Meeting the Pope

Ning Buhui woke early.

Outside the guesthouse, the world was still veiled in pale blue morning light. In the distance, a bell rang from the direction of the city center, unhurried and steady-the same bell he had heard the night before. He got up, folded his bedding, and washed his face with the cold water left in the kettle. The splash brought him fully awake.

Half a white-flour flatbread remained on the table. He tore it into small pieces and ate it, then put his old outer robe back on. He had worn it all the way from Nuoding City, and its cuffs and hem were frayed, but it was clean and neat. He tugged at the corners, tied his bundle tight, and had just settled on the edge of the bed when someone knocked.

It was the same young deacon from yesterday.

"Come with me. There are matters to be discussed at the Pope Hall today."

Ning Buhui followed him outside. Spirit City was cold in the morning. People were already moving through the streets, white-robed deacons hurrying along as though rushing to a silent morning court. The buildings lining the road were dazzlingly white in the morning light, their golden roofs breaking the light into slender threads that made his eyes swim. Ning Buhui narrowed his eyes. Dew had dampened the bluestone beneath his feet, and his soles made a faint crunch as he walked.

They walked for about a quarter of an hour. The closer they came to the city center, the taller the buildings grew and the wider the roads became, until at last they stopped before a magnificent hall.

Ning Buhui looked up. The hall's white walls were so high he nearly had to crane his neck back to breaking point. Six snow-white stone pillars stood on either side of the main entrance, each so thick that it would take several people to encircle it with their arms. They were covered in carvings of angels with outspread wings, layer upon layer, as though they might fly out of the pillars at any moment. Ninety-nine steps led up to the hall, each polished to a mirror shine. The young deacon led him up, his footsteps on the stone almost soundless.

Ning Buhui had thought he would be nervous. But he wasn't. He followed the deacon up the steps one by one, his mind unusually clear. It was like the first time he had followed his mentor into a tomb in his previous life: standing at the entrance to the passage, he had felt an extraordinary calm. Professor Chen had asked if he was afraid. He had said yes, but a person entering a tomb couldn't let fear show on his face. It was the same now. One of the most powerful people on this continent was waiting for him above. He couldn't afford to show fear.

The hall was immensely high and vast, its dome like an expanse of faintly luminous white mist spread overhead. Two rows of deacons stood on either side of the central aisle, dressed in white with gold trim, their faces solemn. Not even their breathing could be heard. Walking between them, Ning Buhui felt as though he were wading through a river of watching eyes, each gaze like water washing coldly over his skin.

At the end of the aisle was a raised dais.

A black-and-gold chair stood atop it, its back so high it hardly looked fit for a person to sit in. Someone sat in the chair.

Ning Buhui took one look and lowered his gaze a fraction. It wasn't that he didn't dare look; the moment he saw her clearly, he understood that this woman's presence was not meant to be looked at directly. She wore a dark purple robe, unadorned except for a few fine lines of gold thread at the collar. Her long hair was half pinned up and half loose. Her face was extraordinarily beautiful, yet frighteningly cold, like a piece of white porcelain placed on high for many years and never warmed by human hands again.

He heard the young deacon retreat behind him, very quietly, with the softest of footsteps. He was left standing alone in the center of the vast hall.

"Ning Buhui."

The Pope spoke. Her voice was not loud, but it rang perfectly clear, as though it came down from every direction at once.

"Yes," he said.

"Raise your head."

He lifted his eyes and met Bibi Dong's gaze. Her eyes were very dark, like two pools of ancient water sunk deep underground. There was no emotion in them, only the purest scrutiny. As if she were weighing exactly how much he was worth.

"Both parents dead?" she asked.

"Yes," Ning Buhui said.

"A child of a collateral branch of the Ning Clan?" she continued.

"Yes," Ning Buhui answered.

"Innate Full Soul Power, and your Martial Soul is a nine-story pagoda mutated from the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda?"

"Yes."

