With another soft chuckle, Song Qing shook his head slightly, dismissing the sisters' silent drama for the moment. He moved towards the bed and comfortably took a seat right next to Zhu Zhuqing, making himself entirely at home.
Without missing a beat, Zhu Zhuqing turned her imperious gaze back to her elder sister.
"Elder Sister." Her tone was crisp, leaving absolutely no room for argument or hesitation. "Serve Qing some tea. And bring those pastries that were prepared earlier."
Zhu Zhuyun visibly stiffened, her face still burning with a potent mixture of humiliation and simmering resentment. But years of ingrained hierarchy, compounded by her recent defeat and subjugation, left her no choice. Wordlessly, tightly gripping her composure, she obeyed.
She moved towards the small serving table in the corner of the room. As she picked up the elegant porcelain teapot and poured the steaming, fragrant tea into a delicate cup, her movements, though intended to be merely efficient and subservient, were unintentionally quite alluring.
The way the tailored maid uniform clung to her every curve as she bent slightly.
The gentle, almost hypnotic sway of her hips as she walked back towards the bed, balancing the tray carefully.
The delicate tilt of her head, exposing the graceful line of her neck, as she focused on pouring the tea without spilling a drop.
It all combined, creating a rather captivating, if slightly awkward, display of enforced servitude and inherent grace.
'She seems to realize how she looks right now,' Song Qing observed inwardly, a flicker of detached amusement in his eyes as he watched Zhu Zhuyun's stiff, yet strangely elegant, performance.
He didn't stare, however. His attention, his primary focus, was already shifting back to the girl beside him. His beloved Zhu Zhuqing.
He reached out, his arm sliding smoothly around her slim waist, pulling her closer against his side in a warm, possessive embrace.
A faint blush crept up Zhu Zhuqing's neck at the sudden intimacy, but she didn't resist. Instead, she leaned into his touch, relaxing against his solid frame, allowing him to hold her as he pleased.
His hand rested possessively on her waist, fingers gently tracing the contours of her side through the fabric of her dress. She let out a soft, almost inaudible sigh, completely at ease, melting into his embrace. The world outside, her sister's presence, the political machinations – it all seemed to fade slightly in the circle of his arms.
They enjoyed the fragrant tea and the delicate pastries Zhuyun served – silently and efficiently – in comfortable quiet for a few minutes. The only sounds were the soft clinking of porcelain and their gentle breathing.
Then, a polite but firm knock echoed at the chamber door.
"Come in," Zhu Zhuqing called out, her voice regaining its cool composure, though she remained nestled in Song Qing's embrace.
The door opened, and one of the Titled Douluo assigned to their security detail stood respectfully in the doorway.
"Holy Son, Lady Zhu," the Douluo bowed his head. "The others have returned as instructed and await your command."
Song Qing nodded slowly, his mind already shifting gears back to strategy. He turned his gaze to his beloved, tightening his arm around her slightly.
"Zhuqing," he said softly, his voice pitched for her ears alone, though Zhuyun likely heard. "I think it's time we headed back. Back to Martial Soul City."
He gave her a meaningful look. "I've come across some… rather interesting information. Information Teacher needs to hear."
Soon, the entire party – Song Qing, Zhu Zhuqing, the subdued Zhu Zhuyun, and their Titled Douluo escort – was assembled and making their swift way back to the heart of the Spirit Hall's power: Martial Soul City.
Upon their arrival at the imposing Pope Palace, Song Qing didn't delay. After ensuring Zhu Zhuqing was comfortably settled in her own quarters (with Zhuyun assigned nearby), he immediately sought out his teacher, Bibi Dong.
He found her in her private chambers, a sanctuary of luxury and imposing power. She sat upon her ornate chair, not quite a throne but close enough, her presence filling the room. Even seated, her aura radiated an almost palpable sense of authority and immense spiritual energy.
"Teacher," Song Qing began, offering a respectful bow, his demeanor shifting seamlessly into that of the devoted student.
Bibi Dong looked up, her beautiful, sharp eyes focusing on him. A hint of warmth entered her gaze, a warmth reserved almost exclusively for him. "Qing'er. You've returned sooner than expected. News?"
"Yes, Teacher," he confirmed, stepping forward. "I have news regarding the Star Luo Empire."
He proceeded to recount the conversation he had overheard between Emperor Dai Xing and Tang Yuehua. He detailed the confirmation of the alliance between the Star Luo Empire and the Clear Sky Clan, emphasizing the Emperor's reliance on their support against the Spirit Hall.
He carefully, strategically, omitted the specific details about Tang San's personal involvement and the resource request for the time being. That was a card he would play later, when the time was right. For now, the core alliance was the critical piece of intelligence.
Bibi Dong's reaction was instantaneous. And explosive.
The moment the words "Clear Sky Clan" and "alliance" left his lips in the same sentence, the air in the room crackled. Her beautiful eyes flashed with a terrifying, almost blinding crimson light.
A suffocating aura of pure, unadulterated killing intent erupted from her, pressing down on Song Qing like a physical weight. Even he, familiar with her power, felt the primal urge to step back.
"THAT WRETCHED CLEAR SKY CLAN!" Her voice, usually controlled and melodic, was now laced with venom and fury, echoing slightly in the large chamber.
"THEY DARE?!" she seethed, rising slowly from her chair, her knuckles white where she gripped the armrests. "They dare ally themselves openly with the Star Luo Empire against us?!"
"This… this is an act of utter defiance! An insult that cannot, will not, be ignored!"
Her killing intent intensified, swirling around her like a storm. "We will CRUSH them! Both of them! We will flatten the Star Luo Empire into dust, and we will ERADICATE that annoyingly persistent Clear Sky Clan once and for all! Tear them out root and stem!"
Her hatred for the Clear Sky Clan burned with a white-hot intensity. The attack by Tang Hao five years prior, an event that had deeply wounded her, had festered into an absolute, unwavering obsession for their destruction.
"Teacher! Please, wait!" Song Qing interjected quickly, his voice calm but firm, cutting through her rage. He swiftly closed the distance between them and placed a gentle, grounding hand on her arm. Her skin was radiating heat beneath the fine fabric of her robes.
"I understand your anger, Teacher. Believe me, I share the desire to see them obliterated." His touch seemed to have a slight calming effect, though the crimson light in her eyes still pulsed dangerously.
"But," he continued smoothly, persuasively, "we need to be strategic. Think tactically."
He met her furious gaze without flinching. "If we launch an all-out attack on the Star Luo Empire now, driven purely by this provocation, the Clear Sky Clan might hesitate. They might not fully commit their forces immediately."
"Their cooperation seems… fresh. Tentative, perhaps. If they see Star Luo facing complete annihilation right away, key figures – Tang Hao, the other elders – might choose self-preservation. They could slip away, retreat back into seclusion, escaping our grasp yet again."
He squeezed her arm gently. "We want total annihilation, Teacher. No loose ends. No survivors who could become future threats."
He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a more conspiratorial tone. "No, Teacher. What we must do… is allow this alliance to deepen. Let it solidify further. Encourage it, even, subtly."
"Let the Star Luo Empire become more reliant on the Clear Sky Clan. Let that clan invest more resources, more personnel, perhaps even move some key figures closer to the front lines in perceived support."
"Only then," his eyes gleamed with cold calculation, "when they are truly intertwined, can we strike with overwhelming force. Deal with both factions simultaneously. Eliminate any hidden threats and ensure a complete and final victory."
Bibi Dong stared at him, the crimson light in her eyes slowly receding, though the fury still simmered beneath the surface. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she fought for control. Slowly, reluctantly, her rational mind, the mind of a brilliant strategist, acknowledged the cold, ruthless wisdom in his words.
She hated delaying her revenge, hated letting the Clear Sky Clan exist a moment longer than necessary, but his logic was sound. A premature strike risked an incomplete victory.
"Very well," she conceded finally, her voice still tight with suppressed rage. She pulled her arm free from his grasp, turning away slightly. "I will restrain myself… for now."
She turned back, her expression shifting. The fury was banked, replaced by something softer, more intense, as her gaze fixed on him.
"But in return, Qing'er," she said, her voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur, the atmosphere in the room changing completely.
Her gaze softened, becoming possessive, almost hungry. "You know… you know I will need you to do something for me."
Song Qing met her intense gaze and offered a small, knowing smile. He understood perfectly.
'Ah,' he thought, a familiar mix of resignation and a strange, burgeoning anticipation stirring within him. 'Here we go again.'
He had grown entirely accustomed to this particular… request… from his dear, powerful teacher over the past year. It had become an unspoken ritual, a frequent occurrence. It often followed his return from successful missions, or after delivering significant intelligence like today. An unspoken understanding. A silent transaction.
Over the last twelve months, spending the night in Bibi Dong's opulent private chambers, often sleeping in her vast, silken bed, had become… routine. Normal, in their uniquely abnormal dynamic.
It was a peculiar, dangerous intimacy that had woven itself into the fabric of their teacher-student relationship.
And, as had become their established norm, he would frequently awaken in the pale light of dawn to find himself in… rather compromising positions.
His hand might be resting casually, possessively, on the soft swell of her breast.
His arm draped instinctively across her slender waist, pulling her close even in sleep.
Sometimes their legs would be tangled together beneath the luxurious covers.
He had noticed, with a growing sense of fascination and understanding, that Bibi Dong, even if she was already awake when these 'accidental' contacts occurred – and he suspected she often was – never seemed to mind. Never.
There were no reprimands. No sharp words or embarrassed withdrawals. No chiding him for his wandering hands or unconscious closeness.
Instead, she would simply offer a small, almost imperceptible smile, a fleeting softness in her eyes, as she perhaps adjusted the strap of her nightdress or smoothed her robes, seemingly utterly unfazed by the physical intimacy.
Yet, this boundary-blurring closeness was strictly confined to the nocturnal hours, within the sanctum of her bedchamber. The moment dawn broke, the moment they stepped outside that room, their relationship instantly reverted. She was the Pope, the revered Teacher; he was the Holy Son, the devoted, respectful student. The daytime facade was impeccable.
He had also come to a crucial realization over the months. Even if he consciously touched her seductive, powerful body while they lay in the darkness, knowing full well she was awake and aware… she wouldn't stop him. She wouldn't push him away.
She simply… allowed it. A silent acknowledgment. A tacit acceptance of their unusual, unspoken bond.
Over this past year, navigating this strange territory, Song Qing had slowly, gradually, begun to grasp the true depth of his position in Bibi Dong's fiercely guarded heart. It transcended mere affection, respect, or appreciation for his talents.
It was deeper. More complex.
There was a profound, almost desperately possessive attachment emanating from her. A palpable need for his presence, his proximity… his touch. It was a connection that defied easy definition, defying the conventional labels of teacher, student, or even potential lovers.
And Song Qing, in his own complex way, had come to accept this unique dynamic. More than accept, perhaps. He had come to anticipate it, to understand its necessity in maintaining his unparalleled position beside the most powerful woman on the continent. He had, perhaps, even come to appreciate this strange, potent intimacy with his beautiful, terrifying teacher.