Dai Chengfeng rested at the inn one night, then resumed his journey at dawn. Yet instead of riding straight to Star Luo Empire, he turned his horse toward a secluded valley near Spirit City.
Bibi Dong's private cultivation retreat—and their secret sanctuary.
Dai Chengfeng knew well: though he'd sealed a five-year vow with Qian Renxue, his bond with Bibi Dong demanded equal care. This Supreme Pontiff of the Spirit Hall, outwardly majestic and unyielding, concealed a fragile heart and profound tenderness. As a reincarnator, he understood her scars—and the complex, deep love she held for him.
Spurring his steed onward, he reached the mist-shrouded valley by midday. Rare blossoms carpeted the slopes; a crystal stream murmured through ancient stones. Here, even the Supreme Pontiff could breathe freely.
Tying his horse at the entrance, Dai Chengfeng walked deeper. Ahead, a figure stood by the water's edge—violet-and-gold papal robes flowing around her silhouette, noble yet shadowed by solitude.
"Dong'er." His voice softened with unmistakable warmth.
Bibi Dong turned. Surprise flickered across her exquisite features—quickly veiled by practiced coolness. "You came. I heard you caused quite a stir at the Spirit Hall yesterday… and made a five-year pact with Qian Daoliu?"
Dai Chengfeng closed the distance, taking her hand. "You already know?"
She tried to pull away—but his grip held firm. She turned her face aside, voice edged with vinegar: "All of Spirit City speaks of it. Third Prince Dai Chengfeng, risking Soul King pride to challenge the Grand Worship… all for the Holy Daughter Qian Renxue. So touching."
He caught the bitterness beneath her words—amused, yet tender. Gently, he turned her chin toward him. "Dong'er… are you jealous?"
Her eyes widened—a flash of panic—then stilled. "I am the Supreme Pontiff of the Spirit Hall. I do not indulge in petty jealousy." Her tone sharpened. "I merely remind you: Qian Daoliu is no fool. This vow is not a game."
"I know." Dai Chengfeng's gaze held hers, unwavering. "But I had to do it. Xue'er is my beloved. I could never watch her being forced into marriage." He paused, voice dropping to a whisper. "And you… you remain one of the most precious souls in my heart. My feelings for you have never wavered."
Bibi Dong's composure shattered. Moisture glistened in her eyes. How could she doubt his sincerity? This man had stormed into her life, mending decades of wounds with fierce tenderness. Yet their bond was tangled—she was Supreme Pontiff… and Xue'er's mother…
"Chengfeng, between us—" Her voice broke, heavy with helplessness.
He drew her close, forehead resting against hers. "Do not overthink it. To me, you are simply Bibi Dong—the woman I love. Titles mean nothing."
She melted against his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. A warmth long forgotten bloomed within. Only here, with him, could the Supreme Pontiff shed her armor and simply be.
"Dong'er," he murmured, fingers threading through her hair, "I came to share my plans."
She lifted her gaze, concern etched deep. "Soul King to Soul Douluo in five years? Building an academy? Winning the championship? Chengfeng… this is near-impossible. You're being reckless."
He smiled—a quiet certainty in his eyes. "What others cannot do does not bind me. Have you forgotten my… unique advantages?"
Bibi Dong stilled. His uncanny foresight. His mysterious knowledge. Yes—this man carried secrets that defied reason. Miracles followed him like shadows.
"Even so," she insisted, voice trembling, "the Extreme North… the Slaughter City… those are places even Douluos fear to tread."
"For you and Xue'er," he said, resolve like tempered steel, "I would walk through hell itself." Then his lips curved, tender. "But before I begin… I need some… encouragement."
He lowered his head. Slowly. Deliberately.
Bibi Dong's cheeks flushed. She did not retreat. Eyes closed, lashes trembling—a silent surrender to longing.
Their lips met.
A butterfly's touch at first—tentative, reverent. He felt the cool softness of her mouth, the faint quiver beneath. His heart swelled; his kiss deepened with infinite care.
Her stiffness melted. Arms rose to circle his neck. A shy, earnest response bloomed—years of restraint dissolving into this single moment.
The kiss grew fervent. He held her waist as if to fuse her to his soul. She answered without reservation, emotion surging like a dam breaking.
Silence wrapped the valley. Only the stream's song and their quickening breaths remained. Sunlight dappled their entwined forms—a painting of intimacy and grace.
When they parted, Bibi Dong's face glowed crimson. Her eyes, usually sharp with authority, shimmered with vulnerable beauty. The Supreme Pontiff was gone; only the woman remained.
Dai Chengfeng brushed his lips against hers once more, voice rough with awe. "Dong'er… you are breathtaking."
She shot him a coquettish glare—but buried her face in his chest, muffled words escaping: "Smooth-talker."
He held her tighter, heart full. With such love awaiting my return… how could I not strive to be worthy?
"Dong'er," he whispered, "I may not return often these five years. Care for yourself. Do not let duty consume your health."
She lifted her head, tears glistening. "Go. I will be well." Her hand pressed his chest. "But you—be cautious. If danger comes… do not be proud. Remember… I am here. Always."
Dai Chengfeng's throat tightened. He nodded. "When I return… I will make you both proud."
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