Bibi Dong said nothing more, merely looked at him. The weight of her gaze chilled the back of his neck, as though it meant to peel him apart layer by layer, from the outside in. Ning Buhui did not look away. He stood there, very straight.

"Who do you want to follow?" Bibi Dong finally asked. The question came suddenly.

Ning Buhui heard a faint movement outside the aisle beside him, as though someone were holding their breath and waiting for something. He understood at once-he and the Pope were not alone here today. Behind those pillars, at the end of the aisle, in the shadows, others were standing. More people wanted to compete for him than he had imagined.

He raised his head and kept his voice steady. "I'll follow whoever makes me stronger."

The hall was utterly silent. So silent he could hear a tiny metallic sound somewhere on the dais, as though a pendant had stirred in the wind-or perhaps it was only his imagination.

Bibi Dong looked at him for a while, then leaned back slightly. The corners of her mouth, cold as though carved with a knife, seemed to curve almost imperceptibly. It wasn't a smile; there was simply one less layer of frost than before.

"From today onward, you are my disciple," she said.

Only when those words fell did the hall seem to breathe again. Ning Buhui saw the deacons on both sides bow in perfect unison, their white robes dipping in waves, one after another. He stood in the middle of those waves without moving at once. After a few breaths, he fell to both knees and kowtowed three times to the person on the dais.

His forehead pressed against the cold stone floor, he closed his eyes briefly.

In his previous life, he had knelt to his parents and before his ancestors' memorial tablets, but never to a living person. This time, however, he was willing. Because this woman had at least promised one thing, and it was something he had chosen for himself.

"Rise," Bibi Dong said.

Ning Buhui stood and saw her descend from the dais. She walked unhurriedly, the hem of her robe trailing behind her like a flowing swath of dark purple night. As she passed him, she paused, took a tiny piece of jade from her sleeve, and pressed it into his palm. The jade was warm.

"From now on, anyone who gives you a cold look is giving me one," she said. Her voice remained indifferent, as though she were saying something perfectly ordinary, but the entire hall heard her clearly.

Ning Buhui closed his hand around the jade and lowered his head. "Yes."

Bibi Dong did not look at him again. She walked straight out of the hall, and the deacons parted like a tide to make way for her. Ning Buhui stood where he was, watching the morning light from outside gradually brighten her figure until she disappeared beyond the ninety-nine steps.

The young deacon came hurrying back. As he led Ning Buhui away, the look he gave him was completely different from the one on their way in. Ning Buhui couldn't tell whether it was awe or caution, and he didn't look closely. He followed the deacon down the long aisle, the angels carved on the pillars joining into a sweep of white shadows at the edge of his vision.

He did not look back.

An entire new world was waiting outside.

By the time he returned to the guesthouse, someone had already moved his bundle elsewhere. The young deacon told him that the Pope's disciples had private quarters on the west side of the Pope Hall, not far from the Pope's bedchamber. Ning Buhui merely nodded and followed him. They passed through several courtyards along the way, where the flowers and trees were trimmed without a twig out of place, and even the colors of the pebbled paths looked as though they had been sorted anew.

His new residence was a separate quiet room, more than three times the size of the menial workers' room in Nuoding City. It had a bed, a table, a cabinet-everything he needed. The window looked out onto a small training ground paved with light gray hard stone, with several trees he couldn't name planted around it. Sunlight streamed through the window, filling the room with warmth and brightness.

He sat on the edge of the bed and opened his right hand. The jade lay in his palm, no bigger than a fingernail, smooth and warm throughout, with a tiny "Dong" carved on its face. He closed his hand around it, then opened it again and carefully tucked it into an inner pocket.

"I think his name is Ning Buhui."

Someone suddenly spoke outside the door.

The voice was young and a little curious. Ning Buhui looked up and saw a boy leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded. He was twelve or thirteen, with red hair and a spirited, handsome face. Two others stood behind him. One was a slightly older girl with eyes that tilted up at the corners and a beautiful face, her lips holding the faintest hint of a smile. The other was a rather tall boy with a cold, hard face. He said nothing, merely sizing Ning Buhui up.

