

With Bibi Dong's current strength, she was far from capable of traversing the Hell Road of Slaughter City. Only when she was truly driven to a desperate impasse, erupting with the most extreme and purest obsession at the edge of life and death, would it be the perfect moment to cast down her divine trial.

By then, this woman, whose composure had been utterly shattered by a little boy, would bring her even more amusement.

Just imagining the expression that might cross Bibi Dong's face when she discovered the contents of her divine trial made the Rakshasa God feel that this long wait was absolutely worth it.

Just then, the Rakshasa God noticed something.

She discovered the aura of the God of Love on Bibi Dong, which took her completely by surprise.

One had to know, the God of Love had been dead for who knew how many years; how could anything related to her still exist?

The smile on the Rakshasa God's lips faltered for a moment.

She flicked the strand of hair she had been twining behind her shoulder, sat upright, and a flash of serious scrutiny crossed her violet-red eyes.

The mist surrounding the Ink Crystal Throne ceased its churning, and the faint, fragmented whispers within the divine hall fell silent in an instant.

She could not possibly have mistaken the aura of the God of Love.

That pink-gold fluctuation, so warm it made one's skin crawl, that sticky, cloying, nauseating sensation as if all the coldness in the world could be melted into sugar water.

In the entire God Realm, besides that madwoman, the God of Love, no other deity possessed such power.

But the God of Love had died long ago.

She had perished completely, her divine position even collapsing into countless fragments scattered to every corner of the universe, like a dandelion blown apart by the wind, never to be pieced back into its original form.

The Rakshasa God remembered clearly: that day, she stood at the edge of the God Realm, watching from afar as that pink-gold radiance exploded in the void, like someone setting off silent fireworks.

She had even sneered at the time, remarking that it was playing with fire and getting burned, before turning away to drink her Asura Blood Wine.

The God of Love had touched things she shouldn't have; that ending was fated, and there was nothing to regret.

Yet now, that aura, which should have dissipated completely long ago, had actually appeared on a woman in the lower realm.

The Rakshasa God muttered to herself, "It seems a successor to the God of Love has appeared. I wonder who it is."

At this moment, the Rakshasa God felt it was a great pity; she could only observe Slaughter City, and she could not see any other parts of the Douluo Continent.

Such were the rules of the God Realm; if she were to look elsewhere on Douluo, the Asura God would surely punish her using the laws of the God Realm.

The Rakshasa God leaned against the Ink Crystal Throne, her fingertips tapping the armrest unconsciously, her violet-red eyes half-closed, while her thoughts drifted back to a long, long time ago.

Back then, the God Realm wasn't as boring as it was now.

Back then, the God of Love was still around.

To be honest, she and the God of Love could hardly be called friends.

The Rakshasa God presided over negative emotions, while the God of Love presided over all emotional bonds in the world; in terms of authority, the two of them had nothing to do with each other.

The God of Love managed love, and she managed negative emotions; they were like well water and river water, never interfering with one another.

But the problem was, that madwoman, the God of Love, never understood what it meant to not interfere.

The Rakshasa God still remembered the scene of her first encounter with the God of Love.

It was at the God Realm's millennial banquet of the gods; she was leaning in a corner with a glass of blood wine, radiating an aura that screamed "don't talk to me," and not a single god dared to come within ten feet of her.

Then the God of Love appeared, that pink-gold figure holding a glass of mead, smiling as she sidled up to her, her first words being: "Aren't you tired of keeping a straight face all day? Smile a little; you'd definitely look better if you smiled."

The Rakshasa God's reaction at the time was to crush her wine glass.

Not out of anger, but out of pure shock.

She had been the Rakshasa God for so many years, and this was the first time a god had dared to strike up a conversation with her, and so recklessly at that.

She told her to get lost with a cold face, but the God of Love didn't leave; instead, she smiled even more brightly, saying, "You look quite cute when you're angry, like a little kitten with its fur standing on end." A little kitten.

She, the Rakshasa God, the deity who presided over the world's negative emotions, had actually been called a little kitten.

From then on, the God of Love was like a piece of chewing gum that couldn't be shaken off, running to her divine hall whenever she had nothing better to do.

One day she would bring a bouquet of pink-gold flowers, claiming they were condensed from the power of emotion and would never wither.

The next day she would carry a jar of mead, claiming she had brewed it herself and that it was ten thousand times better than blood wine.

Every time, she would throw the flowers into a void rift and pour the wine into the Ink Pool, then say with a cold face that if she came again, she would pluck her wings off.

The God of Love would always put on a wronged expression and say, "You have such a cruel heart," only to return the very next day.

Back then, she was annoyed to death, wishing she could use the power of resentment to flip that woman's entire divine hall upside down.

She thought the God of Love was noisy, boring, and ungrateful, knowing only how to giggle and stir up trouble everywhere; other deities would take a detour when they saw her, but only the God of Love would shamelessly push herself forward.

Did she not understand what it meant to be a hot face pressed against a cold butt?

But she didn't know when she had started to get used to it.

Perhaps it began when the God of Love broke through the barrier of her divine hall and tucked a bouquet of pink-gold flowers, still glistening with dew, into the crevices of her Ink Crystal Throne.

That was a spot she never let anyone touch ever again.

Perhaps it was on some deep night when she was backlashed by the resentment of the lower realms that the God of Love appeared silently behind her, wrapping her in that warm, pink-gold radiance while murmuring, "This won't do, what will you do if you end up angering yourself to death one day?"

She remembered cursing, "Mind your own business," yet she did not push away the hand resting on her shoulder.

Later, the God of Love died.

Having touched something that should not have been touched, the divine position collapsed, the fragments scattered, and the death was absolute.

The Rakshasa God stood at the edge of the God Realm, watching from afar as that pink-gold radiance burst into the void, her face devoid of any expression.

Nearby, several deities whispered among themselves; some felt pity, some gloated, and others remained impassive.

She said nothing, turned around to return to her temple, closed the doors, and then sat alone on the Ink Crystal Throne for a long time—so long that the resentment in the Ink Pool sank to the very bottom.

She also vaguely knew something about the thing the God of Love had touched.

It was a taboo that even the Dragon God dared not touch, yet the God of Love had insisted on trying.

Such a spirit of courting death; it was truly worthy of the God of Love.

Clearly looking quite intelligent, yet insisting on doing such a life-threatening thing—it served him right.

She had never told any god that on that night, for the first time ever, she did not cultivate, nor did she go to the lower realms to collect resentment; she simply sat there, repeatedly recalling the scene of the God of Love's final visit to her temple.