Zhang Tian just listened, his expression calm, his blue eyes holding a deep, analytical light. He took a slow, deliberate sip of his now-lukewarm tea, his mind a whirring, brilliant machine, processing this new, crucial piece of information.
"Interesting," he murmured, his voice a low, thoughtful sound. He set his teacup down with a soft, precise click. "Very, very interesting."
He looked at her, at the beautiful, powerful, and so obviously wounded woman who sat opposite him. "Then it seems my initial assessment was correct," he began, his voice the calm, steady tone of a physician explaining a diagnosis. "The problem, the source of this profound, lifelong resentment… it is not you, Renxue. You were never the target of her hatred. You were merely… the collateral damage."
He saw the flicker of confusion in her violet eyes and decided to elaborate, to walk her down the long, dark, and painful path of his deduction.
"The hatred does not stem from you," he repeated, his voice firm, certain. "It stems from your father. Which means that whatever happened, whatever event created this rift, it happened between them. Between your mother, Bibi Dong, and your father, Qian Xunji."
He leaned forward, his gaze direct and piercing. "So, to find the truth, we must stop looking at you. We must look at them. We must go back in time."
He paused, letting his words sink in. "Let us consider the situation before your birth. Twenty-three, perhaps twenty-four years ago, if we account for the time of pregnancy. What was your mother's status then?"
Qian Renxue frowned, her mind struggling to shift from the emotional turmoil of her own memories to the cold, hard facts of the past. "My mother?" she repeated, her voice a little shaky. "She was… the Holy Saintess of the Spirit Hall. The most talented of her generation. She had twin martial spirits. Her position was absolute, unthreatened."
"Exactly," Zhang Tian said with a sharp, approving nod. "The Holy Saintess. The chosen one. And your father was the Supreme Pontiff, her teacher. She was at the very pinnacle of the Spirit Hall, second only to him in status and prestige. She had power, she had talent, she had a future that was as bright as the sun itself. She could have had anything, or anyone, she wanted."
He looked at her, and his next question was a sharp, probing scalpel. "And yet, you say she was filled with a deep, abiding hatred for her own teacher, the man who held the keys to her future. Why? And more importantly, the general populace of the Spirit Hall, the common elders, the deacons… they do not seem to know of this hatred or the event that led to this hatred, do they? They do not know of the true, poisonous nature of their relationship."
"No," she admitted, her voice a low murmur. "To the outside world, she was his most loyal, most devoted student. Their relationship was seen as a model of a teacher and his disciple."
"Which means," Zhang Tian concluded, his voice a soft, final note, "that whatever happened, whatever event caused this profound, lifelong schism between them… it was a secret. A private, personal matter that was so shameful, so terrible, that it had to be hidden from the entire world."
He let that thought hang in the air for a long, heavy moment.
"Now," he continued, his voice dropping even lower, becoming more intimate, more probing, "let us consider the nature of that secret. A teacher and his talented, beautiful student. And a relationship that, while it appeared to be one of respect and mentorship on the surface, was secretly a thing of hatred and resentment. And yet, despite this hatred, the two of them… they had a child. You."
He looked at her, his gaze unwavering. "They did the deed, as you say. But they were never officially wed, were they? There was no grand ceremony, no public announcement of their union. The birth of the daughter of the Supreme Pontiff and the Holy Saintess, an event that should have been the single greatest celebration in the history of the Spirit Hall… it was a secret."
He leaned in, and his next question was the key.
"Tell me, Renxue," he asked, his voice a low, careful sound, "who else in the Spirit Hall knows that you are Bibi Dong's daughter? Who knew that she was even pregnant?"
Qian Renxue thought for a moment, her mind sifting through the painful, half-forgotten memories of her lonely childhood in the Pope's Palace.
"Very few," she said finally, her voice a quiet, almost inaudible whisper. "My grandfather, of course. The other Grand Elders of the Elder Hall. And… a few of the most trusted, most powerful Titled Douluo elders of the Pope's Hall. The ones who served my father directly. Other than them… no one. My existence, my parentage… it was the most closely guarded secret in the Spirit Hall."
Zhang Tian just nodded slowly, his expression grim. He had his answer.
"The secrecy of your birth," he began, his voice a low, somber sound, "the fact that your mother, a woman who had everything, was filled with such a profound hatred for your father… it all comes down to a single, terrible possibility, Renxue. A possibility that I do not think you will want to hear."