"So you're Nana's new junior brother?" The red-haired boy stepped inside and looked him up and down, then turned to the two behind him. "He's a little bean sprout."

The girl laughed aloud.

Ning Buhui said nothing, only sweeping his gaze over the three faces one by one.

A red-haired boy, a girl with curved brows and slender eyes, and a tall, cold-faced boy. Having read the original work thoroughly, he naturally guessed who they were at once.

He stood and nodded to the three of them. "I'm Ning Buhui."

"We know," the red-haired boy said. "You're famous in Spirit Hall now. The Pope Hall and the Worship Hall are both fighting over you." He paused, looked Ning Buhui over again, and said, "I'm Yan. She's Hu Liena. The one who isn't talking is Xie Yue."

It seemed Spirit Hall really did value his talent. Ning Buhui said, "Hello. Please look after me from now on."

"What a well-behaved little junior brother." Hu Liena took two steps forward and crouched in front of him, bringing herself to eye level. She was beautiful, and seen this close, her eyes were like two peach blossoms soaked in water, soft and bright. She smiled with her lips pressed together, her voice light and gentle. "I'm Hu Liena, your senior sister. Whenever Teacher is busy, you can come to me if you need anything."

"Thank you, Senior Sister," Ning Buhui said.

Instead of getting up, Hu Liena leaned a little closer, the smile at the corners of her eyes deepening. "I heard your Martial Soul is a nine-story pagoda, and that you have Innate Full Soul Power. How about showing it to your senior sister?"

As she spoke, a very faint pink flashed in the depths of her eyes, like the shadow of a petal suddenly drifting across the bottom of a pool. Ning Buhui felt a tiny feather brush the back of his head. The sensation was light and insubstantial, but before it could settle, it seemed to strike something immensely hard and silently shatter into powder.

Hu Liena's eyelashes trembled.

The smile still lingered on her lips, but the softness in her eyes had vanished. In its place was a fleeting flash of astonishment, as though she had not expected to fail.

Ning Buhui's expression remained unchanged, as if he had felt nothing. "Senior Sister, I only moved in today, and I'm not feeling very energetic. Once I've settled in, I'll show you."

Hu Liena slowly straightened and stared at him for two seconds before smiling again. This smile was fainter than the last, but much more genuine. "All right. I'll be waiting."

"Nana, let's go," Yan urged from behind her. "If you keep teasing him, he'll go hide and cry in a minute."

"He's a lot steadier than you," Hu Liena said without looking back, turning toward the door. As she passed Yan, she quietly dropped three words: "Talk back there."

Yan froze for a moment, glanced at Ning Buhui, shrugged, and followed her out. Xie Yue had not spoken the entire time. Only when he reached the door did he look back at Ning Buhui once more. There was little emotion in that look, but it lingered, as though he were reassessing the new little bean sprout.

The footsteps outside faded into the distance. Ning Buhui stood by the window and heard the wind blow across the training ground. The leaves rustled for a while, then fell quiet again.

In the original work, even many seasoned Soul Masters might not have noticed Hu Liena's charm. She had used it to test a six-year-old child who had just entered the hall; clearly, she did not truly regard him as an ordinary junior brother. But his Nine Hell Soul-Suppressing Pagoda possessed the innate ability to suppress the soul and protect the spirit, rendering any mental attack ineffective against him. Hu Liena's probe had struck an iron plate she couldn't even see.

Ning Buhui had no intention of exposing her, though. She could conduct her tests, and he would play his part. In any case, he had never needed others to like him; he only needed them not to underestimate him.

He went to the bed, opened his bundle, and laid out the few things he had brought from Nuoding City one by one: half an unfinished roasted sweet potato, the broken sugar cake from Shitou's family, and the outer robe washed pale with wear.

The sky outside the window darkened. Ning Buhui lay down fully clothed, thinking about his Martial Soul. He had not actually told the truth. He already understood something about his Martial Soul, but it was too inconceivable, and while he still wasn't sure whether it was safe, he couldn't reveal how different he was.