My Enemy Became My Cultivation Companion

At the break of dawn, after bidding farewell to Zhu E, Chen Yi awakened both Min Ning and Li Wenhu.

The old man had fallen into deep sleep for an entire day after burying his disciple, and when he woke up this morning, there was little grief or sorrow in his eyes—he seemed like someone entirely unaffected.

Min Ning, on the other hand, appeared weary. She cast several deep glances at Chen Yi, her heart filled with mixed emotions—puzzlement, disdain, and a twinge of frustration at his shortcomings.

The group presented their waist medallions and prepared to leave the military camp. Along the way, Chen Yi noticed many soldiers packing up and dismantling their tents.

He realized that Qin Qingluo truly intended to leave.

As for the woman pregnant with his child, though the two harbored deep resentment toward each other, Chen Yi inexplicably felt reluctant to part.

During the second half of last night, they had spoken of many things and many people. Most of the time it was Chen Yi talking while she listened. Her responses were rare, but there were moments he could sense her curiosity—yet restrained by their grievances, she ultimately refrained from asking further.

Chen Yi neither forced her to respond nor behaved overly tender.

She was, after all, the mother of his child. He couldn't help but feel a surge of affection, yet he restrained himself.

Chen Yi remained unsure how to define the relationship between them. Although he had saved her life, taught her techniques to refine her spirit, and prevented her from succumbing to her inner demons, when looked at broadly, there was more resentment than gratitude between them.

The group led their horses down the mountain path. Chen Yi lowered his gaze, lost in thought.

Suddenly, a voice broke through in his ear:

"Kid, still brooding over yesterday's match?" Li Wenhu asked, clearly amused.

Chen Yi didn't even have a chance to respond before Li added:

"It's a shame; whether you wanted to learn or not, it won't be passed down anymore."

Chen Yi was left speechless.

Finally, they reached the foot of the mountain. Min Ning mentioned that she wanted to visit the nearby village to gather some news. The group wasn't in a hurry to return, so they entered the village.

Min Ning being Min Ning, she still remembered the woman who had handed her water.

She asked around for a while until she spotted the orphaned child whose mother had passed away.

The village had experienced a bountiful harvest this year, and households had extra grain to share. With everyone chipping in, the child and his father were doing relatively well, albeit in their still-impoverished home.

Upon seeing Min Ning, the child's eyes lit up briefly, but then he remembered his mother and burst into tears.

Min Ning didn't know how to comfort him, so she simply stood aside, wide-eyed, and watched the child cry.

It was the father who eventually came over, gripping the child's hand and softly scolding him until the boy finally managed to wipe away his tears.

"Min Household Chief, can I train in martial arts when I grow up?" The boy asked, his voice still thick with emotion.

"If you want to, go to the Capital City. There are many martial arts schools and many teachers there." Min Ning replied softly, pausing briefly before adding, "One day… you should train to become a hero, one greater than me."

After saying these words, Min Ning didn't know how else to console the boy, so she dug out some broken silver from her pocket and placed it on the table.

The boy clutched the silver tightly in his palm, as if he intended to rely on it to make his way to the Capital City for training. He looked up and saw Min Ning's silhouette gradually disappearing into the sunlight.

A young swordsman left traces in the heart of a child.

Once the small matter was resolved, Min Ning climbed onto Chen Yi's horse, sitting behind him.

The group set off toward the Capital City.

They traveled for two to three hours, the sound of horse hooves echoing through the forest. Once they reached the broad, flat roads, the courier horses grew weary, forcing the group to dismount and lead the animals by their reins to allow them to rest.

The path was lined with weeds in the middle and dense trees with flourishing branches on either side. Were it not for the cold wind blowing, one might not even realize it was winter.

Chen Yi suddenly felt a presence behind him.

He stopped walking and turned around, spotting a one-armed figure standing in the distance.

Chen Yi smiled faintly, then turned back to Min Ning and said:

"I just remembered something. You take the old gentleman back for now."

As he spoke, he handed the reins to Min Ning.

Min Ning pondered for a moment but ultimately took the reins, trusting him one more time.

Chen Yi turned around and walked down the road behind them.

He didn't know how far he walked before he saw, on one side of the path, Zhou Yitang standing alone amidst the cold morning mist blanketing the mountains. His back had grown slightly damp.

Chen Yi approached her with a soft voice:

"Thank you."

The one-armed woman gave him a quick glance but didn't respond with courtesy.

She turned around and stepped into the dense woods.

Chen Yi sped up to catch up, walking beside her under the cover of the forest.

After walking for some time, he finally spoke:

"Actually, I thought you wouldn't help me this time."

"It was merely a prophecy."

"It was more than just a prophecy."

Chen Yi spoke with deep meaning.

Zhou Yitang neither confirmed nor denied his words.

They continued through the forest for a long while, crossing streams and tree stumps. Chen Yi didn't know where Zhou Yitang was heading, nor did he ask. He simply followed silently.

Eventually, they arrived at the entrance of a cave, where Zhou Yitang stopped.

She asked, "Are you melancholic?"

"A little. Why do you ask?" Chen Yi was puzzled.

The one-armed woman gently raised her hand. Chen Yi stepped into the cave and looked up to see the body of a Taoist monk seated in meditation, his head bowed. He'd likely passed away long ago.

Stunned, Chen Yi asked, "Who was that…?"

"A man from Penglai Island," Zhou Yitang said casually. "By rights, he should have shown up on the road to give you a divination."