He saw the look on her face, the dawning, terrified horror in her violet eyes. She knew. On some deep, intuitive level, she already knew what he was about to say.
Her heart, which had been a slow, painful ache in her chest, began to hammer against her ribs, a frantic, terrified drum. She could feel the blood draining from her face, a cold, sick feeling coiling in the pit of her stomach.
'No,' her mind screamed, a silent, desperate denial. 'It can't be. It's not true. My father… he was a hero. The Supreme Pontiff. He wouldn't… he couldn't have…'
Her heart was beating so fast, so hard, she thought it might just burst from her chest. She wanted to scream at him to stop, to take back his words, to not say the thing that she knew, with a sudden, dawning, and utterly soul-shattering certainty, was the truth.
But she couldn't. She had to know.
She looked at him, and her voice was a choked, broken whisper, the sound of a woman standing on the edge of a precipice, about to be pushed into the abyss.
"What?" she asked. "What is the possibility?"
Zhang Tian looked at her, and for the first time, a flicker of genuine, profound pity entered his eyes. He did not want to be the one to do this to her. But it was necessary. She needed to know the truth.
He took a deep, steadying breath.
"The possibility," he said, his voice a low, quiet, and utterly, completely, and devastatingly final sound, "is that your mother, Bibi Dong, was forced upon by your father, Qian Xunji."
The words, so simple, so direct, were not just words. They were a physical blow. A hammer that shattered the very foundations of her world.
She just stared at him, her beautiful face a mask of pure, unadulterated, and utterly blank shock. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, the sounds of the night, the feel of the cool air on her skin, it all just faded away into a single, overwhelming, and deafening roar in her ears.
He saw the look on her face, the way her mind was shutting down, refusing to process the monstrous, world-shattering truth he had just revealed. He knew he had to press on, to give her the logical, irrefutable proof that would force her to accept it.
"It is the only thing that makes sense," he continued, his voice a relentless, logical scalpel, cutting away the last, fragile vestiges of her denial. "It explains everything. It explains your mother's profound, unshakeable hatred for your father. It explains the secrecy surrounding your birth. A union born of love and respect is celebrated. A child born of violence and shame… is hidden."
He looked at her, his gaze direct and unwavering. "And it explains her hatred for you."
She flinched, as if he had physically struck her.
"Think about it, Renxue," he said, his voice a low, almost gentle sound. "You were not just his daughter. You were a constant, living reminder of the most traumatic, most humiliating night of her life. And worse… you inherited his Martial Spirit. The Seraphim. Every time she looked at you, every time she saw your golden hair, your six winged angel… she did not see her daughter. She saw his spawn that was born out of that night."
He let that thought hang in the air for a long, heavy moment.
"And there is another reason," he added, his voice a low, final note. "A final, irrefutable piece of evidence that, I believe, confirms this as the most likely possibility."
He looked at her, and his eyes were filled with a strange, almost sad, light.
"Your grandfather. Qian Daoliu."
"His reaction, or rather, his lack of reaction, after your father was killed… it never made sense. Your father, Qian Xunji, his only son, the heir to his legacy, the Supreme Pontiff of the Spirit Hall, was defeated and left with mortal wounds by Tang Hao. And what did your grandfather do? He did not hunt Tang Hao down himself. He did not drive the entire Clear Sky Sect to extinction, as he had every right, and every power, to do. He simply… let it go."
He shook his head slowly. "It was not an act of mercy. It was an act of… disappointment. He was a father who was deeply, profoundly, and utterly disappointed in the actions of his own son. The actions he had taken against his own student. Against Bibi Dong."
He looked at her, and his final words were a quiet, somber conclusion. "And it is also why he has allowed your mother to do as she pleases with the Spirit Hall. Why he has allowed her to become the Supreme Pontiff, to wield its immense power as her own personal… plaything. It is not out of respect for her talent. It is out of guilt. It is his way of atoning for the sins of his own, unforgivable son."
He finished speaking.
And the silence that followed was the silence of a world that had just been broken.
Qian Renxue just stared at him, her beautiful face a mask of pure, unadulterated, and utterly blank shock. The world seemed to tilt on its axis, the gentle sounds of the night, the feel of the cool air on her skin, it all just faded away into a single, overwhelming, and deafening roar in her ears.
Her violet eyes were wide, unblinking. And then, it started.
