Chapter 5 - The coming of the Saint

🕊️ Spirit Hall – Inner Sanctum, After Bibi Dong's Departure

The chamber remained dim. The doors had barely closed behind Bibi Dong when the air shifted again — not with spirit pressure, but with unspoken doubt.

Jiang Long, the Seventh Worshipper — known as Falling Devil Douluo — broke the silence.

"Why tell her that?" he asked, brow furrowed.

"Why hint at a coming heir, if none is prepared?"

The Grand Worshipper, Qian Daoliu, remained still upon his high seat.

Then he spoke.

"Because we do not have the right heir... yet."

A pause.

"Or so she believes."

The Fifth Worshipper — Glowing Feather Douluo — leaned forward.

"Then you believe he will come?"

Daoliu's voice was calm, almost distant.

"He will."

"Why would he return to this Hall, after all these years?" Jiang Long pressed. "Why step onto the stage of a throne he walked away from?"

Daoliu closed his eyes for a moment.

Then opened them — soft, but unshaken.

"Because for what he intends to build… the Pope's throne is the largest pulpit in the world."

The Fifth asked, gently:

"And what does he intend to build, Grand Worshipper?"

Daoliu looked down, the faintest glint of emotion surfacing in his ancient eyes.

"A church for the poor."

"A sanctuary for those Spirit Hall never saw — the soul-less, the crippled, the slaves and castaways."

The chamber grew cold.

"He will not rule for legacy," Daoliu said. "He will not rule for conquest."

"He will rule for mercy."

A beat passed.

"And because of who the First Pope was to him… he will rule not above the people —"

"— but for them."

Silence followed.

But none questioned further.

Because in their bones — even those who doubted him — they felt it:

Qian Yusheng would not come for power.

He would come to reshape what power was for.

🌿 Somewhere Deep Within the Sunset Forest

At the edge of the Ice and Fire Yin Yang Well

The wind stirred the mist that clung to the medicinal valley, thick with the scent of spiritual herbs and mineral steam. The sun dipped low beyond the trees, casting long golden shadows over the stone pools.

A gentle voice called out, calm but commanding.

"Dugu Bo."

The name rippled through the stillness.

The Poison Douluo's eyes snapped open.

"Who dares—?" he growled, rising from the edge of the spring, spirit energy crackling faintly. No one called him like that. Not anymore. Not since he'd become a Titled Douluo, feared and avoided for his venomous soul.

But then… he paused.

The voice was familiar.

Soft footsteps rustled across the moss.

And then, through the mist, they emerged.

Three silhouettes.

One of them — robed in emerald and sunlight — smiled faintly, holding a sprig of golden ginseng between her fingers.

"You still don't know how to prune the Seven-Light Herb without bruising its root," Mei Rulan said gently.

Dugu Bo's face froze.

Then he laughed — a loud, raw sound like a man unburdened.

"Hahaha! Mei Rulan… Lu Shen… and—Yusheng?"

His eyes widened as the final figure stepped into the light.

White robes weathered by sea salt. Hands scarred not from battle, but from healing. A quiet presence that pulled peace into the air around him.

Qian Yusheng.

Dugu Bo's laughter became joy.

"You're back!" he called, arms wide, voice breaking with emotion. "By the heavens, it's been too long!"

He strode forward, eyes gleaming. Not with power. But with gratitude.

"You three…" He looked from Mei Rulan, the quiet herbalist who had taught him patience, to Lu Shen, the wandering chemist who'd taught him medicine without poison, and finally to Yusheng — the one who had given him everything else.

"You saw what I didn't. You healed what I thought was doomed. You gave me this place — the Ice and Fire Well …"

He placed a hand over his chest.

"… as a home."

He stepped back, pride blooming on his face.

"My son, Dugu Xin — he's reached Spirit Emperor. Rank 63."

"And me?" He laughed again. "I've stabilized at Rank 92. No more poison backlash. No more torment. Just balance." " i have a grand daughter too"

Dugu Bo looked at Yusheng—and saw a man who had knelt in the mud with him years ago, grinding herbs for a dying boy.

"You haven't changed," he murmured.

Yusheng's smile was quiet. "Neither have you."

A lie. But the kind that honored how far they'd both come.