Chen Yi's expression faltered as realization dawned upon him, and he narrowed his eyes before replying:

"He wished to enlighten me into becoming one with the divine."

With the melancholy residing in his heart, the monk had likely intended to guide Chen Yi through a ritual transformation—such was the favored and practiced approach of those detached from worldly matters.

"Exactly." She confirmed.

Chen Yi pieced the truth together and said, "He failed, meaning… you shielded me from many celestial revelations."

Zhou Yitang remained silent.

But at this moment, if Chen Yi didn't seize the chance to act or express himself, he would truly be a fool.

Chen Yi stepped forward and gently embraced her, whispering:

"Thank you… Zhu Yu. Truthfully, I want to do something for you, but I don't know what…"

Zhou Yitang replied calmly, "Then you owe me."

Chen Yi fell silent.

He knew he would repay his debts to this master of his, and perhaps no matter what happened in the future, their relationship would never be the same as it had been in their past lives.

After a while, Chen Yi noticed Zhou Yitang's slight frown and released her. His master rarely spoke much, but he had long learned to discern her emotions from her subtle gestures.

Leaving the cave, Chen Yi walked alongside her again, chatting casually as they journeyed forward.

Unbeknownst to them, they reached the edge of the mountain forest. Parting the leaves, they found themselves facing vast plains. Snow began to fall from the sky.

It was winter—a season for frequent snow. Flurries danced in the distant sky as the sound of military preparations echoed faintly.

Chen Yi looked into the distance, seeing the massive army moving steadily across the plains like a thin black line cutting through the land.

The Prince of Annan was indeed departing.

He wondered when they would meet again—or if they ever would.

Chen Yi hadn't anticipated that his mood would be so complicated.

Soft snowflakes drifted down as the one-armed woman beside him said:

"The Sun in the Spouse Palace is shadowed by misfortune; the marriage exists in form but lacks substance."

Chen Yi turned back, confused why she would bring this up.

"That prophecy—what do you mean?"

The Taoist nun encountered by Zhu E had been impersonated by Zhou Yitang. Chen Yi had set a small trap for Qin Qingluo, and that prophecy had been the crux of it.

Zhou Yitang continued, "That 'substance' isn't what you think."

Not what I think…

Chen Yi, initially puzzled, froze in realization.

What he assumed to be the "substance" was, of course, the child.

But if the "substance" wasn't what he thought, then what was it?

Seeing her disciple's confusion, the master finally revealed a hint of celestial truth:

"Do you remember Zhao Bai's trace of karmic bondage left within the radiance of the glazed light?"

Chen Yi snapped back to awareness: "Of course I remember."

Karmic ties come in many forms—love, anger, resentment…

But Zhou Yitang hadn't told him back then:

"That was a trace of love's entanglement."

With that, she closed her eyes.

Chen Yi stood frozen for a long time, thoughts swirling. Before he could sort them out, his body had already moved, rushing into the vast white wilderness.

Love's entanglement—people are bound by love, unable to transcend into enlightenment. As the name implies, it is a barrier created by attachment. If that trace of karmic bondage was an entanglement of love, then what about Qin Qingluo's feelings toward him…?

He suddenly remembered: when she succumbed to her inner demons, the vision she saw was of a white flower.

That would mean she… …

All of a sudden, he desperately wanted to stop her.

Perhaps ordinary people have always been averse to farewells.

A solitary figure appeared amidst the vast expanse of snow, standing in the view of the Prince of Annan's army.

The Prince of Annan, clad in heavy armor, rode atop a tall steed at the forefront of her forces. Her presence maintained the morale of the soldiers despite their retreat.

A scout galloped forward from the distance.

"Reporting to the Prince, there's someone standing ahead. Shall we drive them away?" the scout asked.

Fixing her gaze on the figure, the Prince of Annan gave no reply. Instead, she spurred her horse forward, leading ahead of the troops. Holding a sturdy bow, she drew the bowstring taut—it curved into a full crescent.

She aimed directly at the lone figure in the distance.

The figure stood motionless, at times gazing northward, at times southward, until he finally sensed…

A murderous intent rising behind him.

Chen Yi turned around, gazing once more at the towering woman on horseback, wielding a drawn bow. Armored and surrounded by the clashing sounds of gold and iron, she appeared daunting even from afar.

Chen Yi's thoughts were tangled. This towering woman, a figure of unmatched valor—she was the one carrying his child.

It truly was… the whims of fate.

Whoosh!

The arrow tore through the air.

It brushed past Chen Yi's ear, grazing the strands of his hair.

Chen Yi snapped back to reality, catching the arrow in his palm. Embedded within the tip was a silver hairpin.

The towering woman holstered her bow and spurred her horse onward. The thunderous sound of her steed filled the air as she gallantly passed Chen Yi without sparing him a glance, heading steadily toward the horizon.

The clanking of armor and shields echoed amidst the gentle snowfall, crossing roaring rivers before fading into the desolate grasslands of the earth's edge.

The man held the warning arrow tightly in his palm.

Their enmity persisted, and so there was no chance for a goodbye.

.........

.............

Amidst the vast expanse, Chen Yi stood alone, watching the army vanish from view. He lingered for a long time, his thoughts circling back to the prophecy. It wasn't until years later, when he carried his sword to the Southern Border and met her once more, that he fully understood its meaning:

The Sun in the Spouse Palace is shadowed by misfortune; the marriage exists in form but lacks substance…