"Deal." Dai Chengfeng agreed instantly—so swiftly Bibi Dong suspected he'd plotted this all along. Grinning like a cat that got the cream, he dipped his head and pressed a firm kiss to her lips. "My Supreme Pontiff… so obedient."
Bibi Dong huffed, swatting his arm—but he caught her wrist, lifting it to kiss her knuckles.
"Oh, right." Dai Chengfeng's expression shifted as if recalling something vital. From within his robes, he drew out a delicate chain and fastened it around her neck. "This is for you."
Bibi Dong looked down. A necklace now rested against her collarbone. The chain, forged from an unknown silvery metal, felt cool and smooth. The pendant—a teardrop-shaped sapphire—glowed with soft luminescence, humming with latent power.
"This is the Wind God's Tear," he explained, voice low and earnest. "It holds a sliver of my primordial divine essence. Should danger find you, it will shield you—and I will feel it instantly. I'll be at your side before breath leaves your lips."
He cupped her face, gaze unwavering. "Dong'er… promise me. No matter what happens—never take it off. Let me know you're safe. Please."
Her fingertips traced the gem. Its warmth carried his presence—a quiet anchor. A tear pricked her eye. "I promise."
Only then did his shoulders relax. He pulled her close, tucking her against his chest.
They sat beneath the ancient tree, wrapped in rare stillness. Sunlight dappled through leaves; a gentle breeze carried floral sweetness. Bibi Dong leaned into his shoulder, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. This is happiness, she realized. Not grand gestures. Just someone who stays.
Drowsiness crept over her. A soft yawn escaped.
"Tired?" he murmured.
"Mm…" She nestled deeper into his arms.
"Sleep." He draped the papal robe over her like a blanket, stroking her back with feather-light patience. "I'm right here."
She drifted off with a faint smile lingering on her lips.
---
She awoke to twilight.
Still cradled in his arms. His outer robe draped over her. He watched her, eyes tender enough to drown stars.
"Awake?" His thumb brushed a stray strand from her brow. "Sleep well?"
Flustered, she sat up. "How long…?"
"Two hours." He shifted his numb arm but kept her close. "You looked so peaceful… I couldn't wake you."
Her fingers found the Wind God's Tear—still glowing, still real.
"Hungry?" He rose, offering his hand. "Dinner's ready. It's all your favorites."
She placed her palm in his. He laced their fingers, leading her toward the Supreme Pontiff's Palace without releasing her.
Inside, the table gleamed with delicacies. Bibi Dong arched a brow. "When did you arrange this?"
"While you slept." He pulled out her chair with effortless grace. "Try the soup. I heard your appetite's been poor lately."
Amusement and warmth bloomed in her chest. She tasted the fish—exactly as she liked it.
"Good?" he asked, hopeful.
"Acceptable," she said primly—though her eyes betrayed her smile.
He ladled soup into her bowl, unbothered. "Glad you like it. Next time you crave something… just say the word. I'll cook it myself."
"You cook?" She blinked. The Wind God… in an apron?
"Of course." He smirked. "Doubt me? One day I'll prove it. You'll beg for seconds."
She laughed—a light, unguarded sound she hadn't heard from herself in years. "I'll hold you to that."
He filled her plate, weaving tales that made her laugh until her ribs ached. For the first time since ascending the papal throne, a meal felt like nourishment, not duty. Alone at that vast table, even feasts tasted hollow. But with him? Even plain rice felt like a feast.
After dinner, he took her hand and led her into the moonlit garden.
Night draped Spirit Hall City in hushed serenity. Silver light pooled around them, stretching their shadows long and intertwined. His palm enveloped hers—warm, steadfast, pouring comfort into her chilled fingers.
"Dong'er." He stopped. Turned. Eyes grave. "Tomorrow… I must leave."
Her smile vanished. "Where?"
"There are some matters regarding the Divine Realm that require my attention." He smoothed the worry from her brow. "Nothing grave. Three days at most. Two weeks at longest. I will return."
She nodded slowly. He has his duties. I am Supreme Pontiff. We each shoulder our own burdens. "Alright."
"Care for yourself while I'm gone," he murmured, voice thick with concern. "Eat. Rest. Don't overwork. If anything happens—anything—call through the Tear. I'll come."
"I'm not a child," she chided softly.
"In my heart," he whispered, thumb tracing her cheek, "you'll always be the girl who needs someone to hold her." He leaned close, breath warm against her ear. "My girl alone."
She glared—but didn't pull away. Truthfully… I don't mind.
At her chamber door, he paused. Bent. Pressed a kiss to her forehead—soft as a promise.
"Rest well. Wait for me."
"Mm."
She watched him walk away, his silhouette fading into the velvet night.
The Wind God's Tear pulsed gently against her skin—a silent vow.
He will return.
And for the first time in decades, she believed it.
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