A single, silent tear escaped from the corner of her right eye, a perfect, crystalline drop that traced a slow, sorrowful path down her flawless cheek. It was not a conscious act of crying. There was no sob, no tremor in her shoulders, no contortion of her beautiful features. It was an automatic, physiological response to a soul-deep wound being torn open, the overflow of a pain too profound to be contained.
Another tear followed, from her left eye this time. They continued to fall, a quiet, steady, and heartbreaking stream, as if her very soul was weeping even as her body remained a frozen, silent statue of stone.
'My father…' the thought was a shattered, broken thing in the chaos of her mind. 'The man I have spent my entire life trying to avenge… he was a monster. A rapist.'
The pride she had held in her lineage, in her noble, divine bloodline, it all just curdled into a thick, bitter ash in her mouth. It was not a source of pride anymore. It was a source of deep, profound, and utterly soul-crushing shame.
And her spirit…
She thought of the magnificent, Six-Winged Angel Spirit, the symbol of her power, her divinity, her very identity. It had been her greatest pride, the one, perfect thing in her life that had set her apart from all others.
Now, it was a brand. A curse. A permanent, living, and utterly inescapable reminder of her mother's violation. Of her father's sin.
She looked down at her own hands, at the faint, golden light that seemed to pulse just beneath her skin, and a wave of pure, unadulterated revulsion washed over her.
"I wish I could destroy it," she whispered, her voice a low, broken sound, the first words she had spoken since her world had ended. She looked up at him, her violet eyes, now swimming in a sea of unshed tears, filled with a profound, hopeless despair. "This spirit. This… thing he gave me."
Her voice trembled, a fragile, cracking sound. "If only… if only I could have inherited one of hers. The Death Spider Emperor. The Soul Devouring Spider Emperor. Anything."
A short, bitter, and humorless laugh escaped her lips, a sound that was more a sob than a laugh. "Then maybe… maybe when she looked at me, she would see a part of herself. Not… not just him."
She looked away, her gaze falling to the dark, shimmering surface of the lake. "It doesn't matter what I do," she whispered, her voice a final, defeated confession. "As long as I have this spirit, I will never earn her affection. I will never even earn her attention. I will always just be… his daughter."
She was a goddess trapped in a beautiful, gilded cage of her own despair.
And it was then that a calm, almost lazy voice cut through the heavy, suffocating silence.
"Blaming yourself, and blaming your spirit, is the most foolish thing you could possibly do."
She looked up, her tear-filled eyes wide with a flicker of confusion. Zhang Tian was just watching her, his expression not one of pity, but of a cool, almost chiding, logic.
"And why," he continued, his voice a low, reasonable sound that was a stark, jarring contrast to the emotional storm that was raging within her, "are you crying as if the situation is irredeemable?"
The question was so unexpected, so utterly, completely, and shockingly out of place, that it was like a splash of cold, icy water to her face. The automatic, steady stream of tears from her eyes faltered, then stopped.
Her entire being, which had been consumed by a black, suffocating despair, suddenly, violently, snapped back into focus.
"What… what do you mean?" she asked, her voice a choked, disbelieving whisper.
He just smiled, a slow, confident, and incredibly infuriating expression. "I mean," he said, his voice a calm, simple statement of fact, "that this is a problem. And like all problems, it has a solution. It is very much possible to overturn this situation, if you truly wish to earn your mother's love."
His words were a lit match dropped into the dry, barren landscape of her heart. A single, tiny, and impossibly bright spark of hope ignited in the darkness.
"It's… it's possible?" she breathed, her voice a hopeful, trembling sound. She leaned forward, her entire body a taut, quivering monument of desperate, desperate need. "How? What is it? Tell me!"
He just chuckled, a low, warm sound. He stood up from his cushion and began to roam around the pavilion, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze sweeping over the beautiful, moonlit scenery as if he had all the time in the world.
"Patience, Renxue," he said, his voice a lazy, amused drawl. "It is not yet time for me to reveal my entire plan."
He stopped his pacing and turned to face her. His gaze, which had been fixed on the distant mountains, now settled on her, and his eyes were gleaming with a new, intense light.
"Even while you are crying, you," he said, his voice a low, appreciative murmur, "are still one of the most beautiful woman I have ever seen."
A brilliant, unsolicited blush flooded her cheeks.
He walked back towards her, his movements fluid and unhurried. "Before I can tell you my plan," he said, his tone turning more serious, "before I can even begin to put it in motion, I must first meet your mother. I must observe her. I must understand the true depth of her hatred, the precise nature of her psychological wounds. I need to see her for myself."
