A heretical cultivator in Bureau 749, I'm the fiercest at pulling out tendons and skinning peop

Wang Gang knelt on the ground, clutching his lower abdomen, panting heavily.

The side of his face that had been punched was already swollen and bruised, a shocking sight.

Wang Gang looked up at his wife standing in front of him.

The light shone from behind her, outlining her body in a golden silhouette.

Her breathing was a little rapid, but her eyes remained cold and sharp, like a sword drawn from its sheath.

Looking at his wife like this, Wang Gang suddenly remembered when they first met.

At that time, she was the eldest daughter of the Zhao family in Sichuan and Chongqing, and a well-known feisty girl in the cultivation world.

He has a fiery temper and is highly skilled; he will fight at the slightest provocation and is invincible in Sichuan and Chongqing.

When he was pursuing her, he went through a lot of trouble and endured countless beatings before finally winning her heart.

After getting married, she became much more restrained and began to learn to be a virtuous wife and loving mother, taking care of her husband and children, and rarely laid a hand on them anymore.

So much so that he sometimes forgot that his wife was once the "Zhao Family's Overbearing Flower," a name that struck fear into the hearts of cultivators in Sichuan and Chongqing.

Today, he finally remembered.

Wang Gang sighed, his sigh carrying a sense of resigned helplessness.

He knew he couldn't hide it any longer.

If he hadn't said anything, given her temper, she really would have beaten him so badly he'd be hospitalized.

He believed she could do it.

"I'll talk... I'll talk, okay...?"

His voice was hoarse, tired, and carried a sense of dejection, as if he had surrendered.

"Actually, your memories have been altered."

"You didn't just have one son back then."

"You gave birth to twins."

Zhao Ya was completely stunned.

twin?

Did she give birth to twins back then?

Why doesn't she remember anything?

She remembers being pregnant, giving birth, having her son, holding him, feeding him milk, and watching him grow up day by day.

But she had no recollection of ever having given birth to another child.

It was as if that memory had been forcibly ripped out of her mind, leaving an empty void that whistled in the wind.

"Wife—"

Seeing her sway, Wang Gang quickly reached out to support her.

Before his hand could even touch Zhao Ya's arm, she slapped it back.

"Snapped!"

The sharp crack was particularly jarring in the quiet living room.

A bright red handprint instantly appeared on the back of Wang Gang's hand.

Zhao Ya didn't give him a chance to react.

She grabbed Wang Gang by the hair, pressed his head down, and slammed it hard against the ground.

"Bang!"

The muffled thud echoed through the living room.

The marble floor tiles were smashed, and cracks spread outwards like a spider web.

Wang Gang's head slammed against the floor tiles, making a dull thud.

A large bump instantly swelled up on his forehead, turning it a painful bluish-purple color.

"I also have a son?"

Zhao Ya's voice was hoarse and low, like a mother beast on the verge of collapse, letting out its final roar.

Her eyes were bloodshot and red, as if they were about to bleed.

"Where did you take him?"

Her voice was trembling.

It was a trembling that came from extreme anger, which was being desperately suppressed.

Wang Gang was pinned to the ground, his face pressed against the cold floor tiles, feeling waves of sharp pain emanating from his forehead.

He turned his head and looked into Zhao Ya's red eyes.

"It's lost."

His voice was somewhat muffled, carrying a kind of nonchalant acceptance of the situation.

"That child, like Bing'er, is destined to be a child of high birth. But he's a sickly child, and can't be raised. Even the Wang family doesn't have the ability to raise him. Throwing in massive amounts of resources would only result in a futile effort; it's not worth it."

"Not worth it?"

Zhao Ya repeated these three words, her voice carrying an unbelievable sense of absurdity.

Her voice suddenly rose, sharp and piercing, like the sound of fingernails scratching a blackboard.

"That's my child! Not that pile of proposals on your desk!"

Her tears finally fell.

"wrong!"

Zhao Ya suddenly realized something, and her eyes became even sharper.

"You just said it was for Bing'er. What do you mean by 'for Bing'er'?"

"What the hell did you do?"

Wang Gang remained silent for a few seconds, as if he was organizing his thoughts or encouraging himself.

Then he spoke.

"Bing'er is destined to be a celestial child, born noble. Since we can't raise the other one anyway, we thought we might as well add fuel to Bing'er's celestial child destiny."

"We extracted the innate essence of another child and filled it into Bing'er's body."

Zhao Ya was stunned.

What did she hear?

Did they extract the innate essence of her other child and fill it into Bing'er's body?

In other words, Bing'er's proud talent for cultivation, and the destiny of a celestial child that made the entire Wang family proud, were obtained by exchanging the lives of his twin brother.

Zhao Ya's body began to tremble violently.

The trembling started at her fingertips and spread to her arms, her shoulders, and her whole body.

She felt her stomach churning.

She felt nauseous, wanting to throw up everything she had eaten that day.

She wanted to vent everything she had been proud of over the years.

She looked down at Wang Gang, whom she had pinned to the ground.

That face, the face she had known for over twenty years, now seemed so unfamiliar.

"You son of a bitch!"

Zhao Ya let out a roar.

Then, she swung her fist and slammed it down hard.

"boom!"

The loud bang echoed throughout the villa.

The entire villa seemed to tremble.

The living room floor dips down from Wang Gang's body, forming a shallow pit about two meters in diameter.

Gravel and dust flew in all directions.

Wang Gang was forced into the foundation.

His body, embedded in the shattered marble tiles and concrete, resembled a nail hammered in.

Zhao Ya remained in the punching stance, kneeling by the pit, panting heavily.

Her fist was bleeding profusely, the skin torn and blood dripping from her fingers onto the ground.

Her tears flowed uncontrollably.

She looked up at the crystal chandelier on the ceiling.

The lights were a bit too bright.

Her vision was somewhat blurry.

In a daze, she seemed to see a baby lying in swaddling clothes, reaching out its little hand to her.

The baby was tiny, soft, and wrinkled, like a newborn monkey.

His eyes were tightly closed, his little mouth was slightly open, and he was making a faint crying sound.

The crying was very soft and faint, like a kitten meowing.

Zhao Ya reached out, wanting to hug him.

But just as she reached halfway out, the baby's figure vanished.

Like a wisp of smoke, it dissipates with a gust of wind.

Nothing was left behind.