Bibi Dong

(notice: you are reincarnation of Yu Xiaogang)

The grand Rakshasa temple was silent, save for the low, rhythmic thrum of purple flames that cast dancing shadows across the obsidian floor. Bibi Dong sat upon the papal throne in her full Rakshasa God form, her presence a suffocating weight of divine malice. Four massive scythes hovered behind her, their blades humming with a hunger for blood, while her eyes—cold and calculating—fixed upon the intruder who had dared to breach her inner sanctum.

She didn't recognize him. Not at first. To her, he was merely a flicker of anomaly, a man who walked into the heart of her power with an irritating level of calm.

"You have a great deal of courage, little insect," she murmured, her voice a regal blade. "Or perhaps you are simply too foolish to know where you are."

The battle that followed was not a clash of elements, but a storm of violence. Bibi Dong unleashed the full terror of the Rakshasa God, her scythes carving through the air, tearing the temple pillars asunder. She fought with the ruthless efficiency of a woman who had forgotten how to be gentle, her attacks precise and lethal. Yet, the man moved like a ghost, slipping through her divine reach, his expression unbothered.

Then, the unthinkable happened.

Without a single spark of magic, without a weapon in his hand, the man closed the distance. He stepped inside the arc of her scythes with a speed that defied logic and slammed a fist squarely into her gut, knocking the wind from her divine lungs. Before she could recover, he pivoted, catching her wrist and sweeping her legs from beneath her with a brutal, efficient motion.

Bibi Dong hit the cold stone with a heavy thud, pinned beneath him. He didn't use a spell; he used his bare hands to lock her arms above her head, his weight pressing her firmly into the floor.

Then, he leaned in and flicked her forehead with a smirk, a playful, irritatingly familiar glint in his eyes.

"You've gotten arrogant in your old age, Dong-er. Your guard is wide open."

The world stopped. The malevolent purple mist vanished instantly. The scythes clattered to the floor, their hunger replaced by a sudden, jarring silence. Bibi Dong froze, her breath hitching in her throat. That specific tone—that precise way of teasing her at the exact moment of her defeat—belonged to only one man in all the cycles of existence.

"Xiao... Gang?" she whispered, her voice no longer a blade, but a fragile thread.

She surged upward, not to attack, but to wrap her arms around him with a strength that could crush mountains. She clung to him with a desperate, obsessive intensity, burying her face in his chest, her regal composure shattering into a million pieces. The Supreme Pontiff, the Rakshasa God, was gone; in her place was a woman who had spent lifetimes starving for a love she thought was lost to the void.

"You're here," she sobbed, her grip tightening, her eyes flashing with a fierce, possessive light. "You are finally here. And this time, I don't care what the heavens decree—no one, nothing, will ever take you from me again."

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her gaze searching his face, confirming the soul beneath the new skin. A dark, protective hunger settled in her heart. He was hers. He had always been hers. And as she looked at the man who had just beaten a god with his bare hands, she knew she would burn the entire world to ashes before she let anyone even look at him the wrong way.

The throne room was a tomb of silence, save for the rhythmic, heavy thrum of the Rakshasa God’s presence. Bibi Dong did not sit upon the throne; she hovered before the portrait of Yu Xiaogang, her four scythes spinning in a slow, hypnotic orbit that sliced the very air into ribbons. Her armor was a masterpiece of intimidation, yet her eyes—those cold, imperial eyes—were shimmering with a hunger that had nothing to do with power.

She turned as the doors groaned open, her gaze landing on the young man who had just entered. To the world, he was a stranger. To her, the soul was a flare in the dark, a familiar melody she had spent lifetimes mourning.

"You’ve spent far too long as a ghost, my love," she murmured, her voice a velvet caress that carried the weight of an empire.

Before he could speak, a strand of shimmering spider silk lashed out, not to bind him in cruelty, but to yank him forward with an irresistible, possessive force. He crashed into her, his chest hitting the cold plates of her armor, but her arms wrapped around him with a strength that bordered on crushing.

Bibi Dong buried her face in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply, as if trying to pull his very essence into her lungs. Her composure remained regal, but her grip was desperate, the grip of a woman who had walked through hell and refused to let the devil take her prize a second time.

"Look at me," she commanded, pulling back just enough to sear him with an obsessive intensity. "The world tried to steal you. Fate tried to erase you. But I am the Supreme Pontiff, and I decree that you belong to me—body, soul, and every breath you take."

