My Enemy Became My Cultivation Companion

Before ascending the mountain, Chen Yi had not expected Qin Qingluo to place such importance on the matter.

Now, she stood atop the viewing platform, her gaze sweeping over the crowd. Chen Yi could only respond with a faint smile.

Qin Qingluo stared at him for a moment, then impassively shifted her gaze elsewhere, her commanding presence still dominating the venue.

Chen Yi did not meet her eyes either; his gaze returned to the front, where he saw a soldier approaching.

"This way, please. Colonel Hu is still preparing."

The soldier said this and shortly after led the three of them to a corner. It was a semi-open tent equipped with chairs, tables, and an array of weapons along with sharpening stones, even tea.

Across from it, in the distance, stood a similar tent, occupied entirely by uniformed soldiers.

In front of the gathered soldiers stood a particularly robust man with a horseshoe mustache, clad in a green robe, seated on a bench. His face showed no malice as his eyes remained lowered, calmly sharpening his gleaming blade on a whetstone.

"Would you look at that, sharpening a blade like some delicate woman. Hu Dog, read a couple of books and now you think you're a scholar?" The man addressed as "Hu Dog" received a heavy slap on the shoulder.

"I reckon Hu Dog would be better off singing opera," a soldier mocked.

"Shave that beard off, and when you're beaten tomorrow, we'll sell you off to a brothel." With those words, the soldiers burst into laughter.

Hu Dog simply chuckled without responding.

At that moment, another soldier stepped forward and said, "Enough of this nonsense. Let Brother Hu focus and keep his composure."

"Come to think of it, why did that old fellow bring others along?"

A tall, skinny soldier craned his neck, eyeing Chen Yi and his group suspiciously.

"Could it be they're counting on numbers to stir up trouble?"

"If numbers matter, we're the ones with the advantage. Frankly, they look more like government officers from the capital."

The soldiers eyed Chen Yi and Min Ning warily. On such a sensitive day, their sudden presence on this territory naturally raised vigilance.

Chen Yi casually glanced at Hu Youxing, the man the soldiers called Hu Dog, who was sharpening his blade. After just a fleeting look, he turned his attention back to the viewing platform above.

Qin Qingluo was no longer looking his way.

Over the span of one cup of tea, Li Wenhu, having finished sharpening his spear, stood up. After a brief moment of thought, he reached over to the weapon rack and grabbed another spear.

The twilight exposed a corner of the vast horizon.

From afar, soldiers were already approaching, calling him to the field.

"Housekeeping is my own business."

Li Wenhu held his spear in both hands, glancing back at Chen Yi and Min Ning before continuing:

"Settling old grudges in the Jianghu stays within the confines of this duel. It doesn't involve you two. If the tide turns unfavorable, leave immediately."

After finishing, Li Wenhu stroked his meticulously groomed white beard, remaining silent for a long while before walking away at a measured pace.

The elder held the spear by its shaft, balancing it upright in the air without the slightest tremor.

His hands were rough and calloused, particularly on the fingertips of his middle fingers—evidence of at least thirty years of spear training.

Li Wenhu carried his spear as he ascended the martial stage of the military grounds.

The soldiers watching from afar relaxed slightly upon seeing Li Wenhu fight alone, but they didn't hold back scornful remarks.

"That old relic?"

"I thought we'd see someone significant. This old geezer probably can't even overpower a brothel girl."

"What a showy get-up. After Hu Dog cripples him, we can pawn him off as an opera singer."

Hu Youxing remained silent, offering only a faint smile before picking up his blade and heading forward.

As he approached, Li Wenhu glanced coldly at the disciple who had betrayed his martial lineage and scoffed:

"Spent time in the Southern Border and picked up a few tricks, I see?"

Hu Youxing frowned as he saw Li Wenhu carrying two spears and retorted:

"I don't use a spear anymore."

Li Wenhu, noticing the blade he had been sharpening, remarked:

"You've barely practiced blade work, yet dare dismiss the spear as inferior?"

"It's your spear that's inferior." Hu Youxing slowly stood up and raised a hand to silence his rowdy comrades.

"Such a glib tongue."

Li Wenhu dropped one of the spears, gripping the remaining spear with both hands.

"Such a fine blade."

Hu Youxing gripped the Willow Leaf Saber with a single hand.

From Li Wenhu's earlier remarks, Chen Yi had vaguely discerned why Hu Youxing had abandoned the spear. He had honed superior blade techniques after leaving for the Southern Border, casting aside the spear to transition to the saber. This duel was meant not only to kill the elder before him but to tear down his martial philosophy altogether.

Li Wenhu advanced with his spear, glaring at Hu Youxing, and announced, "Danyang Tiger-Slaying Spear, Li Wenhu."

Hu Youxing stepped forward, raising the Willow Leaf Saber, his gaze steely. "Zhushan Zheng Family Saber, Hu Youxing."

Both announced their martial lineages as is tradition in duels.

The moment these words fell,

Li Wenhu stepped forward and thrust his spear; the piercing wind of the strike was sharp and unyielding.

Hu Youxing, his toes lightly tapping the ground, raised his saber slightly to counter the thrust. Li Wenhu swiftly pulled back his arm with great strength, spinning the spear to switch from a thrust to a slash, causing the Willow Leaf Saber to risk being flung aside.

In that instant, Hu Youxing twisted his body, charging forward. His Willow Leaf Saber deftly evaded the slash. The elder made a sound of surprise before his spear moved with precision, shadowing Hu Youxing closely. Its wild momentum was fearsome, though every strike—be it thrusts, slashes, or chops—missed the mark.

No matter how the elder aimed his long spear, he couldn't catch the movements of the saber.

Hu Youxing attempted to exploit his footwork to close the distance and strike, while the elder adjusted by retreating and drawing back the spear. He remained in control, and when an opening presented itself, he unleashed a thunderous strike that echoed across the platform, eliciting audible gasps from the crowd.

Hu Youxing had no choice but to evade.

Locked in a stalemate, the two retreated simultaneously, pulling back a few meters.

"Impressive saber technique, but it's a mishmash," Li Wenhu observed.

Hu Youxing declined to respond.

"Still not perfected," Li Wenhu added with a chuckle.

The nearby soldiers who overheard this erupted into boos that rolled through the crowd like waves. More heckling followed.

Meanwhile, on the viewing platform, Prince of Annan's gaze carried a trace of gravity.

On the surface, the two seemed evenly matched moments ago, but the elder had relied on the length of his spear, preventing Hu Youxing from landing a single effective blow. Though Hu Youxing's saber was supported by excellent footwork, it still succumbed to the logic that "an inch longer is an inch stronger."

Hu Youxing closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He reestablished his stance, his footwork now as intricate as a drifting serpent, wielding his saber in an elegant advance.

Li Wenhu drew a mighty breath, his chest swelling with inner strength accumulated over forty years of spear practice.

"Let me teach you something new."

Li Wenhu moved his foot forward, advancing rapidly before stopping abruptly and jerking his spear downward. His veins bulged as he drove the spear into the ground with savage force, splitting the earth half a foot deep—a domineering display of power.

"Fists fear the reckless youth; staves fear the seasoned elder."

Yet, staff fighting has always ranked below spear techniques.

The spear, swift as an arrow, locked tightly onto Hu Youxing's shifting steps. Hu Youxing raised his saber to block.

Bam!

The collision of saber and spear rang out deafeningly, temporarily silencing even the audience's clamor. The force reverberating from the impact was unimaginable.

But Hu Youxing gripped the saber handle firmly despite his palm splitting open and bleeding; he uttered not a sound.

He quickly switched the saber to his other hand, relentlessly closing the distance, his saber energy reaching an unstoppable momentum.

The elder sneered, whipping the spear's shaft across his opponent's waist.

Hu Youxing spat a mouthful of blood as his Willow Leaf Saber fell to the ground. His body bent unnaturally, yet he remained stubbornly upright despite the excruciating pain.

The soldiers in the nearby tent found their hearts leaping to their throats. Having witnessed Hu Youxing's martial prowess firsthand, they couldn't have foreseen him ending up so pitifully—executing merely one saber strike before being forcibly interrupted.

"Pick up the spear and seek vengeance."

