Bibi Dong's fingertips trembled slightly inside her sleeves. Emotions she had not revealed for years churned in her eyes-wariness, restraint, resentment, and a trace of panic even she refused to acknowledge, all tangled together.
She stared fixedly at Lan Changsheng, who stood before her untouched by the past, her voice hoarse with forced composure. "Since you were here all along, you just watched? Did you find it amusing?"
Lan Changsheng's gaze swept lightly over the blood-soaked, ravaged stage below, settled on Chi Wang, who knelt on the ground with blood and tears covering his face, then returned to Bibi Dong.
"This final was arranged entirely through your Spirit Hall's filthy methods to begin with. Whether I intervened or not, what difference would it have made?"
"Then why step forward now?" Bibi Dong's brows drew sharply together, frustration surging in her chest.
"Because you crossed the line."
Those few simple words held no roar of anger, no surging battle cry, yet the oppressive sense that he looked down upon everything and could pass judgment at any moment weighed heavily on Bibi Dong's heart.
After hearing him, Bibi Dong suddenly gave a low laugh, laden with icy self-mockery. "Crossed the line? What line? I am the Pope of Spirit Hall, holder of the Rakshasa inheritance. If not for you, this Douluo Continent would have fallen into my hands sooner or later. I want a hundred-thousand-year transformed soul beast. I want to sweep away the ants blocking my path. How is that crossing the line?"
"So in your eyes, every living being in this world is merely a pawn for you to manipulate and use as you please?"
He bore Bibi Dong no personal hatred. To him, all those old grudges and passions, love, hatred, and obsessions were merely a great dream playing