Chapter 186: The Goddess’s Reluctant Apology

Tiān-Mìng stood across from Bai Yue, her starry robes shifting through colors that didn’t exist. For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then the goddess sighed.

It was a long, drawn-out sound. Exhausted. Reluctant. Like she was admitting something she’d been hoping to avoid.

“I’m sorry,” Tiān-Mìng said.

Bai Yue blinked. “What?”

“I said I’m sorry.” The goddess’s jaw tightened. She looked away, staring at the dark trees as if they might offer her an escape. “I don’t say it often. Don’t expect me to say it again.”

“You……you’re sorry.” Bai Yue’s voice was flat. Disbelieving. “You put me through all of this. You ripped me away from my family. You made me watch them forget me. And you’re sorry?”

“Yes.”

“That’s it? Just ’sorry’?”

Tiān-Mìng’s eyes snapped back to her. “What do you want me to say? That I was wrong? That I took it too far? Fine. I was wrong. I took it too far.” She crossed her arms. “Happy?”

“No,” Bai Yue said. “I’m not happy. My children are in another world thinking I’m dead. My husbands are standing by a river too scared to jump. And you’re standing here telling me you’re sorry like that fixes anything.”

“It doesn’t,” Tiān-Mìng admitted. “But it’s a start.”

Bai Yue wanted to scream again. Wanted to hit her again. But her arms hung heavy at her sides, and her chest ached, and she was so, so tired.

“Lin Hua,” Bai Yue said suddenly.

Tiān-Mìng’s expression flickered. “What about her?”

“You brought her too. To the modern world. She pushed me into the river.” Bai Yue’s eyes narrowed. “She remembers everything. Twisted versions of it, but she remembers. You did that.”

The goddess was quiet for a moment. Then, infuriatingly, her lips twitched.

“It was funny,” Tiān-Mìng said.

Bai Yue stared at her. “Funny.”

“Watching her panic. Watching her realize she couldn’t have what you have. Watching her shove you into the water out of sheer desperation—” The goddess actually chuckled. “It was very funny.”

“My LIFE,” Bai Yue said, her voice rising, “is not your entertainment!”

“You’re right.” Tiān-Mìng’s chuckle faded. “I’m sorry. I keep saying that, don’t I?”

“Say it until you mean it.”

“I mean it.” The goddess’s voice was softer now. “I mean it, Bai Yue. I got carried away. The experiment, the test, watching you struggle, I forgot that you were real. That your pain was real.” She paused. “I’m sorry.”

Bai Yue swallowed hard. The tears were threatening again.

“Send me back,” she whispered.

“I will.”

“And restore the timeline. The real one. Where Tao Zi is safe and the Jaguar clan is rebuilding and my family is together.”

“Yes.”

Bai Yue took a shaky breath. “And when they come back… when we’re all home… they won’t remember any of this? The separation? The modern world?”

“They won’t remember,” Tiān-Mìng confirmed. “You’ll be the only one.”

“Why?”

“Because someone should.” The goddess’s eyes held hers. “Someone should know what you sacrificed. What you fought through. I won’t take that from you.”

Bai Yue didn’t know if that was a gift or a curse. She didn’t have the energy to figure it out.

“Bai Yue!”

The shout came from behind her. She spun around.

Mo Xiao was crashing through the undergrowth, his amber eyes wide, his chest heaving. He had been running. His gaze darted from Bai Yue to the goddess and back again.

“I heard shouting,” he said, still catching his breath. “Who is—” He stopped. His eyes landed on Tiān-Mìng’s starry robes, on the way the air seemed to bend around her. His hand went to the knife at his belt.

“Mo Xiao, wait—” Bai Yue started.

“Who are you?” Mo Xiao demanded, ignoring her. He stepped in front of Bai Yue, positioning himself between her and the goddess. “What are you doing in my territory?”

Tiān-Mìng looked at him. Her annoyance flickered back, but there was something else underneath it. Something almost like fondness.

“Protective,” the goddess observed. “Even when you don’t remember her. Interesting.”

“Answer my question.”

“I’m the one who’s going to send her home,” Tiān-Mìng said. “That’s all you need to know.”

Mo Xiao’s grip tightened on his knife. “Send her home where?”

“To her family.” The goddess’s voice softened, just slightly. “To her mates. To her children.”

Mo Xiao went very still.

“Mates?” He turned to look at Bai Yue. “You have mates? Plural?”

Bai Yue’s face heated despite everything. “It’s… complicated.”

“You’re mated to more than one male?”

“Yes.”

Mo Xiao stared at her for a long moment. Then he looked back at Tiān-Mìng. Then at Bai Yue again.

“I don’t understand,” he said finally. “But I don’t think I need to.” He stepped aside, clearing the path between Bai Yue and the goddess. “If she can send you home……go. Don’t wait.”

Bai Yue’s throat tightened. “Mo Xiao…”

“You’ve been crying every night,” he said quietly. “You think I didn’t notice? You’re not supposed to be here. Go find whoever you’re looking for.”

Tiān-Mìng stepped forward.

“The river,” the goddess said. “Get your family to the river. All of them. When you’re all there, I’ll bring you through. Together.”

“And then?”

