"Looking for me?"
The pale glow of the moonlight spilled down, casting a faint silver sheen over Chen Xiaoming's flowing silver hair. His eyes flickered with a cold, silvery radiance, harboring an unmistakable trace of malice as he locked onto the figure before him. Subtle spatial ripples emanated from his presence, sealing off the surrounding area in eerie silence.
The black-robed figure remained silent, his expression grave as he fixed his gaze on Chen Xiaoming.
The latter's arrival had been utterly soundless. Not even the slightest disturbance had been perceived, and what was more unsettling—there was no longer a single sound around them. The chirping of insects, the rustling of leaves, all of it had vanished.
"The Spirit Hall's doing?"
In Spirit City, the only ones bold enough to target him had to be people from the Spirit Hall. Chen Xiaoming couldn't think of anyone else. But if they had sent this assassin…
A Soul Douluo-level Soul Master?
Seriously?
Sending someone of this level to assassinate him—was this a joke?
A mere Soul Douluo? If this was their best effort, they were seriously underestimating him.
A faint pulse of soul power erupted, pressing down upon the black-robed figure like a suffocating tide. His expression twisted in shock as he immediately realized the vast disparity between them.
"Your Excellency, Her Holiness the Pope invites you. Please…"
"Oh? Let me think… It was this hand, wasn't it?"
A voice, light and indifferent, drifted through the air. In the next instant, a red glow flashed across the black-robed figure's vision.
Pain.
Searing, excruciating pain tore through his right arm. He looked down in shock—his arm, the very one he had just used to strike, had been pierced clean through by a single vine.
Strangely enough, no blood dripped from the wound. Instead, the vine absorbed it, greedily drinking in the essence. A fresh shoot sprouted from the tendril, and then, blossoming atop it, a delicate red flower bloomed.
The blood-red petals unfurled, vibrant and bewitching, beautiful like a deadly rose—irresistibly alluring.
A chill crawled up the assassin's spine.
A premonition of death surged within him.
With a swift and desperate decision, he gritted his teeth and severed his own right arm.
In a flash, his body retreated to a safe distance.
The severed limb shriveled instantly, all vitality drained by the vine. The crimson flower detached, drifting lazily to the ground—before vanishing into nothingness upon contact.
"…Gulp."
The assassin swallowed hard.
Monstrous. Unnatural.
He had no words to describe what had just happened.
Had he hesitated for even a second longer, he would be dead.
"Let's go."
Chen Xiaoming landed lightly, brushing off the moment as if nothing had happened. He was curious now—what exactly did Bibi Dong want? And what kind of scheme was she playing?
The black-robed figure trembled, lowering his head in fear. Yet, hidden beneath that submissive posture, a glimmer of hatred flashed in his eyes—not toward Chen Xiaoming, but toward Bibi Dong.
Though he was a Soul Douluo of the Spirit Hall, his true allegiance lay with the Grand Worship. He had only come on this mission due to the Pope's overwhelming authority.
But Bibi Dong hadn't told him who the target was.
If he had known beforehand…
How could he have been foolish enough to attempt assassinating a Titled Douluo?
"…Wretched woman!"
Clutching his bleeding shoulder, he cursed internally. This was a disaster. Even if he survived, losing an arm meant his strength would forever be crippled.
And it was all because Bibi Dong had used him as a pawn.
He had already made up his mind—once he returned, he would report this to the Second Worship.
The two traveled toward the outskirts of Spirit City. Both were powerful, and with the assassin's familiarity with the city, they easily avoided patrols and slipped out unnoticed.
They arrived at a secluded hillside.
A lone figure sat there, waiting. A pot of wine warmed over a small fire. Clearly, she had been expecting him.
Tap.
Chen Xiaoming stepped forward, surveying his surroundings. The location was open, the air crisp and serene—a fine place for drinking and enjoying the moonlight.
"Your Holiness, I have brought him. I shall take my leave."
The black-robed figure bowed respectfully before turning to depart.
Bibi Dong gave a slight nod, acknowledging his departure.
A flash of rage flickered in the assassin's eyes, but he suppressed it, turned away, and walked off.
Or rather, he tried.
His body stiffened.
Something had pierced through his chest.
Slowly, disbelievingly, he lowered his head. A thin trail of blood seeped from the wound.
His life force drained away.
With his last ounce of strength, he turned his gaze back toward the woman sitting under the moonlight.
The Pope.
The beautiful, serene Bibi Dong, sipping her wine as if nothing had happened.
The assassin's vision blurred. His body collapsed. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Chen Xiaoming stood to the side, watching indifferently.
He wasn't surprised. If Bibi Dong hadn't done it, he would have.
His gaze shifted back to her.
Under the pale moon, the Pope's flawless features were more mesmerizing than ever. Her quiet, composed demeanor exuded a celestial beauty—had he not just witnessed her ruthless efficiency, he might have mistaken her for an ethereal goddess.
"I wonder… What does Her Holiness the Pope want with me at this hour?"
A lone man. A lone woman. In the middle of nowhere. And the only witness had just been silenced.
How scandalous.
Chen Xiaoming's lips curled in amusement.
Just what was Bibi Dong planning?
"Please, have a seat."
She gestured slightly, sliding a cup of wine toward him with a graceful smile.
Their eyes met.
Chen Xiaoming raised a brow—her composure was unexpected.
Still, confidence in his strength allowed him to remain unfazed.
Glancing at the cup before him, he merely chuckled but made no move to drink.
"Please."
Bibi Dong took a sip herself, unfazed by his refusal.
Her nonchalance made him pause.
What game was she playing?
Surely she hadn't realized she couldn't defeat him and decided to—
No.
No way.
She wasn't planning to seduce him, was she?
Ahem.
He coughed lightly, shaking off the absurd thought.
Bibi Dong was many things, but she wasn't that kind of person.
Thud.
With a light wave of her hand, a wooden box appeared on the table.
It clicked open—inside lay three pristine soul bones, one of which was a torso bone.
Chen Xiaoming's eyes flickered, but the interest quickly faded.
"A bribe, Your Holiness?"
He smiled.
A single torso bone? Hardly tempting.
If he truly wanted one, he could simply go on a rampage in the Star Dou Forest.
"You may see it that way."
Bibi Dong's voice remained composed.
"With your power, serving as nothing more than a mere vice-dean of an academy is beneath you. Why not join Spirit Hall? Together, we can build a new world."
Chen Xiaoming's interest vanished.
Ah, the same old speech.
Joining the Spirit Hall?
What a joke.
Spirit Hall was doomed.
And more importantly—he hated being restrained.
His gaze swept over Bibi Dong, amused at how she had seemingly overlooked the most crucial factor.
Did she truly not realize…?
Or was she just that arrogant?
"…Nice idea."
Chen Xiaoming's voice was calm, yet laced with mockery.
"Too bad."
"You seem to have forgotten something important."
"Why would a lion ever negotiate with a lamb waiting to be slaughtered?"
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