Just then, as if sensing Dai Chengfeng's gaze, Bibi Dong's lashes fluttered—and slowly opened.
Her deep violet eyes, still veiled in morning haze, held a rare languor and dreaminess.
"What time is it?"
Her voice was rough with sleep, even more alluring for it.
Dai Chengfeng leaned closer, fingertips brushing her warm cheek. "Quarter past Chen hour (7:00am – 9:00am)."
"You should rise to prepare for court, Your Holiness."
But Bibi Dong, like a cat seeking warmth, didn't move. Instead, she burrowed deeper into his chest, cheek pressed to his solid pectorals. Her muffled voice carried unmistakable coquetry:
"Don't want to."
Dai Chengfeng chuckled, his chest vibrating softly. His fingers lingered in her hair.
"Oh? The mighty Supreme Pontiff of the Spirit Hall, Bibi Dong who commands awe across the continent—planning to skip work?"
"Just today."
She finally lifted her face, eyes sparkling with uncharacteristic playfulness—like a girl newly in love.
"To celebrate your victory… I want to walk the streets with you again. Like ordinary people."
This rare display of tenderness melted Dai Chengfeng's heart completely.
"Alright."
He kissed her forehead, feather-light.
"I'll indulge you. But…"
He paused, tapping her nose. "Your face is too striking. If we go out like this, the whole city will know the Supreme Pontiff is incognito."
"We'll need some adjustments."
Bibi Dong nodded obediently, eyes bright. "Mm. As you say."
Half an hour later, they sat together in the side hall for breakfast.
Bibi Dong had shed her ornate papal robes. Now she wore simple white undergarments beneath a light lavender gauze robe, her figure appearing even more slender.
Her violet hair was loosely pinned with a plain jade hairpin, stray strands framing her cheeks—adding a touch of allure.
Her bare face glowed with post-sleep and post-intimacy flush. Stripped of all authority, she resembled a pampered daughter of some noble house—ethereally lovely.
Dai Chengfeng served her a bowl of fragrant spirit-rice congee, then placed a crystal osmanthus cake—her favorite—on her small plate.
Watching her eat with quiet focus, tiny bites deliberate, he couldn't help but smile tenderly.
"Seeing you eat like this feels… new."
Bibi Dong looked up from her bowl, brows arched. "What's so new?"
"Just new."
Dai Chengfeng didn't explain, only smiling as he added a translucent crystal dumpling to her plate.
"Normally, you'd take a few hurried bites and rush off to those mountains of documents. When have you ever eaten so leisurely?"
Bibi Dong's spoon stilled almost imperceptibly. Her lashes lowered, hiding a flicker of complex emotion. Her voice softened:
"Yes… How long has it been?"
Since becoming Supreme Pontiff, her life had run like clockwork—every moment rigidly scheduled.
Cultivation. State affairs. Schemes. Balancing factions… Day after day, year after year.
Except with Dai Chengfeng, she'd nearly forgotten she could simply be—indulging in idle moments, savoring flavors without purpose.
Perhaps that's why she'd gradually, unknowingly, grown fond of—dependent on—this man?
He reminded her she was still a woman who tired, who coquetted, who craved lazy mornings.
As she drifted in thought, a warm hand covered hers on the table.
Dai Chengfeng gripped her hand firmly, warmth radiating through his palm. His gaze burned into hers:
"From now on, whenever you wish—no matter when, no matter what—I'll be with you."
Bibi Dong met his earnest eyes, warmth flooding her chest. She squeezed his hand back, lips curving in a genuine, soft smile.
"Promise?"
"Of course."
His reply was absolute, his eyes brimming with sincerity.
Bibi Dong said nothing more, only smiling as she bowed her head to her congee—sweetness blooming in her heart.
After breakfast, Dai Chengfeng brought out his array of cosmetics.
His movements were gentle, practiced—as if he'd done this a thousand times.
Specialized creams warmed between his fingers, then spread evenly over Bibi Dong's face, subtly altering her perfect bone structure.
Then came delicate strokes to reshape brows, deepen nose shadows, refine lip contours…
In just a quarter-hour, the mirror reflected a stranger.
The world-shaking, awe-inspiring beauty was artfully concealed. In its place stood a fresh-faced young woman—seventeen or eighteen, demure and gentle.
Not as maturely stunning as her true self, yet possessing a lotus-from-clear-water grace that made one forget worldly cares.
"Done?"
Bibi Dong studied the unfamiliar reflection, turning to Dai Chengfeng with curious eyes.
He nodded in satisfaction, then quickly altered his own appearance—softening his sharp features, donning plain blue robes.
Now he looked like an ordinary young man strolling with his "cousin," all sharpness hidden.
They exchanged a knowing smile, then slipped out through a secluded side gate of the Supreme Pontiff's Palace.
Spirit City was fully awake—crowded, vibrant, alive.
Hawkers' cries, laughter, carriage wheels—all blended into the rich tapestry of street life.
Bibi Dong clung to Dai Chengfeng's arm, eyes wide with wonder at everything.
For someone who'd spent years in the palace, surrounded by ceremonial processions, this unguarded immersion in crowds—even having experienced it once before—still felt thrillingly fresh.
"Where to?"
Dai Chengfeng leaned close, breath warm against her ear.
Bibi Dong's eyes sparkled. She tilted her head thoughtfully. "I heard a 'Linglang Treasure Pavilion' opened in South District—supposedly Seven Treasures Glazed Tile's venture. They say it's fascinating. Shall we go?"
"Of course." Dai Chengfeng agreed instantly, voice tender.
They merged into the bustling crowd, drifting toward South District.
Bibi Dong's mood was clearly radiant, pausing often at street stalls with childlike curiosity.
Watching her, Dai Chengfeng couldn't help but murmur:
"You really look like an innocent child now."
"Tired of me already?"
Bibi Dong shot him a sideways glance—mock-annoyance dancing in her eyes, though laughter bubbled beneath.
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