Dai Chengfeng did not release Bibi Dong after the kiss ended. Instead, he drew her closer, pressing their bodies together until no space remained between them. He felt the softness beneath her robes, the faint tremors not of fear, but of long-suppressed release—the quiet aftershocks of emotion breaking through a dam.
"Dong'er," he murmured, voice roughened by passion, "do you know? Every time I see you in these papal robes, I ache to strip them away with my own hands."
Bibi Dong's cheeks flushed deeper. She tapped his chest lightly. "Bold."
Yet she did not pull away—only leaned closer. Dai Chengfeng's lips curved as his fingertips traced the gold-threaded embroidery, savoring the silk beneath.
"These robes are too heavy," he whispered, fingers finding the clasp at her nape. "They carry duty, power, solitude. But not today. Today, you need none of it."
His fingers deftly unfastened the first clasp. Bibi Dong stiffened slightly but did not resist. She lifted her gaze—violet eyes shimmering, brimming with unspoken words.
"Chengfeng…" Her voice was a breath, trailing into a sigh.
"Hush." He pressed a finger gently to her lips. "There's no Supreme Pontiff today. No Spirit Hall. Only you and me—Bibi Dong and Dai Chengfeng."
The second clasp yielded. The collar parted, revealing pale skin and delicate collarbone. Dai Chengfeng bent, pressing a kiss there. Bibi Dong inhaled sharply, fingers tightening on his tunic.
"You're always so domineering," she whispered.
"Only with you." He smiled, unfastening the third.
Clasp after clasp surrendered. The violet-and-gold robes loosened around her shoulders. Dai Chengfeng moved with reverent care, as if unveiling sacred art. His fingertips brushed her neck—each touch sending faint shivers through her.
At the seventh clasp, the robes hung loose. But he did not pull them away. Instead, he swept her into his arms and carried her to a sun-warmed stone by the stream.
"Ah!" She gasped, arms circling his neck. "What are you doing?"
"The stone's warm," he murmured, settling her gently. "It's more comfortable."
True to his word, the stone radiated gentle heat. Bibi Dong sat amid the disarray of robes—violet-and-gold fabric pooling around snow-pale skin. A vision of breathtaking vulnerability.
Dai Chengfeng braced his hands on either side of her, caging her between stone and chest. Sunlight haloed his silhouette as she tilted her head to meet his gaze.
"You stare so… I'll blush," she murmured, turning away. A strand of violet hair slipped over her shoulder.
He tucked it behind her ear, thumb stroking her cheek. "I want to see you. Every inch."
His words were raw, tender. As the Supreme Pontiff, she knew reverence—but never this: desire woven with unwavering cherishment. In his eyes burned passion, yes—but deeper still, reverence.
"Then take your time," she said, feigning calm. Her crimson ear tips betrayed her.
"Not enough."
He smiled—and drew the robes from her shoulders. They slid to the stone. Beneath, a sheer violet undergarment traced the elegant lines of her form. Dai Chengfeng's breath caught. "Dong'er… you are beautiful."
She instinctively moved to cover herself—but he captured her wrists, pressing them gently to the stone. "Don't hide. Let me see you."
His gaze traced her face—brows, nose, lips tight with tension—then drifted downward: the graceful neck, the delicate hollow of her collarbone…
A shyness she'd never known bloomed within her. Yet beneath it rose something else: liberation. Here, she was not the Supreme Pontiff. Not a mother. Not a ruler. Just Bibi Dong—a woman allowed to blush beneath her lover's gaze.
He released her wrists, palms gliding down her arms with tender certainty.
"Do you know?" he whispered against her skin. "The first time I saw you, I longed to touch you—to prove you were real, not a dream."
She smiled faintly. "How old were you then? To dare such thoughts of the Supreme Pontiff?"
"Never mere thoughts," he said, solemn. "Destiny."
He kissed her brow—feather-light. Eyelids. Nose. Cheek. Then her lips, deeper this time. His hands roamed her back, savoring silk and warmth. She melted into him, arms circling his neck, fingers threading his hair—a quiet surrender that sent joy surging through him.
Sunlight dappled the valley. The stream murmured. Birdsong drifted through the leaves. Time thickened, softened.
When the kiss ended, his lips found her earlobe—teasing, tasting. She shuddered, a soft whimper escaping.
"Here?" he murmured against her ear.
She buried her face in his shoulder, ear tips glowing translucent. He adored her like this—continued tracing kisses along her neck, her collarbone. At the delicate hollow, he lingered, sucking gently until a faint pink mark bloomed. Bibi Dong bit her lip, stifling the cry trembling on her tongue.
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