"Alright! Stop that wailing and sniveling—it's disgraceful."
A cold, rasping voice—like metal scraping bone—cut sharply through the air.
Ghost Leopard Douluo's crying choked off mid-sob.
At some unknown moment, a withered, claw-like hand had landed on his shoulder and yanked him away from Chrysanthemum Douluo's robes.
It was Ghost Douluo.
No emotion could be read on that gloomy, corpse-like face.
But the temperature around him plummeted instantly.
Ghost Leopard shivered violently and shut his mouth on instinct, forcing himself to hold back even the smallest whimper.
But his body trembled like a leaf in a blizzard.
Tuoba Xi, Devil Bear Douluo, and the others couldn't help giving Ghost Douluo a mental thumbs-up.
As expected of the old ghost—he could cure anything.
Of course, Ghost Douluo would never admit that.
He simply felt that Ghost Leopard's tear-soaked face pressed against Yue Guan's clean, elegant robes was… an eyesore.
A very big eyesore.
His gaze flicked—cold and sharp—to the stain marring Chrysanthemum Douluo's shoulder, and his voice grew even more hoarse.
"If you want to receive the senior's opportunity, then at least show some dignity."
Without another word, he hooked two fingers around Ghost Leopard Douluo's collar and dragged him off like a dead dog, heading straight toward Feng Ran Pavilion.
Chrysanthemum Douluo watched Ghost Douluo's departing back.
Then he lowered his gaze to the tear-and-snot stain on his own shoulder.
On his enchanting face, a faint, nearly invisible smile curled at the corner of his lips.
No one noticed.
And so—
Under the dazed, terrified, and deeply sympathetic stares of Spirit City's residents…
The farce finally came to an end.
Before the ancient, tranquil entrance of Feng Ran Pavilion—
Yesterday's esteemed guests gathered once again.
Not a single one missing.
Only this time… their "style" had become indescribable.
Ghost Douluo walked at the front, his black robe drifting with a chill that warned anyone within sight to stay far, far away.
The only difference was the "pendant" he carried in one hand.
Behind him, Chrysanthemum Douluo lifted his pinky delicately, covering his smile with "Yue Guan's Sigh," a soft gleam flickering in his eyes as he watched Ghost Douluo's back.
Spirit Kite Douluo stared at Ghost Leopard Douluo's miserable, dangling form with great interest—
the schadenfreude in her phoenix eyes burning almost as brightly as her golden flames.
Her disciple Yan, looking like a proper pig-head, followed pitifully behind.
At the very end of the lineup walked the solemn Tuoba Xi, flanked by Hu Liena and Xie Yue—
their eyes filled with the devotion of believers about to meet a deity.
The group stopped before the shop door that seemed to divide the mortal world from the divine.
"Senior, we… have come to disturb you again."
Ghost Leopard Douluo—still being carried—bowed awkwardly and humbly.
But—
One second.
Two seconds.
Silence.
No response came from within the shop.
Ghost Douluo exhaled slowly, stepped forward, and bowed deeply toward the figure resting in the rocking chair.
He lifted his head carefully—
And his heart clenched.
The figure they revered as a god lay in the chair with eyes closed, chest rising and falling in steady rhythm.
Peaceful. Serene.
The senior… was asleep?
At that moment, Chrysanthemum Douluo, Spirit Kite Douluo, and the rest caught up. Their mouths opened instinctively to greet him—
But before a sound escaped, Ghost Douluo's divine sense thundered in their minds with unprecedented urgency:
"Silence!"
Everyone froze where they stood, as if an invisible sacred boundary lay beyond the threshold—one they dared not cross.
Ghost Douluo's mental voice echoed again, filled with awe from the depths of his soul:
"The senior… is resting."
"We must not disturb him."
At once, the lineup of Titled Douluo—mighty enough to shake the continent—didn't even dare breathe too loudly.
Disturb him?
Impossible.
The word "resting" flickered through their minds—
only to be instantly shattered by deeper reverence.
After witnessing miracles that defied fate, reshaped martial souls, and bestowed divine fire…
who would dare believe this senior needed ordinary mortal sleep?
This was clearly not simple rest.
This was a higher level of cultivation—something beyond their imagination.
Perhaps traveling the Great Void within his dream?
Or comprehending the ultimate laws of the world with his divine soul?
They dared not speculate.
To simply stand here silently… guarding his cultivation…
That alone was an honor beyond measure.
One by one, following Ghost Douluo's lead, they bowed deeply toward the silent shop.
Their reverence far surpassed even what they showed the Supreme Pontiff.
Thus—
The mighty Titled Douluo of Spirit Hall stood motionless outside Feng Ran Pavilion, like devout worshippers guarding a shrine.
They even formed a natural wall, blocking the street entirely.
Pedestrians who approached turned pale and fled, suffocated by the overwhelming pressure that chilled even their souls.
Time passed quietly.
A minute.
An hour.
Two hours.
Yet none of the powerhouses grew impatient.
If anything—
their reverence only deepened.
To guard such a divine existence…
to silently experience even a wisp of the Dao Rhyme emanating from his "cultivation"…
This alone was an extraordinary fortune.
And although their cultivation was too shallow to perceive anything—
Inside the shop.
Lin Feng, in his rocking chair, finally let out a satisfied hum and drifted awake.
Perfect.
Yesterday, he'd stayed up late experimenting with Ice–Fire Dual Heaven combos in his game, so this nap was heavenly.
He let out a long breath, stretching lazily. He instinctively prepared to yawn.
But the moment he cracked his eyes open—
Every muscle in his body froze.
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