As the dusk deepened, Li Wenhu quietly uttered another line:

"Kill me with the spear I taught you."

Hu Youxing regained his composure, his gaze furious.

After a long pause, he finally let go of some internal restraint, decisively picking up the elder's spear lying on the ground.

"The master teaches the student," Li Wenhu said, lifting his spear once more.

Hu Youxing spat out congealed blood, saying, "Come!"

Li Wenhu thrust forward, his posture straight and imposing, as his spear shot forth.

Since learning that Li Wenhu was responsible for the death of his parents, Hu Youxing had harbored an intense loathing for spears. After joining the Southern Border, he had deliberately abandoned its use.

But now, as he picked it up again, it showed no signs of foreignness. Perhaps he was born to wield the spear, as though he had forgotten it, but the spear had never forgotten him.

He let out a self-deprecating laugh, leaping to the side as he swung the spear in a sweeping arc, striking the middle of Li Wenhu's spear with precision. The elder's grip trembled as he tightly held onto his spear, halting its vibrations; however, his movement momentarily stagnated as a result.

Hu Youxing rotated his arm, sending his spear arching outward, the tip slipping below the elder's weapon for a fierce upward flick.

The elder's spear was lifted. Forced to retract his weapon, he narrowly avoided Hu Youxing's next stab.

Li Wenhu seized the opportunity to swing his spear in a crescent-moon arc, smashing forward with a rush of explosive sound.

Hu Youxing raised his weapon to block it. Amid the reverberating impact, his previously injured palm split open once more, dripping with blood. His nerves went numb, but he ignored the agony.

The dusk settled into the endless row of military tents. In that brief moment, Hu Youxing's mind wandered, reunited with the familiarity of the spear. His movements seemed synchronized with it—both inseparable, his thoughts aligned wholly with the motions of the weapon. He pondered why Li Wenhu claimed his saber technique was unrefined.

The answer lay in his refusal to truly abandon spear techniques while using the blade.

Now, Li Wenhu retracted his weapon again, pausing before flicking his spear.

In the dimming twilight, no mist shrouded the horizon. Observing the elder's strike, Hu Youxing intuitively raised his weapon. The elder had often praised him as a prodigy of the spear, far outstripping average users, and imparted the principle that "skill gives way to strength; an inch longer is an inch stronger."

The realization dawned on Hu Youxing—the ability to counter the spear lay solely in wielding another spear.

Hu Youxing decisively abandoned the blade and fully reinstated his connection to the spear.

In nearly simultaneous motion, both combatants flicked their spears.

Each spear clashed with explosive force, resounding across the field.

Both weapons shattered simultaneously. Hu Youxing's arm, numb and paralyzed from the earlier shock, broke on impact, severed to the ground.

His shattered spear lay just three inches from the elder's chest—an agonizingly small margin.

Hu Youxing coughed out streams of blood, his face twisted in a bitter smile.

Meanwhile, the elder, impassive and expressionless, withdrew his broken weapon, having pierced the chest of the True Disciple in their final exchange.

"Thank you for your teachings today," Hu Youxing murmured, his last breaths faint.

"You failed to surpass me," Li Wenhu replied, unceremoniously pulling out his weapon.

Hu Youxing's life faded away.

Thus, the Hu family father and son both perished at the hands of Li Wenhu's spear.

Li Wenhu stooped to retrieve his broken spear. Without the slightest hesitation, he turned and descended the stage, his lone silhouette somber and forlorn.

From afar, an officer approached, carrying hot wine.

Before the gathered audience, Li Wenhu accepted the cup with both hands, downing the scalding liquid in one gulp. Displaying the empty cup to the crowd, his gaunt frame stood tall as he declared:

"I, Li Wenhu, have failed as a teacher, resulting in this tragic betrayal between master and disciple. I am unworthy of taking on students again. Jianghu bears witness, and Heaven and Earth see all.

I, Li Wenhu, hereby announce that the Danyang Tiger-Slaying Spear will end here and now!"

As twilight descended, the elder's voice rasped and resounded.

With a resounding crash, the wine cup shattered against the ground, marking the end of an entire martial lineage.