He stopped just before her, and his gaze was direct, unwavering. "And if my idea is correct, if my assessment of her character is accurate… then yes. I believe I can help you. I can help you earn your mother's trust. Her affection. And yes, even the love that has been missing from your life for so long."
He paused, letting his words, his beautiful, impossible promise, hang in the air.
"But," he added, his voice a low, final, and non-negotiable condition, "for this to work, you will have to trust me. Absolutely. You will have to follow my instructions to the letter, no matter how strange, or how difficult, they may seem. Can you do that?"
He then opened his arms, a simple, silent, and incredibly powerful gesture. It was not a demand. It was an invitation. A place of comfort. A promise of salvation.
Qian Renxue didn't even think.
Her body moved before her mind could even begin to process the decision. It was an unconscious, primal act, the desperate, instinctual movement of a drowning person reaching for a lifeline.
She was on her feet and in his arms in a single, fluid motion. She crashed against his chest, her arms wrapping around his strong back, her hands clutching the fine silk of his robes. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, and for the first time in her entire, lonely, and painful life, she allowed herself to be well and truly weak.
Her perfect, statuesque body, a thing of divine, untouchable beauty, was pressed against his. He could feel the soft, full globes of her breasts against his chest, the slender, elegant curve of her waist, the gentle, inviting flare of her hips. She was a beautiful, powerful, and utterly, completely, and willingly submissive woman in his arms.
"Please," she whispered, her voice a choked, broken sound against his skin. "Please, help me. I will be at your disposal. I will do anything you ask. Anything. Just… please. Help me reconcile with my mother. Help me earn her love."
He held her, his own arms wrapping around her trembling form. His hands moved in slow, soothing circles on her back, a gesture of comfort, of reassurance.
"Shhh…" he murmured, his voice a gentle, steady sound. "It will be alright. You just need to be patient. You need to trust me. And you need to follow my instructions, when the time comes."
His hands moved lower, tracing the elegant, graceful curve of her spine, coming to rest on the small of her back, his fingers just brushing the upper swell of her magnificent, perfect ass.
"And one day," he promised, his voice a low, hypnotic whisper, "you will be hugging your mother, just like this. And you will be crying in her embrace, not mine."
The touch of his hands, so firm, so confident, so possessive, sent a strange, unfamiliar, and incredibly thrilling shiver through her. A soft, involuntary moan, a sound she had never made before in her life, escaped her lips.
"Mmmph…"
It was a sound of pain, of pleasure, of a lifetime of repressed emotions finally finding a voice.
He felt her tremble against him, and he knew. He had her.
She was the first to pull away, her face a beautiful, confused mess of emotions. She looked at him, her violet eyes wide with a mixture of hope, gratitude, and a new, strange, and deeply unsettling excitement.
He then moved his mouth to her nape. It was a bold, intimate, and incredibly possessive gesture. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss against the sensitive skin there, his lips a brand of pure, unadulterated ownership.
A sharp, electric jolt shot through her, so intense it made her knees weak.
She had never been touched like that before. She had never allowed anyone to be so close, so intimate. And the feeling… it was not unpleasant. It was… thrilling.
He finally pulled away, leaving her there, her body a live wire of new, confusing, and incredibly powerful sensations.
"Well, next week in the evening on this same day," he said, his voice a low, commanding rumble. "We will have our next tea meeting. In your private bedroom. And I do not want those Titled Douluos of yours eavesdropping. Tell them to wait outside the palace walls. Is that understood?"
Qian Renxue just stared at him, her mind a dizzying, wonderful haze. Her body felt hot, a strange, liquid fire spreading through her veins. He had just kissed her neck. He had just crossed a line that no man had ever dared to cross. And he was now commanding her to meet him in her own, private bedchambers.
And she… she didn't even hesitate.
"Yes," she whispered, her voice a breathless, willing sound.
She didn't know what was happening to her. She didn't know why her body was reacting this way, why her heart was hammering against her ribs, why the thought of being alone with him, in her own bed, filled her with a mixture of terror and an incredible, exhilarating excitement.
She just knew one thing.
She wanted more of it.
~~
A/N: Check out my other novels like "Harem Master: Seduction System" and the "Villain: Manipulating the Heroines into hating the Protagonist" and I hope you like this story and those stories as well.
Check out more chapters on my P.atreon. The P.atreon will have 20+ Chapters ahead for this story. I hope you like it.
The link of p.atreon is: bit.ly/evildragon