My Enemy Became My Cultivation Companion

Qin Qingluo closed her eyes and rested on the hillside.

The mountain ridges were shrouded in mist. She had removed her heavy armor and was now wearing a simple deep green garment, its muted hue blending into the night, making her appear as if she were part of the mountainous landscape. She raised her hands slowly and spread them apart, mimicking the posture of holding a gun, adopting an ancient and timeless gun stance.

For an instant, she seemed to touch upon the gun intent of old. Though her hands wielded no weapon, her heart carried the gun. Her steps lightly shifted—the motion began, then completed. The infinite variations of gun technique ultimately stem from the circle; its advances and retreats carried precision and purpose. The emergence of the gun intent was profound, sweeping in like the mighty force of taming dragons and subduing tigers.

The visage of a red-clad woman came unbidden to her mind, and she suddenly shuddered, a fleeting pain piercing her consciousness.

Qin Qingluo's face turned pale as the gun stance dissipated. She remained still for a long time before exhaling heavily.

She withdrew her stance and looked down at her empty palms, lost in thought.

In the previous generation, the gun master Zhu Diji reached the divine realm of gun technique, claiming that with neither weapon in hand nor gun in heart, his mastery transcended form. In his later years, during a duel with the Bodhisattva Sword, the two were evenly matched for the first thirty moves—a testament to the unparalleled perfection of his gun technique. Qin Qingluo had once seen a scroll depicting Zhu Diji's peak performance with the gun: a single stroke that radiated like the setting sun sinking behind the blue mountains, an awe-striking display of majesty and might.

Qin Qingluo's eyes were downcast, revealing no emotion on her face.

Having inherited the true essence of the Zhu family's gun technique, she had once been confident that forty years of practice would lead her to reach this divine realm. Qingluo, Qingluo—the successor surpassing the predecessor—in that small world, when she first comprehended martial intent, she had been unwavering in her belief.

But later…

Qin Qingluo's fingers began to tremble uncontrollably. After a long moment, she lowered her hands, clasping them behind her back, and said quietly to herself:

"There's still time…"

Time to regain her martial intent, time to refine it anew…

Once martial intent collapses, reigniting it is easier said than done. In the Jianghu, countless names and reputations have faded like fish crossing the river, all due to the loss of martial intent. Despite prior persistence, they could never return to their original state of mind. The reason? Many pride themselves on being able to endure defeat, yet, truthfully, they cannot.

But if she truly could not bear loss, how would she have survived to this day?

In that unspoken battle of martial intent and inner resolve, she had failed. Failure was failure. As long as she did not perish, there would always be a day to rebuild.

And she still had plenty of time…

For now, she only needed to handle the final preparations before returning to the Southern Border.

Once she arrived at the Southern Border, everything would become a thing of the past. Without Chen Yi's provocations, she could gradually forget him. In such a case, reigniting her martial intent would merely be a matter of time. Previously, she had mentioned to Zhu E that she kept her distance from Chen Yi out of respect, and this was precisely the reason.

Qin Qingluo gazed into the distance. Gradually, her inner state aligned into steadiness once more.

So steady, in fact, that she momentarily forgot the hairpin he had left behind, still nestled between the folds of her hair ornament.

In the distant mountain range blanketed with snow, a rooster crowed, and a pale light emerged on the horizon.

"Snow weighs upon the green mountains, illuminating the southern skies."

......…

Jinya Pavilion.

After noon, an entirely jet-black carriage arrived slowly and halted outside Jinya Pavilion.

Yesterday, Jinya Pavilion hosted a group of Taoists. Although these Taoists were not scholars or poets, they were far more troublesome to manage—their pursuit of peace and quiet had created difficulties for the servants and maids. Despite Jinya Pavilion's reputation for elegance, it was ultimately a place of leisure, and its artificial mountains and stones could hardly compare to real ones. To create a tranquil environment for the Taoists, significant efforts had been made.

Even the gatekeepers and guards were exhausted, yawning incessantly, failing to notice that two figures had already stepped out of the carriage and entered Jinya Pavilion.

Inside, the gardens were picturesque. Zhu E looked around with curiosity. Though not as grand as the mansion of the Southern Border Prince, the scenery was distinctive in its own right. What's more, Southern Border's mists made its flowers vividly vibrant, yet lacked the refined grace of Jiangnan.

