But the time wasn't right yet.
The Rakshasa God leaned back against her throne without a hint of urgency, twirling a strand of purple-black hair around her fingertip. Her purplish-red eyes narrowed slightly.
Through layer upon layer of Divine Realm barriers, she watched the white-robed figure swinging a blade in a pool of blood. A meaningful smile lingered on her lips.
With Bibi Dong's current strength, she was still far from making it through Hell Road in Slaughter City. Only when she was truly driven into a corner, when she unleashed her most extreme, purest obsession at the very edge of life and death, would it be the perfect time to cast down a God Trial.
When that time came, this woman—thrown into disarray by a little boy—would provide her with even more amusement.
Just imagining the expression Bibi Dong might make when she discovered the contents of her God Trial made the Rakshasa God feel that this long wait had been more than worth it.
Just then, the Rakshasa God noticed something.
She sensed the aura of the God of Love on Bibi Dong, and it took her completely by surprise.
The God of Love had been dead for who knew how many years. How could there possibly be anything of hers left?
The smile at the corner of the Rakshasa God's mouth faltered slightly.
She casually brushed the strand of hair from her fingers back over her shoulder, sat upright, and gave the scene a serious scrutiny, a glint in her purplish-red eyes.
The mist around the Ink Crystal Throne stopped churning, and the faint whispers in the divine palace fell silent in an instant.
She couldn't possibly mistake the God of Love's aura.
That warm, pink-gold radiance that gave you goosebumps; that cloying, syrupy feeling, as if it could melt every cold thing in the world into sugar water.
Aside from that lunatic, the God of Love, no other deity in the entire Divine Realm possessed such power.
But the God of Love had been dead for a long time.
Dead beyond a doubt. Even her Godhood had collapsed into countless fragments, scattered across the corners of the universe like dandelion seeds blown away by the wind, never to be pieced back together again.
The Rakshasa God remembered it clearly. That day, she had stood at the edge of the Divine Realm and watched from afar as that pink-gold light exploded in the void, like a silent fireworks display.
She had even scoffed and said, "She played with fire and got burned," before turning around to drink her Asura Blood Wine.
The God of Love had touched something she shouldn't have. That ending had been inevitable; there was nothing to regret.
Yet now, that aura, which should have long since vanished without a trace, had appeared on a woman from the lower realm.
The Rakshasa God murmured to herself, "Looks like someone's become the God of Love's successor. I wonder who."
At that moment, the Rakshasa God felt nothing but regret. She could only watch Slaughter City; she couldn't see anywhere else on Douluo Continent.
That was a rule of the Divine Realm. If she looked elsewhere on Douluo Continent, the Asura God would find out and punish her under the rules of the Divine Realm.
The Rakshasa God leaned back against the Ink Crystal Throne, her fingers tapping the armrest unconsciously. Her purplish-red eyes were half-lidded, but her thoughts had already drifted back to a time long, long ago.
Back then, the Divine Realm wasn't as boring as it was now.
Back then, the God of Love was still alive.
To be honest, she and the God of Love couldn't be called friends.
The Rakshasa God governed negative emotions, while the God of Love governed every emotional bond in the world. By the nature of their divine authorities, they had nothing to do with each other.
The God of Love handled love; she handled negative emotions. They each minded their own business.
The problem was, that lunatic, the God of Love, had never understood the meaning of minding her own business.
The Rakshasa God still remembered the first time she'd dealt with the God of Love.
It had been at the Divine Feast held once every thousand years. She had been leaning in a corner with a cup of blood wine, radiating an aura that screamed don't talk to me. Not a single god dared approach within ten feet of her.
Then the God of Love showed up. That pink-gold figure came over with a cup of honey wine and a bright smile. The first thing she said was, "Aren't you tired of frowning all day? Give me a smile. I bet you'd look prettier than you do now."
The Rakshasa God's reaction had been to crush her cup.
Not because she was angry. She'd simply been caught completely off guard.
She had been the Rakshasa God for all those years, and this was the first time any god had dared strike up a conversation with her—and the other god had done it with such reckless abandon.
She'd coldly told her to get lost. The God of Love hadn't left. Instead, she'd smiled even more brightly and said, "You're pretty cute when you're angry, like a little cat with its fur standing on end." A little cat.
She, the Rakshasa God, the deity who governed all the negative emotions in the world, had been called a little cat.
After that, the God of Love became like a piece of sticky toffee that wouldn't come off, dropping by her divine palace whenever she pleased.
One day, she'd bring a bunch of pink-gold flowers, saying they'd been formed from the power of emotion and would never wither.
The next, she'd show up with a jug of honey wine, claiming she'd brewed it herself and that it was ten thousand times better than blood wine.
Every time, the Rakshasa God threw the flowers into a rift in the void, poured the wine into the Ink Pool, then coldly told her, "Come here again and I'll rip your wings off."
Every time, the God of Love would put on a wounded expression and say, "You're so cruel," then show up again the very next day.
Back then, the Rakshasa God had been so annoyed she could hardly stand it. She'd wanted nothing more than to use her power of resentment to flip the woman's entire divine palace upside down.
She thought the God of Love was noisy, boring, and ungrateful. All she did was grin and stir up trouble everywhere she went. The other gods avoided her, but the God of Love shamelessly kept coming up to the Rakshasa God.
Didn't she know what it meant to press a warm face against a cold ass?
But the Rakshasa God didn't know when she'd gotten used to it.
Perhaps it began when the God of Love broke through the wards around her divine palace and tucked a bunch of pink-gold flowers, still covered in dew, into a crack in the Ink Crystal Throne.
After that, she never let anyone touch that spot again.
Perhaps it began on a certain late night, when the resentment from the lower realm had rebounded on her. The God of Love appeared behind her without a sound, wrapped her in that warm pink-gold light, and said, "You can't go on like this. What if you get so angry one day that you drop dead?"
The Rakshasa God remembered snapping, "Mind your own business," but she hadn't pushed away the hand resting on her shoulder.
Later, the God of Love died.
She'd touched something she shouldn't have. Her Godhood collapsed, its fragments scattered, and she died without a trace.
The Rakshasa God stood at the edge of the Divine Realm, watching from afar as that pink-gold light exploded in the void. Her face showed no emotion.
A few gods beside her whispered among themselves. Some lamented, some gloated, and some remained expressionless.
She said nothing. She returned to her divine palace, closed the door, then sat alone on the Ink Crystal Throne for a long time—long enough for the resentment in the Ink Pool to settle to the bottom.
She had a vague idea of what the God of Love had touched.
It was a taboo even the Dragon God had never dared touch, yet the God of Love had insisted on trying it.
That reckless spirit of hers—typical of the God of Love.
She'd seemed smart enough, yet she'd insisted on doing something so suicidal. She'd deserved what she got.
She had never told any god that on that night, for the first time ever, she hadn't cultivated or gone to the lower realm to gather resentment. She had simply sat there, reliving the last time the God of Love had visited her divine palace.
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