Bai Tianheng’s head was spinning like crazy.
(You mean to tell me that my wife had always seen Bai Xinyue as Zihan’s future wife?)
But he couldn’t believe it.
If that were the case, he didn’t think she would’ve done what she did.
Of course, he knew Mu Yuelan and Qin Wulie were old friends and might’ve made such a promise.
But if she truly intended to keep that promise... why would she do that?
Although Bai Xinyue survived, it very well could have killed her—if not left her crippled forever.
No one would do such a thing to their future daughter-in-law.
Bai Tianheng was baffled beyond belief.
"You were going to have Zihan marry Bai Xinyue?"
Mu Yuelan folded her arms.
"Then why did you take her Dao Bone?"
He demanded, his voice low but trembling with fury.
"Do you know what that could’ve done to her? That could’ve crippled her cultivation—ruined her life. It could’ve killed her, Yuelan!"
Mu Yuelan’s eyes blazed with cold light.
"That would never have happened."
Her tone was firm. Too firm.
Bai Tianheng’s temper flared.
"And why the hell are you so sure?!"
"She has the Phoenix Physique," Mu Yuelan snapped.
"Even if I took her Dao Bone, she would regenerate. Not just her flesh and blood—but her very Dao foundation."
The room fell into stunned silence.
Bai Tianheng stood frozen in place, mouth slightly open, unable to form a response.
"...Phoenix Physique?"
Mu Yuelan nodded, her expression dark but unwavering.
"You’re absolutely sure?"
"I saw it myself," she said, stepping forward. "Her body healed at a rate no human could match. Her meridians realigned. Her core reformed. It’s not just theory—I confirmed it."
Bai Tianheng clenched his fists slowly, knuckles whitening.
"How long have you known this?"
"Since she was born."
Mu Yuelan’s eyes flickered with something deeper—regret, maybe even guilt—but her voice didn’t shake.
"Qin Wulie told me. Back when Xinyue was still a child. She entrusted the secret to me, and I confirmed it myself when I treated her injuries. It was faint back then, but unmistakable. I’ve seen it blossom more than once."
Bai Tianheng’s expression turned grave.
A legendary constitution of unparalleled regenerative ability, rare even across ten thousand years.
Most would kill just to obtain a single drop of such bloodline.
Now he realized why Xinyue had survived.
Why she was even stronger now.
"You gambled with her life," he said coldly.
"I calculated the risk."
"You played god, Yuelan!"
"No," she retorted, eyes narrowing. "I made a sacrifice. For our son!"
The air between them crackled with tension.
The floor was still littered with fragments of the broken door, and the shattered silence now hung like a blade between husband and wife.
"You made a sacrifice?"
Bai Tianheng’s voice dropped low again, dangerously cold.
"That’s not a sacrifice, Yuelan. That’s theft. That’s cruelty. That’s—"
"I calculated the risk!"
He slammed his palm down on the desk, sending a tremor through the room.
"You don’t get to calculate someone else’s pain! Even if she survived—even if she was reborn as an immortal phoenix—it doesn’t give you the right to strip her of her Dao Bone just to increase the Cultivation Talent of our son!"
Mu Yuelan’s expression turned rigid.
"You think I did it for that?! To increase his cultivation talent?!"
Her spiritual pressure flared sharply. The walls groaned. Books toppled from shelves.
"You stupid bastard! Why the hell would I do that just to make him stronger?!"
She pointed at him, eyes burning with fury.
"Even if Zihan had no cultivation—even if he was born crippled—do you really think I’d let him suffer? With you and me as his parents, with the Bai Clan behind him, he would’ve never lacked for anything in this world!"
Bai Tianheng faltered.
His mouth opened... but no words came.
He wanted to believe that.
And the way she said it—there was no hesitation, no deceit. Her anger was the anger of a mother, not a schemer.
He asked, quieter now.
"Why take Xinyue’s Dao Bone? Why put it into Zihan?"
Mu Yuelan’s lips trembled.
Her fists slowly unclenched. Her aura softened.
For a moment, she didn’t speak.
She let out a long sigh.
"...Because it was the only way to save his life."
Bai Tianheng’s heart stopped.
Mu Yuelan looked up at him—tired now, not angry.
"I didn’t do it to make him stronger. I did it because if I hadn’t... Zihan would’ve died."
Her voice trembled—just once—before regaining steadiness.
"He had cultivated too hard... too recklessly. He was still young, his foundation unstable—and one day, he went into Qi Deviation."
Mu Yuelan’s voice lowered as she recalled the memory.
"His meridians shattered. His Cultivation core collapsed. He was in agony—barely breathing, his soul on the verge of disintegration."
"I summoned everyone. The best alchemists. The top physicians from the Imperial Capital. I gave him every pill, every elixir... but nothing worked."
"It was too late. His condition had already entered a terminal stage. No pill or treatment could restore him. He was... slipping away."
Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"And then... one of the Imperial Doctors said something. Something desperate. Something they wouldn’t normally dare to suggest."
She looked at Bai Tianheng directly.
"’If only he had a Dao Bone,’ the doctor said. ’That might stabilize the collapse—buy time to heal, maybe even reconstruct what was lost.’"
"And so that’s what I did."
Bai Tianheng staggered back a step.
He’d never heard this before.
No one had ever said Zihan was dying.
"And so you chose Xinyue..."
"She was the only one. A child born with the Phoenix Physique and a naturally formed Dao Bone. It was fate!"
"But it wasn’t yours to take—"
She screamed, and her voice finally cracked.
"I know what I did! I think about it every day!"
Her legs trembled slightly, but she didn’t fall.
"I did something unforgivable. But I would do it again. A thousand times. If it meant saving my son’s life. Moreover, she was going to be his wife anyway... so it was her responsibility too."
Bai Tianheng stared at her.
But with something deeper.
Conflicted... torn... hollow.
A silence hung between them again—this time heavy not with rage, but grief.
For choices that could never be undone.
And a truth too painful to ever speak aloud.