In the meanwhile, a rather grouchy Fox Lord was frantically pacing back and forth within the confines of the wood cabin, his fists tightly clenched and his mouth set in a rigid grimace. His foul temper belied his godly lineage and royal upbringing.

Shortly after Li Meirong had transcended into the pocket dimension, Bai Qingyue had risen out of bed and moved his wife’s soulless body to sit near the bed, placing a soft pillow on the ground as he carefully lifted her frail form and positioned her on top of the cushion.

So many hours had long since passed, and Li Meirong’s physical shell maintained its meditative stance all this while. Bai Qingyue stayed by her side the whole time, anticipating the moment she would return.

The droplets of the early morning drizzle and the serenity brought by the rain’s soothing melody did nothing to ease Bai Qingyue’s frayed nerves.

What was taking her so long? And what could Bai Yu possibly be doing alone with her for an entire day and night?!

The more he thought about it, the more his mood had worsened.

He should never have given his subordinate "Snowball’s" position. Wasn’t he practically offering his priceless treasure to another? Clearly, he had miscalculated.

Consequently, the sound of approaching footsteps brought his frantic thoughts to a sudden halt. The knuckles tapping on the dilapidated door instantly captured Bai Qingyue’s attention.

Immediately masking his inner turmoil and appearing as though nothing could ever shake or disconcert him, Bai Quinyue opened the door with a flick of the wrist. He was greeted with the sight of a budding youth, the same prodigal boy whom his father had urged him to restrain from harming.

The boy looked startled to see him. His dark eyes widened as he saw Bai Qingyue, barring the entrance from inside Li Meirong’s cabin. The Fox Lord’s tall stature concealed the entire room behind him.

"... What are you doing here? W-who are you?" Forgetting his manners, the youth stammered at the sight of the man before him.

Bai Qingyue advanced a few steps forward, leaving only a few inches between them. He towered over the younger man, scrutinizing the stuttering oaf. ’So this shrimp is Mo Cheng?’

"You exhibit a remarkable sense of decorum." Bai Qingyue’s voice was laced with pins and needles.

Taking note of the man’s robe which was identical to that of the sect grandmasters, coupled with a distinct bearing, led Mo Cheng to deduce that this was a gentleman of high rank. Wary of marring his division’s reputation, he hastened to perform a formal bow, his mouth drawing into a thin line even as he did so.

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