All for the Greater Good

Besides, Spirit Hall could not afford chaos.

Qian Xunji had just died, and the entire world was eyeing Spirit Hall covetously. The two great empires were also secretly competing against each other.

If Spirit Hall erupted into internal conflict at a time like this and executed the Pope's heir, it would only fall apart.

Bibi Dong possessed unparalleled talent and ruthless methods. Now that she had the Rakshasa God Trial as well, she was the only person capable of stabilizing the situation and taking over as Pope.

Killing her would certainly be satisfying, but Spirit Hall would be finished, the Qian Clan's foundation would be destroyed, and Xue'er's path ahead would become several times harder.

Countless thoughts flashed through Qian Daoliu's mind.

The pain of losing his son, his bone-deep hatred, Spirit Hall's greater interests, his granddaughter's future, the deterrence of the gods... everything intertwined like a dull blade repeatedly sawing at his heart.

In the end, the hand gripping the holy sword slowly fell.

The golden radiance gradually faded, as though the man who had just flown into a rage and wanted to kill someone had never been him.

Bibi Dong stood where she was, staring coldly at him. A mocking smile curled across her lips. "What? The Grand Worshiper isn't going to make a move? Weren't you going to avenge your precious son?"

Her tone carried both provocation and probing.

She had gambled that Qian Daoliu would not dare act. It seemed she had won again.

Qian Daoliu closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, all his fury and pain had been suppressed, leaving only unfathomable calm.

He did not even look at Bibi Dong again. He merely walked to Qian Xunji's corpse, took off his outer robe, and gently covered his son with it.

"Xunji... he was the one who was confused."

Qian Daoliu's voice was soft, carrying exhaustion and age he could not conceal. "What happened back then was his wrongdoing toward you. Dying by your hand today can also be considered... retribution."

Bibi Dong raised an eyebrow, genuinely somewhat surprised.

She had thought that even if Qian Daoliu was wary of the Divine Trial, he would still tear away all pretenses. She had not expected the old man to endure it and even utter the words "retribution."

The old fox truly knew how to endure.

"The Grand Worshiper is truly broad-minded," she sneered.

"So what if I blame you? So what if I do not?" Qian Daoliu slowly turned around and looked at her with deep eyes. "He is already dead. Killing you will not bring Xunji back. It will only destroy Spirit Hall and make Xue'er suffer."

He paused. His tone remained calm, yet carried unquestionable weight. "The Rakshasa God Trial is your opportunity, and Spirit Hall's opportunity as well. Spirit Hall needs an inheritor of a god."

Bibi Dong sneered inwardly.

He made it sound so lofty, but in the end, he was merely weighing the gains and losses. He feared the gods, cared about the greater situation, and was reluctant to give up someone as useful as her.

But that was for the best. It saved her the trouble.

Just then, another command came from the Rakshasa Divine Will within Bibi Dong's sea of consciousness. She frowned slightly, and a layer of purple-black light spread across her body.

The Rakshasa Secret Realm had opened. The first trial was about to begin.

"I will be entering the secret realm for a while," Bibi Dong said blandly, as if she were merely stating something insignificant. "Grand Worshiper, handle Spirit Hall's affairs. We can discuss what comes next after I return."

After saying that, she did not wait for Qian Daoliu's response. Her figure flickered and vanished from the secret chamber. Only a purple-black spatial rift remained, slowly closing—the entrance to the Rakshasa Secret Realm.

Qian Daoliu stood there, staring at the empty secret chamber and his son's cold corpse for a long time without moving.

Overwhelming grief and exhaustion washed over him, weighing down this Limit Douluo who had always held up the sky until even his back bent slightly.

"Xunji, Xunji..." he sighed softly, his voice full of bitterness. "You truly were too foolish back then..."

One wrong step led to countless wrong steps.

He had ruined Bibi Dong, ruined himself, and ruined this family.

He bent down, picked up his son's weightless corpse, and walked out of the secret chamber step by step.

The night wind lifted his golden hair, carrying a heavy stench of blood.

For the first time, this pillar of Spirit Hall felt powerless.

But he could not fall.

He still had a granddaughter to raise, Spirit Hall to protect, and the Angel Legacy to carry on.

Even if the sky collapsed, he had to hold it up.

The following morning.

Dong—dong—dong—

Heavy, distant funeral bells rang from the highest point of Spirit Hall, one after another, spreading throughout all of Spirit City.

Ninety-nine funeral bells signified the Pope's death.

The entire Spirit City instantly fell silent.

Every household voluntarily changed into white mourning clothes and hung white funeral banners. Few pedestrians could be seen on the streets, and the oppressive atmosphere made it hard to breathe.

Everyone in Spirit Hall wore mourning garments. White drapes hung throughout the halls and corridors, fluttering in the wind with profound desolation.

The main hall of the Pope's Palace had been transformed into a mourning hall.

A coffin forged from pure gold stood in the center of the hall, with Qian Xunji's body lying within.

Qian Daoliu had used Angel Soul Power to restore his features, making him look as though he were merely asleep, peaceful and serene, granting him one final shred of dignity.

White mourning flowers filled the space before the coffin. Incense smoke curled through the air, stinging people's eyes.

Qian Renxue knelt before the coffin in pure white mourning clothes, her small body curled into a ball.

Her eyes were swollen red like walnuts. Her tears had long since dried up, and her throat was so hoarse that she could not make a sound. She only stared blankly at the coffin, her body occasionally convulsing.

Even now, she could not believe it.

Her father had died just like that.

The father who had smiled and praised her talent only days ago, who had said he would bring her a gift when he returned, was simply gone.

The adults said that her father had been injured by Tang Hao and had died of his wounds.

Tang Hao...

She clenched her fists tightly, her nails digging deep into her palms. She hated Tang Hao—hated the man who had killed her father.

"Wuh..."

As the grief overwhelmed her, tears fell again. Her body swayed, and she nearly collapsed to the ground.

A strong little hand caught her arm in time.

Qian Renxue turned her head and saw Bibi Xu standing beside her.

The boy was also dressed in plain mourning clothes. His expression was calm, though his eyes held a trace of pain that was difficult to notice.

He did not offer empty words about accepting her loss. He simply held her steady, giving her a shoulder she could lean on.

Qian Renxue's lips moved as though she wanted to say something, but no words came out. She only leaned closer to him, like an injured little beast seeking a trace of warmth.

Bibi Xu stood silently and let her lean against him.

His feelings were complicated.

He had failed to prevent this from happening. Qian Xunji had still died, at Bibi Dong's hands. Everything was still moving forward along the trajectory of the original story.

He did not think Bibi Dong was wrong. From her perspective, Qian Xunji deserved to die. But seeing Qian Renxue cry herself nearly unconscious still made him feel miserable.

The grudges of the previous generation had ultimately fallen upon the children.

There was no use saying anything now. The more he said, the more likely he was to say the wrong thing. Letting her cry properly and vent all her emotions was better than anything else.

In the mourning hall, cardinals, elders, and worshipers came in groups to pay their respects.

Some were sincerely grieving, some offered false condolences, and some had restless minds, calculating for their own benefit. The mourning hall appeared solemn, but undercurrents surged beneath the surface.

Bibi Dong stood to one side of the mourning hall in a plain-colored long dress. Her expression was calm, even rosy.

Her eyes were lowered toward the coffin. There was not the slightest trace of sorrow in them; instead, they concealed a barely perceptible delight.

Her great vengeance had been avenged. The enormous stone that had weighed on her heart for years had finally fallen away, leaving her feeling utterly clear and indescribably relieved.

If the occasion had not been inappropriate, she might even have burst into laughter.

As for what others thought of her, she did not care in the slightest.