“Ah Yin is not like that. She is kind, gentle, and—”

“Kind? Gentle?!” the seventh elder cut him off, slamming his palm on the armrest of his chair. The sharp sound cracked through the hall. “I don’t care what mask she wears, I only know this—she is a one-hundred-thousand-year soul beast. Her very existence is a calamity! And Tang Hao… Tang Hao dared to marry her into the clan, dragging us all into this disaster!”

The argument spiraled, voices rising, some elders nodding, others looking uneasy. The subordinate clan leaders remained silent, their expressions grim as they watched the internal strife unfold.

Finally—

“Enough!”

The single word roared like a hammer strike, cutting off all noise.

It was Tang Zhan, the Sect Master.

As a man suffering from heart ailments, he almost never raised his voice. But to stop his clan from splintering before his very eyes, he forced himself, his deep voice resonating with rare authority. The silence that followed was deafening.

“Enough. The Clear Sky Clan has weathered countless storms. Tang Hao’s actions cannot be undone, and the world has already made its judgment. Spirit Hall’s silence is proof enough that they are wounded.”

He paused, his gaze sharpening like steel.

“But make no mistake. This is not the time for arrogance, nor is it the time for fear. The Clear Sky Clan will not bow… yet neither shall we march blindly into Spirit Hall’s jaws. From this day on, we must be vigilant.”

The hall fell silent, the elders and subordinate clan leaders exchanging glances. The Clear Sky Clan stood at the edge of a precipice, and every man there knew it.

The moment held heavy tension… until suddenly, his personal servant rushed into the hall, pale-faced and out of breath, clutching a sealed letter.

Tang Zhan frowned, his hands trembling slightly as he accepted it. He broke the seal and unfolded the paper.

The moment his eyes scanned the words, his entire body stiffened. His breathing grew ragged, the sound harsh in the quiet hall.

‘Qian Xunji is dead… due to the heavy injuries sustained during the battle with Tang Hao.’

The words blurred before his eyes, the weight pressing on his chest like an iron hammer.

His mind reeled.

‘Father… Father was the pillar of the Clear Sky Clan, but he has disappeared for so many years. If Qian Daoliu comes for revenge for his son’s death, will he still honor the pact he made with Father back then? Or will the balance be shattered?’

His hand pressed against his chest as sharp pain lanced through his heart. His vision swam, dark edges creeping inward.

The proud Sect Master of the Clear Sky Clan, the man who carried the burden of both Tang Hao’s actions and his father’s legacy, staggered.

“Father!”

“Clan Leader!”

Tang Hao, Tang Xiao, and several elders cried out at once as they saw Tang Zhan collapse. The heavy thud of his body against the master’s seat echoed like a cruel omen.

The hall fell into chaos, loyal hands rushing forward to support him, while dread spread like wildfire through the hearts of everyone present.

For in that moment, it was not only the life of Tang Zhan at stake, but the stability of the Clear Sky Clan itself.

----

A few days later, when the news of Qian Xunji’s “death” had already spread like wildfire across the continent, the Pope’s secret chamber lay shrouded in silence.

Qian Renxue sat at a simple wooden table before the bed, her gaze cold and steady upon the figure lying there.

Qian Xunji was wrapped almost entirely in bandages, his breathing shallow, his skin pale as ash. His once sharp, commanding presence had been reduced to a husk.

“You are now declared dead,” Qian Renxue said evenly, her tone carrying no ripple of emotion, as if she were reading a report rather than addressing her own father.

Qian Xunji’s lips moved faintly, but no words came out. His eyes remained half-closed.

Not long ago, to prevent the erosion due to divine power spreading within his body, Qian Daoliu as the High Priest, half a step into godhood, he had forcibly sealed all of Qian Xunji’s cultivation using a trace of Angelic divine power.

It was an act of mercy… but also a judgment. The once mighty Pope of Spirit Hall had fallen from Titled Douluo to less than an ordinary soul master.

Qian Renxue’s voice remained calm, but her eyes gleamed with hidden sharpness.

“From this day forward, Bibi Dong, will hold the position of Pope.”

She paused, watching for any flicker of reaction. There was none.

“To strengthen her claim, she is already mobilizing the Angel Corps under her banner, announcing to the world that they march to avenge your death at the hands of the Clear Sky Clan. Spirit Hall will rise in fury, and she will stand at its helm.”

Qian Renxue leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering, laced with quiet authority.

“As for you… you will live on, but as a ghost. Alive only to prevent Grandfather’s sorrow. From this day forth, you are no longer the Pope, merely a silent nobody, forgotten by the world.”

Her words cut like blades, stripping away every shred of pride he had left.

But Qian Xunji did not argue neither did he curse. He merely closed his eyes, letting the silence swallow him whole. Perhaps it was acceptance or despair.

Qian Renxue narrowed her eyes at his lack of response.

Rising to her feet, she dusted off her robes, as though brushing away even the memory of his existence.

She turned sharply and strode toward the door, her golden hair swaying with each step. Behind her, Wu Meng, dressed in the plain attire of a maid, followed silently, her eyes glancing once at the pitiful man on the bed before hurrying after her Young Master.

The chamber fell into stillness once again, the dim light flickering across Qian Xunji’s unmoving figure.

----

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