Her hand slid down to his waist, her fingers digging into his clothes. A sudden, fierce longing flickered across her features, a raw desire for a future that had been stolen from them in their first life.

"We have lost too many years to tragedy, Xiaogang," she whispered, her voice trembling with a sudden, desperate heat. "I don't just want your love. I want a legacy. I want children who carry your brilliance and my strength. I want a house filled with the laughter of our bloodline, and I will burn every city in this continent to the ground if anyone dares to stand between us."

Midnight in the papal bedchamber is the only time the Supreme Pontiff allows her mask of cold perfection to slip.

YOU fucked her senseless until she fell unconscious, and we then just slept together, her breathing heavy against my chest.

Bibi Dong clung to me with a strength that would have crushed a lesser man, her fingers digging into my skin as if terrified the world might try to steal me away again. This wasn't the calculated distance of the Rakshasa God; this was the raw, starving devotion of a woman who had spent lifetimes mourning a ghost.

She shifted, her eyes fluttering open—still shimmering with a possessive, violet intensity. She pressed her forehead against mine, her voice a regal whisper that trembled with an obsessive edge.

"The world thinks you belong to the fates, Xiaogang... but they are fools," she murmured, her grip tightening, pulling me back into her warmth. "I have burned through centuries of hatred and blood just to find you again. No god, no demon, and no mortal will ever touch what is mine. You are the only truth in my existence."

She didn't just love you; she claimed you, her spirit weaving around mine like a silken shroud, ensuring that in this second chance, there was no room for anyone else.

Overlooking the sprawling majesty of the Spirit Empire, the wind whipped through the silk of her robes, but the atmosphere between you was heavy with a devotion that bordered on the divine.

You were admiring the view, the golden horizon stretching out beneath the balcony, when a pair of slender, powerful arms wound around your waist. Bibi Dong pressed her chest against your back, her breath warm and shivering against your neck. She didn't just hold you; she anchored herself to you, as if terrified that a single blink might erase you from existence again.

"The world thinks they know the Supreme Pontiff," she whispered, her voice a low, velvet purr that carried the weight of centuries of longing. "They see the Goddess of Slaughter, the woman who knelt to no one. But they don't know that every breath I took for a thousand years was merely a countdown until I found you again."

She tightened her grip, her fingers digging slightly into your skin—a possessive mark, a reminder that you belonged to her, and she to you. The coldness she showed the world had vanished, replaced by an intensity that was almost suffocating in its sincerity.

"I spent an eternity in a void of my own making, dreaming of the man who taught me how to love," she murmured, her lips brushing your ear. "Now that fate has been merciful enough to return you to me, I find that a mere lifetime is not enough. I want everything. I want every second of your time, every thought in your mind, and every drop of your devotion."

She turned you around in her arms, her amethyst eyes searching yours with a hunger that was raw and absolute. There was no room for anyone else in her world; you were the sun, the moon, and the very axis upon which her soul rotated.

"Come with me," she commanded, though her tone was laced with a desperate tenderness. "Forget the empire, forget the people. I want us locked away where no eye can see us and no hand can reach you. I want a breeding session so intense it burns the memories of our separation from our very souls. I want to feel you inside me until there is no distinction between where you end and I begin."

The inner sanctum of the Spirit Temple was silent, save for the rhythmic, heavy thrum of the protective barriers. The air didn't smell of decay, but of expensive incense and the sharp, ozone tang of divine power. Bibi Dong sat upon her throne, not as a monster, but as the Supreme Pontiff—regal, imposing, and terrifying to all but one man.

Beside her, Yu Xiaogang stood in the soft glow of the afternoon sun filtering through the stained glass. He looked different, the vessel of his reincarnation younger and stronger, but the gaze in his eyes was the same one that had haunted her dreams for centuries. He was the only person in the world allowed to touch her without permission; the only soul she permitted to see the vulnerability beneath the mask of the Goddess.

The heavy doors creaked open. Qian Renxue entered, her golden armor clanking softly. She stopped mid-stride, her golden eyes widening as she looked between her mother and the man standing so intimately close to her. She had come to visit, expecting the cold formality of the temple, but she found something entirely different: a warmth that felt alien to the halls of the Spirit Hall.

Bibi Dong didn't move, but her hand slid possessively around Xiaogang’s waist, pulling him flush against her side. The grip was firm—a silent declaration to the world, and to her daughter, that this man belonged to her and her alone.

