The great hall was still.
No wind stirred, no words dared rise. Braziers along the chamber's edges flickered quietly, casting long shadows across the carved stone floor—shadows that seemed to pause in reverence.
Yusheng stood at the edge of that silence, where mortal pride met divine inheritance. His footsteps had faded, but his presence lingered, calm and weighty, like a final breath before a storm.
He didn't turn at first. His voice alone carried the truth.
"As the brother of your former teacher… let this be my lesson to you: control power… or it will control you."
Only then did he glance back, and in that fleeting look was no threat, no judgment—only something vast and ancient. Behind his eyes shimmered the quiet sorrow of a man who had walked beside gods, who knew what it meant to carry the divine and not be consumed.
"Especially your power," he added softly. Yusheng felt the divine of evil emitted from Bibidong while she was hiding.
Bibi Dong stood beneath the high vaults of the chamber, cloaked in purple and shadows. Her breath caught—not out of fear, but recognition. She had felt it. The pressure. The pull.
"You are no longer just a soul master," Yusheng said, turning to face her fully. "You carry something older than sects or nations. A will not your own. A divine being. That power doesn't only test your strength—it tests your soul."
He approached, not as a rival or a priest, but as someone who had bled for mercy's sake. His voice remained gentle, but it struck deeper than any blade.
"You hear it sometimes, don't you? The whisper. The one that tells you you've suffered more than anyone. That betrayal must be answered with conquest. That no one else understands justice like you do."
He paused, letting the words settle in her bones.
"But that voice… is not you."
It was a revelation. Or perhaps a reminder.
"That voice belongs to the god. And from what I see—it's a god that thrives on ruin." His tone hardened just enough. "It gives you strength, yes. But its gift is not a blessing. It is a wager. One that demands not just your body, but your choices. Your identity."
"If you don't draw a line, Bibi Dong… one day, it will make every choice for you. And when that day comes, you will not rule it."
He stopped before her and reached out—not to strike, not to bless, but to hover his hand over her heart. A gesture without force. A reminder of where her humanity still lived.
"Divinity isn't about ruling others," he said. "It's about ruling yourself. Mercy. Restraint. Forgiveness. These are not weaknesses. They are anchors. The only things that keep a god's host from becoming a monster in divine skin. They are the only things that make us stay human"
He looked her in the eyes, not to challenge—but to reach her.
"You were chosen. But you still choose."
The silence between them deepened. The chamber, vast as it was, felt suddenly intimate.
"Control it, Bibi Dong," he whispered. "Or the day will come when the world forgets your name… and remembers only the god that wore your face."
There was nothing else to say.
He turned, his white cloak trailing like the last page of a scripture, and left the hall behind. No applause. No echo. Just the faint stir of air where wisdom had passed.
And Bibi Dong stood before the cold marble throne, but the real weight she bore was not on her shoulders.
It was in her chest.
And it stirred.
Not rage.
But doubt.
Not defiance.
But choice.
For in the end, it is not divinity that defines the soul.
It is what the soul dares to refuse.