Qin Qingluo walked through the gardens, focusing solely on the road ahead, without glancing sideways.

The two had already altered their appearances and moved unhurriedly, as if taking in the sights. Along the way, a maid approached them, and Qin Qingluo instructed her to request an audience with Mr. Li Jisheng, adding that they should not be disturbed otherwise.

"Dressed as we are, do you think Li Jisheng will truly meet us?" Zhu E plucked a maple leaf from a branch, asking curiously.

They had not come as the Southern Border Prince and Princess but in the capacity of emissaries from the Prince's court.

Qin Qingluo answered softly, "Let's see if he dares."

Coming disguised as emissaries was a form of probing—to ascertain whether Li Jisheng truly intended to cooperate. If he agreed to meet mere emissaries, it would prove his sincerity. If he refused, then even presenting herself as the Prince might incur rejection.

After mulling it over, Zhu E grasped the underlying meaning. She chuckled and complimented Qin Qingluo, who responded with just the faintest curl of her lips, showing little outward reaction.

This stoicism was rare in the past.

Qin Qingluo herself realized as much, but though there were words she could say, she suddenly found herself unwilling to say them.

To her, Zhu E remained deeply important—the person she cared about most in her heart. It was precisely because of this bond that cracks had formed between them.

The red-clad woman seemed both guilty and eager to smooth things over. She touched the hairpin tangled within her locks and spoke hesitantly:

"Aunt Zhu, some of the things I said yesterday… Perhaps I shouldn't have said them, but they needed to be said."

Qin Qingluo's expression grew somber. Seeing someone approaching in the distance, she composed herself slightly and frowned lightly:

"Enough. Let's talk about this next time."

Zhu E closed her mouth, her brows drooping, unable to conceal her disappointment.

Qin Qingluo noticed this and felt faint ripples of unease stirring within her Heart Lake. After some hesitation, she said softly:

"Aunt Zhu, from childhood, you have always been the one to treat me best. My mother ignored me, and only you cared for me. Whatever was good, you would always give to me... In recent days, I have often regretted and wondered: if I hadn't come to the capital city, would you still be that person—the one who treated me best?"

"But life offers no medicine for regret. What's done is done. Let us take each day as it comes."

"This is all… for your sake, for the sake of the mansion…" Zhu E's words faltered, losing their strength.

Qin Qingluo fell silent in her contemplation.

After a long pause, her expression settled into neutrality, revealing neither joy nor sorrow:

"It is not that the Prince of Annan refuses to confront him, but that Qin Qingluo refuses. If not for you, he would have long perished by my hand."

These words silenced Zhu E.

Whether in that small world or on the army's battlefield, Qin Qingluo had numerous opportunities to end that man's life.

The princely figure, Qin Qingluo, might dream night and day of erasing him from existence.

To her, death that preserved honor was never an option—not even after a loss of virtue or reputation. No matter the extent of betrayal and isolation, she was destined to survive—to do whatever was necessary to walk into the shining halls of the imperial palace, fulfilling the uninterrupted hereditary legacy of the Southern Border Prince.

Qin Qingluo understood the rationale behind Zhu E's words, acknowledging the shared benefits for the mansion. But she still rejected that reasoning—because she did not want to see him again, not as the Prince of Annan, but as Qin Qingluo, who could no longer bear to face that man.

Qin Qingluo's martial intent was hers and hers alone; it did not belong to the Prince of Annan.

Having said this, Qin Qingluo turned away, only to encounter a maid who softly announced that Mr. Li was willing to see her and led her toward the seven-tiered pavilion.

Zhu E did not join her. Left standing alone amidst the exquisite garden, chilled by the biting wind, she gazed at the tall figure retreating before her. The golden hairpin shimmered and swayed—sharp to the eye, piercing to the heart.

Inner turmoil engulfed her as her gaze fell, unable to even voice a sigh.

Neither woman knew that a figure had arrived outside Jinya Pavilion—a man bearing a sword and carrying a blade. Having just dismounted from his horse, dressed in austere official robes, he had come to Jinya Pavilion to seek out certain information.

It was he who had once rendered Qin Qingluo desperate to live yet unable to die, creating a rift between these two relatives who cherished one another deeply.