My Enemy Became My Cultivation Companion

The morning light is hazy, like a thin veil seeping through the intricately carved wooden window, quietly permeating the bridal chamber filled with rich fragrances.

The light casts a vague beam in the air drenched with indolence and flirtation, with fine dust particles floating leisurely within.

The air is so thick it almost congeals, carrying mostly the scent of sweat and passion, where three distinct feminine scents have mingled and intertwined, becoming inseparable.

On the spacious wedding bed, the scene is breathtaking.

Qin Qingluo sleeps on the outermost side; even in deep sleep, her tall and athletic figure exudes an undeniable majesty. She lies flat with her ink-black hair spread across the pillow, a few strands sticking to her sweat-dampened neck and forehead. The normally sharp and cold snake-like eyes are tightly shut, her sword-like brows slightly furrowed, and long eyelashes casting a gentle shadow, softening her fierce valiance.

The brocade only covers her up to the waist, revealing the smooth lines and well-defined muscles of her back and shoulders. Several darkening finger marks and ambiguous red marks stand out on her sleek, rounded skin, silently telling of the disarray after conquest.

One of her arms even extends beyond the bed, fingers slightly curled, as if still trying to grasp something in her sleep or perhaps pushing something away. Even in slumber, the tight line of her lips betrays a hint of unwillingness and a persistent weariness.

Chen Yi is deeply ensnared in this gentle tomb, his cheek buried in Qingluo’s tresses like a waterfall, breathing heavily—one hand tightly gripping the Princess’s waist, while the other crosses the boundary to rest on Min Ning’s hipbone.

Min Ning turns her back to him, her slender spine taut as a fully drawn bow. The bedding slightly parted, revealing the bony scapula, trembling subtly in the morning light. Her fingertips sink deeply into the quilt, knuckles white, seemingly resisting the absurdity her body experiences even in dreams.

In the innermost part lies Lin Wanxiao, curled into a ball, with soft whimpers occasionally escaping her lips, the long lashes wet and stuck together.

On the floor, the scene is even more chaotic. The crimson wedding dress, the torn Python Robe, a man’s outerwear, and undergarments belonging to no one in particular, tangled haphazardly and scattered, mingling with the overturned wine jug and rolling cups.

A shaft of morning sunlight climbs over Chen Yi’s eyelids, causing him discomfort as he shifts slightly, instinctively tightening the arm wrapped around Qingluo. This slight movement disturbs the person in his arms, causing Qingluo to frown in her dreams and let out a light, tired hum.

The Prince slowly opens his eyes, glancing sideways; the famed courtesan hasn’t left without a word.

It might be the morning lethargy, but Qin Qingluo appears slightly lost, unable to help but wonder if she has underestimated Chen Yi. Her thoughts drift like mayflies, not yet settling, when she becomes aware of pressure on her chest.

The man sleeps soundly, his face contented, yet his hand remains softly resting on her abundance, as if unaware of hunger or thirst like an infant.

"Ha." Qin Qingluo lets out a cold chuckle, full of weariness.

The room is silent; the breathing of four intertwines deeply and shallowly, gently rising and falling in the dim morning light.

The candle tears have long since burned out, solidified on the gilt candle holder like those uncontrollable passions of last night, occasionally returning to silence.

Qin Qingluo remains lying flat, letting pressure gradually build on her chest, rising and falling steadily as if being careful not to wake anyone else. Her eyes slightly closed, exhaling lightly, countless contemplations fill her mind.

Even knowing he will inevitably leave someday, the unresolvable melancholy has somewhat eased, having experienced tonight. Even after separation, there will be an attachment deep within her heart. The absurdity of last night carries such reflections within. She knows well how a person can easily change their mind when overly affectionate—since she remembered, her father had been thus, becoming senile with age, failing to maintain control over the Nanjiang Royal Mansion, growing weaker in his twilight years, indulging excessively. Unable to uphold the ancestors’ established legacy, he died unremarked, and upon his death, Nanjiang fell into chaos.

Three months after the burial, he was posthumously named "the reckless," thus becoming the Prince of Annan.

From disorder within and without, called reckless; indulging in pleasure and neglecting governance, called reckless; chaotic judgment and conduct, called reckless; indulging in pleasure without return, called reckless; mocking the Five Constants, called reckless.

Then her mother supported her to rise, with Aunt Zhu assisting on the side, spending countless efforts, plotting step by step, risking multiple dangers before finally quelling Nanjiang and governing it methodically, yet it has only been nearly ten years.

Lessons from past mistakes serve as future guidance. As a vassal king of one place, Qin Qingluo does not wish to become the weak and indulgent Prince of Annan. As a woman, she does not want to be the cold and extreme mother.

Therefore, ever since Chen Yi entered the mansion, she had early made plans. Regardless of how considerate and obedient or rebellious and unruly this person may be, she would neither leave him unattended nor form a deep emotional bond.

"Mm... hiss."

The sudden sensation of squeezing at her chest makes Qin Qingluo slightly glance sideways; her concubine seems to be gradually waking too.

Chen Yi slowly opens his eyes, his gaze fuzzy as it sweeps over the absurd yet alluring scene.

His eyes skim over Qin Qingluo’s body, Min Ning’s tense back, and finally over the frail Lin Wanxiao as thin as paper.

Memories flood back like tides into his mind.

Last night...

The candlelight flickered, illuminating three forms, each with its unique allure.

Qin Qingluo’s assertiveness and control, Min Ning’s half-hearted resistance and eventual surrender, and Lin Wanxiao’s timid entrance afterward—unable to resist, guided into a naive compliance...

"Permit my greed..."

He remembers the whispered repetition in her ear and also recalls Qin Qingluo’s final weary and cold, yet seemingly approving, "Enter."

Everything was dreamlike and illusory.

At this moment, the wind ceases, and rain stops.

Only the tranquil morning light, intertwining breaths.

Chen Yi takes a gentle breath, the triple scents filling his lungs, bringing an indescribable fullness, yet faintly tinged with guilty contentment.