My Enemy Became My Cultivation Companion

"...Those who know me say I’m troubled at heart. Those who don’t know me ask what I seek."

The young lady responded with a line, then looked at him with surprise. Her eyes shimmered like a timid doe emerging from the deep forest, with tiny dew drops reflecting in her pupils. It was as if she was seeing a different side of him for the first time.

Chen Yi raised an eyebrow slightly, pinched her waist, and said, "Do you take me for an illiterate?"

"Hmm." Lin Wanxiao couldn’t endure his wanton behavior. She tried to wriggle away but couldn’t escape, like an arm wrestling against a thigh, her struggles barely loosening his grip.

Chen Yi gently caressed her waist, reveling in the moments he could take advantage of women.

No woman could tolerate this about him, except for Zhou Yitang. Nevertheless, no one could defy him. Lin Wanxiao wanted to slip from his embrace but found it impossible, so she gave up. Her back remained upright, avoiding contact as much as possible.

It was rather ironic, sitting in a man’s embrace, yet appearing as solemn as sitting straight in a chair.

Chen Yi chuckled and held her like that. Her frame was so light and delicate as she sat on him but felt weightless, just like her frail body, unable to endure much turmoil. Of the three women that night, she was the first to succumb, breathing heavily on the bed, as frail as a little fox. Unlike young women accustomed to being concubines, Yin Tingxue, in her endearing way, would assist gently, while Lin Wanxiao lay there as if dead, breathing softly, ignoring everything else.

However, Chen Yi rather enjoyed watching her become boneless, slumped like mud from exhaustion. Such times, he would freely indulge in the pleasure.

After sitting like this for a while, Lin Wanxiao once again glanced at him and softly asked, "...You know the Classic of Poetry?"

Chen Yi replied slowly, "Indeed, a bit."

He wasn’t entirely literary illiterate, but compared to the average literati and the likes of the Twin Yin Lords, his literary knowledge was rather limited. But he had read the Classic of Poetry; otherwise, how would he have sung Vines of Longing to Zhou Yitang back then?

"What’s the matter?" Chen Yi asked, his fingertip tracing light circles on her waist.

He thought she might continue the conversation, perhaps curious about his sudden literary reference or timidly asking a question, easing the tension in their relationship. Unexpectedly, Lin Wanxiao hesitated, then turned away in silent gloom, leaving him with a slightly flushed ear and a tense line of neck.

Her deliberate avoidance was like a tiny thorn, pricking his limited patience. He was quite displeased with her lack of cooperation.

If the gentle approach won’t work, then she’ll have to take a firmer one.

He chuckled softly, and instead of releasing her, he tightened his arms around her, lowering his head close to her ear, teasingly reciting slowly:

"The quiet lady is lovely, she waits for me at the city corner. Loving but unseen, scratching and hesitating..."

It was the "Quiet Lady" from the Classic of Poetry·Bei Wind. Lin Wanxiao could recognize it, but coming from his mouth, the poem, originally about a secret meeting between lovers, took on an entirely different meaning.

As he intoned the poem, his hands began to mischievously wander.

When he recited "The quiet lady is lovely," his hands gave her bottom a playful squeeze.

Lin Wanxiao shuddered in shock, eyes widening in disbelief as she struggled to escape, but he held her firmly.

When he said "she waits for me at the city corner," his fingers pressed insistently into her sensitive waist.

She couldn’t help but let out a short whimper from her throat, a shameful desperation building. Her struggling intensified, yet it was like a moth caught in a spider web, futile.

Reciting "Loving but unseen, scratching and hesitating," his hands boldly cupped her arms wrapped around her chest, squeezing that tender softness through her clothing.

"Ah!" Lin Wanxiao finally couldn’t hold back, crying out in a mix of surprise and shame, feeling aggrieved, struggling vigorously in his embrace like a fish forced out of water.

But his arms were like iron pincers, and the more she struggled, the less she could break free. Her movements only increased the friction between their bodies, making it easier for his hands to roam.

Tears welled up in her eyes from rage, but she stubbornly bit her lip, refusing to let them fall. Her tearful, embarrassed, yet powerless appearance only stirred Chen Yi’s malicious streak.

He slowly finished reciting "Quiet Lady," having taken advantage sufficiently, watching as she finally collapsed in his embrace, only soft, stifled gasps escaping, her body trembling as if drained of all strength.

Chen Yi felt satisfied, believing he had taught her a good lesson, and finally released his hold, letting her off his lap.

As soon as Lin Wanxiao’s feet touched the ground, her legs were still weak, stumbling before she could stand steady.

She immediately stepped back several paces, pulling away, gripping her bodice tightly with both hands, head bowed, not daring to look at him, her ears flushed a deep red, the little widow looking both pitiful and ashamed.

Chen Yi watched her awkwardness with growing amusement, as if all his earlier discontent had vanished into smoke, he adjusted his slightly wrinkled sleeves with an air of leisure, as if his forcible teasing was entirely justified,