Bibi Dong watched the door click shut behind her children, the quiet sound failing to seal out the storm raging within her.
The terrifying, lonely image of Yorrichi—the swordsman bathed in the blood-red twilight, defined by a crushing sorrow and absolute solitude—was seared onto her mind, eclipsing the serene image of the child who had just left.
That vision was not a simple snapshot; it was a psychological trauma, a wound inflicted by the knowledge of a brutal destiny. She needed release, a physical venting of the psychic pressure before it shattered the carefully constructed facade of the Saintess of Spirit Hall.
In a burst of movement that was both furious and entirely silent, Bibi Dong discarded the gentle mask of motherhood. She moved with the sheer speed, bypassed the main corridors and did not even consider the guarded front gates.
Instead, she slipped through the discreet, rarely used utility entrance reserved for the lowest maintenance staff, emerging directly onto the secluded back slope of Spirit Hall's mountain base.
This area was a sprawling, dense forest, deliberately untamed to serve as a natural barrier and a private cultivation ground for the high-level personnel. Tonight, it was deserted.
The moon had yet to fully rise, and the deep indigo velvet of the night pressed down, the thick canopy swallowing sound and light with unnatural efficiency. It was her sanctuary, and her cage.
Her spiritual power swept through the area in a wide, immediate arc. Nothing. No elders, no guards, no curious eyes—only the dense, whispering life of the ancient trees.
She stopped at the foot of an enormous, centuries-old Spirit Tree. Its trunk was colossal, easily three meters in diameter, wrapped in gnarled, dark bark that seemed to absorb the twilight. This was a spirit plant of immense hardiness, an immovable object of the forest floor, and it was exactly what she needed.
A guttural, wordless sound of pure frustration rose in her throat, instantly stifled from forced control. She did not raise her Soul Power or summon her martial souls. To use Soul Power would be to risk detection; to use her Spirit was to risk annihilation of the forest. This was raw, human fury, demanding a raw, human outlet.
Bibi Dong drew back her right fist—not an elegant, Soul Master strike, but a frantic, muscle-bunched punch fueled by terror and maternal rage. She drove it with explosive force into the thick, uncompromising bark of the ancient trunk.
WHUMP!
A sickening, dull thud echoed only briefly before being absorbed by the surrounding foliage. The pain was immediate, a sharp, white-hot blaze that raced up her arm, jarring the bones in her shoulder. It was a pain she hadn't felt since her early cultivation days, a purely physical reminder of her mortality.
The great tree shuddered. Not from her Soul Power, but from the kinetic energy of her perfectly conditioned body. A cascade of dried leaves rained down around her, rustling like whispered secrets in the oppressive darkness.
She pressed her burning knuckles against the cool, rough bark, little tears of frustrated rage welling in her eyes, quickly blinked away. She leaned into the trunk, her chest heaving, and let out a sound that was less a scream and more a strangled, desperate plea—a sound so small it was immediately devoured by the vastness of the forest, ensuring no human ear could ever perceive the Supreme Pontiff's momentary lapse.
"Ah… why was he so sad?!" she choked out, her voice cracking with the sheer, heartbreaking injustice of the vision. "Did something happen in the future that he couldn't manage? Why... why did he look so utterly alone?"
Her mind, usually a fortress of iron logic, began to spiral. She pounded the tree again, the pain anchoring her to the present moment, forcing her tumultuous psyche to focus.
Damn it! Her inner monologue raged, echoing the turmoil of the forest around her. Why does this premonition show up now? Just when I finally achieved Level 91, when I thought I had secured the strength to protect them both! That sorrow… that profound, world-weary sorrow was worse than any physical threat!
She focused on the memory of the terrifying, quiet aura of the swordsman—an aura that defied the very Soul Master system they lived in. It was a power born from an entirely different, more vicious reality, and it spoke of immense struggle and unimaginable loss.
He looked strong enough to challenge the Gods themselves, yet utterly broken by his experiences.
The panic began to subside, replaced by a cold, practical dread. She had operated her entire time on the assumption that the image she had seen earlier were of the future. The vision of Yorrichi's swordsman self, however, was clearly rooted in a different realm and a past life. This distinction—a terrifying blur between predestined future and indelible past—shattered her sense of control and created a little misunderstanding also.
I don't know what I saw, she realized with a painful clarity that sobered her completely. Was that the future I failed to prevent or anything?
She pushed herself away from the Spirit Tree, the raw agony in her hand a useful distraction. A deep, shuddering sigh escaped her lips, sounding heavy and final.
Haah, let it go then.
This was the core of her breakthrough, the terrible realization that transcended her Title Douluo rank. Bibi Dong, the woman who had painstakingly planned her revenge and her children's destiny for years, finally faced a truth more powerful than her will: she could not control everything.
If she tried to shield Yorrichi and Renxue from every struggle, to pave a smooth, sterile road to power, she would only weaken them. The solitary swordsman in the vision was immensely powerful precisely because he would struggl, fight, and lost on a catastrophic scale. His power will forged in the fire of unavoidable hardship.
If he needs to struggle and experience the world's harshness, then let him, she decided, the concession bitter on her tongue, yet necessary.
I can't protect them forever. I cannot fight all their battles. Only they need to get powerful enough so that they can deal with any obstacles I cannot foresee or reach.
She realized that attempting to micromanage Yorrichi's life based on a fragmented vision would have disastrous, unpredictable results. Her love could not be a chain; it had to be a foundation.
I can only watch them from the sidelines, she concluded, accepting her new role with a heavy, yet determined heart. I can only watch Yorrichi and Renxue, guiding them only when they reach an obstacle they truly cannot solve alone, or when they ask for my direct help.