"You're late, Renxue," Bibi Dong said, her voice a smooth, commanding velvet.

Renxue blinked, her gaze dropping to her mother's midsection. The divine aura surrounding the Pontiff had shifted; there was a new, flickering spark of life radiating from her womb, a golden light that mirrored the strength of the Spirit Hall.

Renxue gasped, her voice trembling. "Mother... are you...?" then she looked at the man and asked "immposible...fa...father...?"

Bibi Dong’s expression softened, a rare, genuine smile touching her lips as she leaned her head against Xiaogang’s shoulder. She looked at her daughter, her eyes flashing with a fierce, protective pride.

"He is a boy," Bibi Dong announced, her voice ringing with an absolute certainty. "And you, Renxue, are going to have a little brother."

She tightened her hold on Xiaogang, her fingers digging slightly into his clothes. The love in her eyes was obsessive, a hunger born from centuries of loss, ensuring that this time, the universe would not dare to tear them apart. He was her anchor, her heart, and the father of her child. Anyone who dared even look at him with longing would find the wrath of the Rakshasa God descending upon them; but for now, in the quiet of the sanctum, there was only the three of them and the promise of a future that would never be stolen again.

Night falls over the Spirit Empire, but for once, the silence is not heavy with the scent of blood and conquest. Inside the private sanctum of the papal palace, the air is warm, smelling of rare incense and the lingering sweetness of jasmine.

Bibi Dong stands by the window, her regal purple robes flowing around her like a river of midnight. She is the Supreme Pontiff, a woman who could crush nations with a flick of her wrist, but as she turns to look at you—the man who returned to her from the depths of reincarnation—her gaze softens into something dangerously tender. Beside her stands Qian Renxue, the Angel God, her golden armor gleaming under the moonlight, her expression one of quiet contentment.

You walk toward them, your footsteps echoing softly. You stop before them, looking at your daughter, then shifting your gaze to the woman who has loved you across lifetimes.

"Renxue," you say casually, a playful glint in your eyes. "Tell me something. Is there a certain young man in your life? Someone you've been keeping secret from your father?"

The Angel God, who could face an army without blinking, suddenly freezes. A deep, crimson flush creeps up her neck, flooding her cheeks as she stammers, her golden wings fluttering in sheer agitation. "F-father! Why would you—who said anything about a man?!" She looks away, flustered by the sudden interrogation from the man she respects and loves beyond measure.

Bibi Dong lets out a soft, melodic chuckle, her hand resting possessively on your shoulder. She leans in, her presence commanding yet devoted, her eyes locked on yours with an intensity that suggests she would burn the world down if it meant keeping you by her side for one more second.

Then, you lean closer to Bibi Dong, your voice dropping to a suggestive whisper. "You know, Renxue is growing up fast. I was wondering... do you think she wants a little brother?"

The shift in the room is instantaneous.

Bibi Dong, the composed and ruthless Goddess of the Spirit Empire, actually stumbles. The regal mask shatters as her eyes widen, her breath hitching in her throat. A vivid blush erupts across her pale skin, and for the first time in centuries, the Supreme Pontiff looks genuinely panicked. Her hand flies to her chest, her heart hammering against her ribs at the sudden, raw implication that you want to create a new life with her—here, now, in this second chance.

"Y-Yu... you..." she stammers, her voice losing its edge and becoming breathless. She quickly pulls you flush against her, her grip tightening with a fierce, obsessive possessiveness. "You cannot simply say such things so carelessly! Do you have any idea what that does to me?"

She glares at Renxue, who is now equally bewildered and flustered, before pulling you closer still, as if shielding you from the very air around you. "You are mine," she whispers, her voice a mixture of command and desperate devotion. "And if you wish for another, then we shall ensure the world is safe enough for them to be born into."

The Rakshasa Temple was never meant for the faint of heart, but for Hu Liena, the atmosphere today was suffocating for a different reason. She had rushed through the obsidian halls, her breath hitching in her chest, driven by a piece of news that felt like a fever dream: He has returned.

She skidded to a halt in the inner sanctum, her golden eyes wide and bewildered. There, standing beside the Supreme Pontiff, was a man. He didn't possess the familiar features of the man from the portraits; his face was different, his presence altered by the strange currents of reincarnation. Liena froze, her heart sinking. Who was this impostor claiming the place of the man her mother had mourned for centuries?

