As Bai Xian'er disappeared into the shadows with Ghost Douluo, Bibi Dong stood still in the Pope's Hall, the silence folding around her like a cold shroud.
Something stirred inside her.
A memory. A regret. A name.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached for a parchment and ink brush. She sat down at the great desk at the far end of the hall and, after a pause, began to write—slowly, carefully. Every stroke carried the weight of words never spoken.
When she finished, she stared at the letter, her eyes distant.
"…Chrysanthemum," she said softly.
A ripple of wind passed through the golden curtains, and a fragrant presence appeared—Chrysanthemum Douluo knelt before her, golden robes fluttering. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
Bibi Dong's voice was hesitant. "Deliver this letter… to her."
Chrysanthemum Douluo looked up, puzzled. "Her?"
Bibi Dong hesitated again, then gently placed the letter into his gloved hands.
"My… my daughter," she whispered.
Her eyes glistened—not with tears, but with the pain of years buried beneath pride and poison.
Chrysanthemum Douluo paused, sensing the unspoken story. But he asked nothing. He simply nodded and rose with solemn care.
"As you command."
Without another word, he turned and left the Pope's Hall. Outside, the sacred garden rustled in the breeze, as though the Spirit Hall itself had felt a change.
As he walked, he looked down at the sealed letter in his hand.
"Is something troubling Her Holiness?" he wondered. "She's never spoken of her daughter before—not like this."
But he did not question it further.
He would carry the letter to a quiet villa on the edge of Spirit City—where Qian Renxue, still under the guise of the "young Prince Xue Qinghe," lived in preparation for her future role in the Heaven Dou Empire.
He knew she would be leaving soon—for her destiny, for her mission.
But perhaps… it wasn't too late for something more human.
A mother's voice, long silenced, had finally reached out.
"Why are you here?" asked the palace guard, stepping in front of Chrysanthemum Douluo.
He offered a respectful nod, holding up a sealed letter. "I come on the orders of Her Majesty the Pope. I was told to deliver this to the young master."
The guards exchanged looks, then silently stepped aside to let him through.
Inside, Qian Renxue—still cloaked in the persona of "Xue Qinghe"—was seated in a private study, refining her aura so that she could perfectly imitate Xue Qinghe.
She raised her head as Chrysanthemum Douluo entered. Her golden eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Chrysanthemum Douluo? What brings you here?"
Chrysanthemum Douluo bowed low and approached. "This letter is from Her Majesty the Pope. She said… it is for her daughter."
For a moment, time froze.
Qian Renxue's eyes widened. She slowly stood up, her voice softer now. "She… said daughter?"
He nodded gravely. "Yes. Those were her exact words."
Renxue's expression shifted—shocked, guarded, then almost pained. She reached out, slowly taking the letter from his hand, her fingers trembling slightly.
Chrysanthemum Douluo quietly withdrew, leaving her alone in the room.
She stared at the letter. The seal was unmistakably Bibi Dong's.
Her daughter.
She had called her that.
Breaking the seal, Qian Renxue unfolded the letter. Her eyes scanned the words—and as they did, her breath caught. Her golden eyes shimmered, beginning to redden. She bit her lower lip as tears silently welled up, finally breaking free and falling onto the parchment.
She clutched the letter to her chest, breathing shakily.
Without another word, she turned and ran—past her confused guards, through the palace corridors, her footsteps echoing.
Straight toward the Pope's Hall.
Qian Renxue burst into the Pope's Hall, her breath ragged, eyes red, the letter still clutched in her trembling hands. Her golden hair swayed behind her like a banner of desperation as she spotted Bibi Dong standing near the grand altar, alone.
Bibi Dong turned, her eyes widening as she saw her—no, her daughter—rushing toward her, tears glistening in her eyes. The woman who once stood as the unshakable Pope now faltered for just a moment, guilt and sorrow flashing across her face.
Qian Renxue stopped only a few feet away, her voice trembling. "Why… why now? Why call me your daughter after all these years? After all that pain?"
Bibi Dong stepped forward slowly, her voice softer than it had been in decades. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her throat tightening. "I never hated you. I never blamed you. I just… couldn't bear the face that reminded me of him."
Renxue's breath hitched. She understood now.
Everything.
The anger in her mother's eyes, the coldness, the distance—it wasn't her that Bibi Dong hated. It was the shadow of her father, that monster who had violated and defiled her mother. And now, hearing the truth… it hurt, but it also healed.
"I was wrong," Bibi Dong continued, her voice cracking. "To take it out on you. You were just a child… my child. I let my pain blind me."
Qian Renxue didn't speak. She didn't need to.
She took one more step forward—and collapsed into Bibi Dong's arms.
The two of them embraced tightly, shaking, crying—not like Pope and heir, not like Spirit Hall's rulers, but like mother and daughter finally reunited after years of silent agony.
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't clean. But it was real.
And it was theirs.
From the shadows, Chrysanthemum Douluo quietly stepped back, a faint smile on his lips. Not far behind, Ghost Douluo observed silently, nodding in solemn approval.
Qian Daoliu, who had come seeking Renxue, arrived just in time to witness the embrace. He paused, stunned for a moment… then let out a heavy breath. Finally, he thought. Perhaps now, the girl is no longer in danger of being consumed by vengeance.
'It seems she has finally let go of the matter and is no longer taking her anger out on Xue'er,' he thought as he left.
Inside, as Qian Renxue calmed down, she began to ask about what had led her father to do such a thing to her mother. Bibi Dong sighed as she began to tell her story—one wound at a time—as Qian Renxue listened attentively.
****
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