She sat down at the foot of the massive Spirit Tree, leaning her aching back against the rough bark. The small clearing above the mountainside offered a rare, breathtaking vista.
The full, silvery moon had now ascended, riding high in the deep, inky expanse of the dark sky. The stars, usually faint, seemed to sparkle with a crisp, cold intensity, bathing the mountain in an ethereal, blue-tinged light .
The cold serenity of the celestial sphere finally cooled the white-hot core of her rage. She sat there, the weight of the Spirit Hall, the threat of Qian Xunji, and the burden of prophecy fading into the quiet grandeur of the night. She allowed herself to simply be, a Titled Douluo exhausted by her own frantic, maternal heart.
Her thoughts softened, drifting from existential dread to maternal warmth.
Next week.
The phrase settled gently in her mind, carrying an overwhelming wave of sentimental reflection. Next week, both of her children, Renxue and Yorrichi, would finally reach the pivotal age of six.
Six years old. It felt like only yesterday she had been recovering from the agonizing, near-fatal trauma of giving birth to them, staring at their tiny, perfect faces. Time really does pass in the blink of an eye when your mind is occupied by such grand, terrifying stakes.
She thought of the impending Martial Soul Awakening Ceremony. Her heart fluttered with a quiet, fierce excitement. This was the true beginning. Everything before this—the planning, the cultivation, the political maneuvering—had been preparation for this moment. What Spirits would they inherit?
The ceremony was the start, but not the end. Following the awakening, they would need training, yes, but more importantly, they would need life.
Their academy will start soon, too. This was a non-negotiable step in her plan. She had to let them go.
They need to make more friends of their own age, she mused, thinking of their current sheltered existence. They were surrounded by her clone and the Grand Elder, powerful but distant figures. They needed peer connection, competition, and the chance to forge bonds that were not predetermined by her station.
They need to learn more than just the esoteric theory I teach them. They need to learn the social dynamics, the politics of childhood, the value of shared struggle, and the pain of betrayal—all those lessons that are best absorbed outside the watchful eyes of their powerful mother.
The decision was made, the bitter pill of letting go swallowed entirely. She rose, the coldness of the ground leaving her with a renewed sense of purpose. The moon told her that the night was progressing and the time for dinner was fast approaching.
With a burst of the same silent, focused speed she had used to enter the forest, she navigated her way back toward the residential compound. No lingering, no delay.
She stepped into her chamber, her demeanor once again one of gentle, slightly tired serenity.
Renxue and Yorrichi were in the bed, quietly playing a simple strategy game with wooden blocks.
"My darlings," Bibi Dong called out, her voice calm and clear. "It's time. Dinner is waiting for us in the great hall."
The children immediately stood up, their faces bright with the simple, uncomplicated joy of impending food and company. As they began to walk, Bibi Dong deliberately placed herself between them, but her gaze kept falling, subtly and repeatedly, onto her boy's profile.
She studied his face as they walked: the thoughtful set of his brow, the intelligent depth in his dark eyes, the small, quiet curve of his lips when Renxue recounted the details of their afternoon.
Is there a change? Does he look haunted? Has the proximity to that silver earring—that tether to his vision—caused him any anxiety?
She searched desperately for any sign of recognition, any flicker of the overwhelming sorrow she had seen in the vision. Yorrichi was perfectly normal. His pace was steady, his answers were concise, and his attention was on his sister.
A wave of profound relief washed over her, easing the tightness in her chest. It's good. It's a very good sign that he didn't see anything unfamiliar. The shock was hers alone to bear, the burden of the prophecy resting solely on her shoulders.
The trio reached the enormous, silent dining hall.
It was, as always, a vast, echoing space, designed to hold dozens of high-ranking Soul Masters, yet now occupied only by the three of them and the silent, impeccable staff. They took their usual seats, and their eyes naturally drifted to the head of the table.
The large, opulent chair reserved for Qian Xunji was, predictably, empty.
No one spoke of it. The emptiness had become a defining fixture of their family life, a permanent absence that no longer affected their mood. Renxue simply took a piece of roasted meat and began eating with cheerful focus. Yorrichi ate with his usual quiet diligence.
Bibi Dong, however, felt a cold, clinical satisfaction at the sight. Good. His absence meant his continued focus on the hunting, the massive expenditure of time and resources on his personal vendetta against Tang Hao and Ah Yin. It bought her time.
While eating, she made an internal commitment, her mind instantly snapping back to her strategic reality. In the next few days, I must make a point to check the main meeting logs and the mission reports.
She needed current information—not the vague rumors of the Elders, but the official data—to track Qian Xunji's progress and identify the precise moment when he would be at his most vulnerable.
The dinner passed in pleasant, unhurried silence. They spoke of the upcoming Martial Soul Awakening and the excitement of starting the academy.
Finally, they returned to their chambers. Bibi Dong oversaw the bedtime routine, ensuring the blankets were tucked in and the night lamp was casting its soft, familiar glow. She kissed both of their heads—a gesture of profound love and a silent promise of protection.
Renxue and Yorrichi, innocent and secure, drifted off quickly, their peaceful, rhythmic breathing a calming anchor in the night.
Bibi Dong, exhausted but internally settled, finally lay down in her own bed. She closed her eyes, allowing herself to be claimed by the deep, sound sleep she had earned. The storm was over, replaced by the profound tranquility of a queen who had chosen her path.
She would not stop the world from challenging her children, but she would ensure they were strong enough to meet that challenge. The moon and the stars bore silent witness to the quiet determination of the woman who slept soundly, her vigilance tucked away for the new dawn.
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Author's Note:
Haha, the ceremony will soon come and your patience will have sweet result also that u will like it. Hope u have added it if u have to to this.