"What do you mean, 'saw nothing at all'?" Archbishop Wu Fangzheng asked after a slight hesitation.

"Prophecies about the Dark Lord's fate ceased the moment she was born," the Pope replied, rising to his feet. He brushed dust from his robes, sending a cloud of grit swirling into the air, thickening the haze. "Even the Imperial Tome can't glimpse her future."

"History has cases where prophecies failed. Can't we start with those around her? Like the Hero?" Wu Fangzheng fixed his gaze on the Imperial Tome. The Pope simply closed it, pressing the floating book down with one hand. Metal strips scattered nearby flew back, clamping it tightly to the floor.

"No. The more someone interacts with her, the more elusive their fate becomes. No records describe this strange constitution—except in a coverless, lone manuscript. It calls it the 'Variable.' The empire's first king supposedly had it." The Pope paced slowly. "There's another curious detail about the Dark Lord's appearance."

"Appearance? Is her looks problematic?" Wu Fangzheng frowned. "Dark Lords have always varied—giants, demons, beauties, youths. This one just looks younger, but she's still the Dark Lord. Don't tell me you're—"

"No, I'm not that obsessed," the Pope cut him off with a wave. "Her hair is white."

Wu Fangzheng pondered briefly. "White hair is rare but not unheard of. I know two in the Royal Capital born with it."

"No. One type stems from frail health—some can only survive on red berries." The Pope paused, letting the Archbishop think.

"And the other?"

"From what I recall, the Northern Tribes once had a war goddess, the Silver Wolf Queen. She led a thousand moonlit silver wolves alone—white hair, crimson eyes.

"A dragon-caller from the Eastern Sea rode sea serpents—white-haired.

"A Southern Savage witch controlled vines; texts describe her eyes like blood pools, hair like bleached bone.

"A wandering monk from the Western Desert... all shared this trait, yet none were sickly."

"You're suggesting—"

"Likely coincidence. The descriptions are mythical, with no clear pattern." The Pope chuckled. "How are the youngsters doing lately?"

"They've been restless without you these past days."

"Good. I'll return now."

"The ritual?"

"Proceed as planned." With a sweep of his sleeve, dust rained down, coating the floor, yet the air cleared instantly.

"Mmm~ this~ is so~ gooood~"

"Swallow before speaking. Be ladylike." Lott had barely touched his chopsticks, while I hadn't stopped eating.

What? Ladylike? Body image?

I need a full stomach to worry about that!

I paused at Lott's "wise advice," forcing down a mouthful. "I'd rather burst than starve... *hurk*!"

Oh no, I was choking.

"Water! *Hrk*!"

"Give me your left hand." He reached out.

"Water! *Hrk*!"

"Trust me. Hand first."

What was he playing at? I was dying here!

He suddenly circled the table, grabbing my right wrist and pressing it firmly. "Left or right, same thing."

"What are you doing?" I tried to pull away, but his grip was like an iron clamp.

"Not choking anymore?"

"Let go... wait... huh, really!" I wanted to retch, but something blocked it. The choke faded slowly, vanishing completely.

"A pressure point. Stops hiccups—or chokes." Lott grinned smugly.

"Thanks a bunch. Had enough fun squeezing yet?" I glared at him.

"Oh, sorry! Your hand's just so soft... nice to hold."

"You admit it?" I rolled my eyes. "Fine. I'm full and in a good mood. I'll let it slide."

"Really okay?"

"You want me to develop some male-phobia like those novel heroines?" I scoffed. "I just care that...

"You're holding my hand—I can't eat!" I declared sternly.

"...

"Why aren't you eating? A guy like you needs fuel to bulk up!" One glance at his face told me everything. Was he too pure? Too weird? Or faking purity? Seriously, not eating while sitting with a girl? A little shyness is normal, but starving yourself? That’s just awkward.

Unless you’re thick-skinned.

Or me—I’m straight. Definitely!

No doubts here!

But why did I feel oddly frustrated with him?

Can’t be this timid. As his rival, I’d lose face too.

I slammed my chopsticks down, rolling up sleeves longer than my arms. "Look at me!"

Idiot! I tiptoed, twisting his head toward me. "Look! I’m a guy—a dude! Stop fantasizing. Even if you wanted me, it’d never happen. We’re both transmigrants, alone here, but fellow countrymen—children of Yan and Huang! When no one’s watching, we’re bros, friends. Even if you don’t see it, our roles make it impossible. Eat up. We’ll need energy to chase girls together." Wait, did I go off track? Ah well, it worked.

"...

He finally started eating. Time to steer the talk.

"You like catgirls?"

"Uh... kinda."

"Your eyes were glued to her earlier." I raised an eyebrow. Gotcha—weakness exposed!

Though... his blushing, head-down eating face was kinda cute. No weird thoughts—just pure aesthetic appreciation.

He seemed like a sunny guy—not drop-dead handsome, not girly, just radiating ordinary warmth. Probably had tons of friends.

"What about that maid? Total stunner, right?"

"Amazing. Absolutely amazing!"