While barely two hours had passed in the Divine Realm, more than a month had flown by on the Douluo Continent.
----
After escaping from Tang Hao, Qian Renxue spent so ti in the restaurant to check if he had capabilities to track her. After finding that Tang Hao did not track her she went back to Spirit Hall.
A few days later.
When Qian Renxue entered the Elder’s Hall, the atmosphere was heavy with suppressed rage. She saw Qian Daoliu, the Supre Pontiff’s father, clenching his fists so tightly that veins bulged on the back of his hands. His aged face, usually calm as a mountain, was filled with worry and anger.
Qian Renxue did not need to ask; she already knew the reason. Qian Xunji, her so-called father, had suffered grievous injuries in his clash with Tang Hao.
She let out a soft sigh.
Her own feelings toward Qian Xunji were colder than ice. Whether he lived or died mattered little to her. Yet when she glanced at the old man before her, the one she had accepted as her true grandfather, she knew she could not stay indifferent.
‘If Bibi Dong moves against Qian Xunji, I’ll have to make my move as well.’
Her eyes narrowed, as for Qian Renxue, it was only a matter of patience—waiting for Bibi Dong to strike.
----
One month later…
After the clandestine eting between Rakshasa and Asura in the Divine Realm.
Inside the Pope’s Hall, Bibi Dong sat at her desk, pale fingers moving elegantly across a jade scroll as she reviewed Spirit Hall’s latest reports. To any outsider, she seed calm and dignified, her divine aura faintly perating the room.
Then, without warning, a sinister voice echoed in the depths of her mind.
“Hehe… Bibi Dong, what a fine little talent you are. Already at Level 90… so soon.”
Her eyes widened, pupils trembling. This was no illusion, no re hallucination of resentnt gnawing at her soul. This voice was heavy with power, crushing down on her spiritual sea like a tide of endless malice.
Her lips parted in disbelief, her whisper almost inaudible.
“Rakshasa Goddess…?”
A laugh, soft and sultry, rolled through her consciousness.
“Yes, little one. It is .”
Her heart pounded violently in her chest. She had endured countless whispers of darkness, urges and temptations planted by her godly inheritance. But never before had she felt the direct presence of the Rakshasa Goddess herself.
Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to ask, “Have you co to deliver my second trial?”
The answer was a low chuckle, dripping with temptation.
“No, child. Not a trial. Sothing far more… interesting.”
Bibi Dong’s expression darkened. She knew well that each trial pushed her closer to godhood. For the Rakshasa Goddess to appear yet not grant one—this was unprecedented.
In the silent corridors of her mind, Rakshasa’s true thoughts swirled with venom:
‘No. You are too talented. If I gave you the trials now, you would ascend swiftly. And once you reach godhood with such speed, Asura will co for my head without hesitation.’
‘You are not just my inheritor, Bibi Dong. You are the whetstone—the sharpening blade Asura has chosen for his own successor. Your pain, your resentnt, your hatred… they are his design. I cannot allow you to reach the end so easily.’
Her voice echoed again in Bibi Dong’s ears, honeyed yet cruel:
“You crave strength, don’t you? Vengeance against Spirit Hall, against that man, against the world itself. Then listen carefully. I will not hasten your ascent… but I will offer you knowledge, secrets that can help you strike down those who wronged you long before you wear my mantle.”
Bibi Dong’s breathing quickened, her fists clenching on the jade scroll until it cracked. She hated Qian Xunji. She hated the angelic bloodline that overshadowed her. She hated everything that chained her to her past.
And the Rakshasa Goddess’s voice slithered deeper into her heart, fanning those flas.
“You know what I am—Rakshasa, the one who despises the Angel Goddess more than any other. If you can devour an Angel martial soul and sacrifice its wielder to , I shall grant you access to the Rakshasa Domain. Along with it, I will bestow a cultivation technique so secret, that even an Ultimate Douluo will not sense your aura.”
The words were like poisoned honey, each syllable dripping into the depths of Bibi Dong’s soul.
Bibi Dong trembled. The offer was too tempting.
Her thoughts turned jagged, dangerous.
‘Isn’t this the perfect opportunity? Qian Xunji is already heavily injured. A surprise strike, a clean sacrifice…. My revenge …is within reach.’
Her chest heaved as old mories broke through the iron cage she had built around them—mories of humiliation, of her life being turned into a cruel mockery by the man who called himself her teacher.
Her spirit quaked. Then—
Boom!
A purple aura erupted from her body, spreading across the room like a poisonous tide. The blackened mist coiled and twisted, her murderous intent sharpening into sothing almost tangible.
Her voice was a whisper, yet every corner of the chamber seed to tremble with it.
“I just need to wait… for the perfect mont. When Qian Xunji lowers his guard, when he believes himself safe… that will be the ti of his end.”
Her eyes glead, cold and resolute, yet deep inside the faintest flicker of hesitation remained—an ember of humanity, buried but not extinguished.
---
In the Divine Realm
The Rakshasa Goddess withdrew her divine thoughts, leaning back upon her throne of writhing shadows. Her lips curled upward, scarlet tongue tracing the edge of her teeth.
She licked her lips and let out a peal of laughter that echoed across her temple.
“Hehehehe… mortals are so deliciously delusional. Just the smallest prick of darkness, the tiniest whisper of temptation, and they leap without considering the consequences of their fall.”
“That Angel just jumped into the pit of darkness, with just a little of dark thoughts I released years ago. Which resulted into a perfect inheritor of Rakshasa- Bibi Dong, too bad she is included in Asura’s plan.”
Her laughter grew sharper, echoing amidst the rolling violet mists that coiled within the temple like living serpents.
“Now, Bibi Dong, you think only of revenge… but you are blind to the threads of fate that bind you. You still have feelings toward your daughter, buried though they are. What will she do, I wonder… when she learns the truth? That it was you who murdered her father?”
Her laughter rose higher, twisted and shrill, until the entire Rakshasa Temple quaked with its resonance.
“Hehehehehe!”
The sound was devoured by the choking miasma of purple mist, which spiraled endlessly upward, blotting out the light.
----
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