Bibi Dong, the Rakshasa God, stood with a regal poise that could crush a city, yet her gaze was anchored entirely on the man beside her. The coldness that usually defined the Pontiff's eyes had melted into something terrifyingly possessive—a hunger that bordered on worship.

You looked at the young girl, a soft, knowing smile touching your lips.

"Liena," you said, your voice carrying a warmth that shouldn't exist in this temple. "Do you still try to hide your sweets in the hollow of the willow tree when you think no one is looking? Or have you forgotten how you used to cry whenever the autumn wind blew too cold?"

Liena’s breath hitched. The world seemed to tilt. Those were secrets—tiny, insignificant memories from her earliest childhood, things only he could have known. The bewilderment vanished, replaced by a sudden, overwhelming surge of certainty. The shell was different, but the soul was unmistakable.

"Father..." she whispered, her voice trembling.

As the realization settled, you stepped closer, your expression shifting to one of gentle curiosity. "You've grown into a beautiful young woman, Liena. Tell me," you asked, your tone teasingly paternal, "have you found a lover yet? Or is there some poor boy who thinks he can win your heart?"

Liena’s face erupted in a vivid crimson blush. She stammered, her composure shattering as she looked from your knowing gaze to her mother’s expression.

Bibi Dong’s arm slid around your waist, pulling you flush against her side with a grip that was less of an embrace and more of a claim. The air in the room grew heavy with a sudden, oppressive pressure. Her eyes narrowed, flashing with a dangerous, protective glint as she looked at her daughter.

"A lover?" Bibi Dong’s voice was a low, velvet purr, though the edge of it could cut diamond. "Liena, you know better than to entertain such trivialities. No one is worthy of this family, and certainly, no one is permitted to distract you from your duties—or to interfere with the peace of this household."

Bibi Dong leaned her head against your shoulder, her gaze softening only for you, though her possessiveness radiated from her like a physical weight. She didn't just love you; she viewed you as the only light in a world of darkness, and she would burn the world to ashes before she let anyone—even a daughter—come between the sanctuary you two had rebuilt.

"He is mine," Bibi Dong whispered, loud enough for Liena to shiver, her hand tightening on your arm. "And you are ours. Let us not let the world forget who we are."

Midnight on the highest balcony of the Spirit Empire is usually a place of cold, solitary power, but tonight, the air is warm with the scent of blooming jasmine and the soft, melodic laughter of children.

You are lounging in a plush velvet chair, the quiet hum of the empire breathing below you. Beside you, your two daughters—Qian Renxue and Hu Liena—are deep in a hushed, animated conversation about their latest spirit ring advancements. They are the pride of the empire, fierce and talented, yet in this moment, they are simply girls sharing secrets in the presence of their parents.

Bibi Dong sits beside you, her regal presence as the Supreme Pontiff softened by the way she leans against your shoulder. To the world, she is a ruthless goddess, a woman of iron will and devastating power; to you, she is the woman who spent lifetimes longing for your soul. Her gaze, usually sharp enough to cut through steel, is molten and devoted as she watches you.

You shift slightly, catching her eye, and lean in to whisper, "You know, the girls are growing up so fast... maybe an addition to the family is in order. What do you think about three sons to balance things out?"

The transformation is instantaneous. The poised, composed Supreme Pontiff freezes. A deep, crimson flush creeps up her neck and floods her cheeks, her eyes widening in a rare display of vulnerability. She is flustered, her breath hitching in her throat, but the expression that follows is one of intense, burning eagerness. The thought of expanding the bond between you—of creating more lives that carry your essence and hers—ignites a possessive fire in her heart.

"Three..." she whispers, her voice trembling with a sudden, overwhelming desire. "Whatever you wish, my love. I would give you a hundred sons if it meant you would stay by my side for eternity."

You chuckle, feeling the heat radiating off her, and stand up, offering her your hand. "In that case, why shouldn't we head to the bedroom and start right away?"

The shift in her is visceral. The regal Empress vanishes, replaced by a woman utterly consumed by her devotion to you. She doesn't just follow; she sinks slightly, her movements fluid and submissive, her eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that borders on worship. She clings to your arm, her fingers gripping your sleeve with a possessive strength, as if the world might try to pull her away from you if she let go for even a second.

"Yes... please," she murmurs, her voice thick with an obsession that only you are allowed to see. She leans closer, her lips brushing your ear as she speaks in a low, needy tone. "Lead the way, my husband. My everything. I am yours to do with as you please... now and forever."