“And then you wake up. In your world. In your timeline. Right where you left off.” Tiān-Mìng paused. “The Jaguar temple. The aftermath. Everyone alive, everyone safe. That’s where you’ll return.”

Bai Yue nodded. “And you’ll wipe the rest?”

“I’ll wipe the rest. The modern world, the separation, the hospital, none of it will have happened. For them.” The goddess met her eyes. “For you… you’ll remember.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure you want that?”

Bai Yue thought about it. About carrying this weight alone. About knowing what they almost lost when they didn’t.

“Yes,” she said. “Someone should.”

Tiān-Mìng nodded once. Then she raised her hand.

The world went white.

~

Bai Yue hit the ground with a gasp.

Water soaked through her clothes. Mud squelched beneath her palms. She was lying on her stomach on the bank of a river, coughing up water she didn’t remember swallowing.

The river. The same river. The black water stretched out beside her, still and dark.

She pushed herself up.

The city sprawled in the distance. Streetlights. Cars. The faint hum of electricity. She was back.

Modern world, she thought. I’m back.

She staggered to her feet and started walking.

The walk to the hospital took over an hour.

She didn’t have her phone. Didn’t have money. Didn’t have shoes. Her bare feet left prints on the cold pavement, and drivers honked at her as she crossed streets, and a woman actually stopped to ask if she needed help.

“I’m fine,” Bai Yue said. “I just need to get to the hospital.”

The woman looked at her torn clothes, her bare feet, her wild hair. “Which hospital?”

“St. Mary’s.”

“That’s eight miles away, honey. Let me drive you.”

Bai Yue almost refused. Almost insisted on walking. But her feet were bleeding, and her legs were shaking, and she didn’t know how much longer she could stay upright.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

~

The hospital was chaos.

Bai Yue saw it before she understood it. The crowd gathered outside the main entrance, a sea of black clothes and somber faces. Reporters with cameras. Police keeping the crowd back.

Someone important had died. Or was about to.

She pushed through the crowd, ignoring the protests, ignoring the hands that tried to stop her.

“Ma’am, you can’t—”

“I need to get inside—”

“The family has requested privacy—”

“I AM THE FAMILY!”

The shouting stopped.

A reporter turned. Then another. Then the woman who had stopped to ask if she needed help, the one who had driven her here, stared at Bai Yue with wide eyes.

“Isn’t that…” someone whispered.

“Bai Yue?” another voice said. Louder. “Isn’t that Bai Yue? The nanny? The one who—”

” SHE’S NOT DEAD!”

“Isn’t that the person we’re mourning?!”

The crowd erupted.

Bai Yue didn’t wait. She shoved past the police, past the reporters, through the hospital doors. The lobby was packed. Nurses stared. A doctor dropped his clipboard.

She knew where to go. She had dreamed about it every night. The ICU wing. The private room at the end of the hall.

She ran.

The door was closed. She didn’t knock. She threw it open.

Three beds.

Three men.

Han Shān in the first, pale and still, his white hair stark against the white pillow. Zhāo Yàn in the second, his face slack in a way she had never seen, all the sharpness gone. Yàn Shū in the third, his glasses folded on the bedside table, his chest rising and falling in slow, even breaths.

And around them, curled in chairs, sprawled on the floor, huddled together—

The children.

Zhēn was asleep on the end of Han Shān’s bed, her small hand wrapped around his. Tears tracks still visible on her cheeks. Yòu Lín was on the floor, wrapped in a hospital blanket, his orange hair a mess. Ruì Xuě sat in the corner, his purple eyes fixed on the window, watchful and hollow. Hóng Yè stood by the door, arms crossed, looking like he hadn’t slept in days.

They all turned when she burst in.

Zhēn was the first to move.

“Bai Yue!”

She launched off the bed, a blur of white hair and hospital gown, and slammed into Bai Yue’s legs. Her arms wrapped around her thighs, her face pressed into her stomach, and she sobbed.

“You’re alive. You’re alive, you’re alive, you’re alive—”

Bai Yue dropped to her knees. She pulled Zhēn into her arms, held her tight, felt her daughter’s heart pounding against her own.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m here, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

Yòu Lín appeared at her side, tears streaming down his face, his hands gripping her arm. Ruì Xuě was there too, silent, pressing against her shoulder. Hóng Yè hadn’t moved from the door, but his eyes were wet, and his jaw was tight.

“I told you,” Hóng Yè said, his voice rough. “I told them you weren’t dead.”

Bai Yue looked at the beds. At the three men who hadn’t moved.

“They won’t wake up,” Zhēn sobbed. “They’ve been sleeping for days. The doctors don’t know why.”

Bai Yue’s heart ached. “They’re waiting for me,” she said softly. “They’ve been waiting for me.”

She stood up. She walked to Han Shān’s bed first.

His face was slack, peaceful almost. But his hand, when she touched it, was warm.

“Han Shān,” she said. “I’m back. Wake up.”

Nothing.

“Zhāo Yàn.” She moved to the next bed. “You too. Stop being dramatic. I need you.”

Nothing.

“Yàn Shū.” She touched his shoulder. “I found my way back. Now you have to do the same.”

Still nothing.

Bai Yue’s hands shook. She looked at the children, at their desperate faces, at the hope warring with fear in their eyes.

“The river,” she said. “We have to take them to the river.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep