My Enemy Became My Cultivation Companion

After listening to Zhou Yitang's remarks and thinking carefully, Yin Tingxue unexpectedly realized that the times she feared him most were often in the bedroom. At those moments, he showed no mercy, mercilessly tormenting her to the point where her entire body was sore and limp, leaving her humiliated and in pain.

Even though he never hurt her physically, the fear remained.

But the moments she least feared him were not in the bedroom. At Yintai Temple, outside, or in other places, during those times... he was always kind, almost motherly.

Yin Tingxue was lost in thought and murmured softly to herself:

"I deeply fear him as my husband, but as a motherly figure... I do not."

Zhou Yitang acted as if she hadn't heard.

The two women sat in the main hall, quietly watching the rain fall and sipping tea.

At a corner of the courtyard wall, a simple, elegant white oil-paper umbrella moved through the winter drizzle. A slender figure dressed in pale white robes drifted forward like a melody; the Taichua Goddess walked through the rain-soaked alleyway, her poise radiating the aura of a Divine Consort Fairy.

With practiced grace, she stepped over the threshold while still holding her umbrella. From a distance, she spotted the two women in the hall, and Yin Tingxue also noticed her, calling out, "Sister Weiyang." The other woman seemed to remember something at that moment, her face alternating between red and white, taking on a touch of human emotion.

Yin Weiyin approached with light, delicate steps, bowing respectfully from a distance toward Zhou Yitang. Then, she gave a gentle smile to Yin Tingxue, looking as if she'd come for a casual lecture on Daoist principles. But Tingxue knew that Sister Weiyang had chosen to visit today solely because it was her rest day.

As the year drew to a close, rest days were becoming more frequent.

Yin Tingxue pulled out a chair for her and poured some tea before bringing it over.

"Sister Weiyang, you've arrived?"

"...Mm, it's my rest day."

"He's not back yet."

"Then I'll wait."

The white-robed female crown took the teacup in her hands and sipped slowly. The bitter taste of the tea glided over her tongue. She turned slightly to gaze out at the rain curtain, her autumn-water eyes half-lowered. The rain drizzled down steadily from the eaves. She hadn't broken her promise today and had braved the rain to come, yet he was not here. No matter—she couldn't leave just yet. She had to wait a little longer.

Inside the hall, a quiet stillness hung in the air. The floor was damp, forming a thin layer of moisture. Yin Weiyin felt a sense of awkward discomfort. The atmosphere was peculiar. If Chen Yi were here, things would have been different. As the saying goes, "Three women make a play," but apparently, that wasn't always true. In this courtyard, there was no play to perform at all.

Without one to direct it, how could the play be sung? Apart from "him," who else could be blamed?

In this flourishing Capital City, men of means often had three wives and four concubines. The Prince Mansion of Jing was no exception. The Jing Prince had one main consort and two secondary consorts. Yin Weiyin had met these women before, seen them gather. Which one of them wasn't all smiles, chatting about family matters? Even when their youthful beauty had faded and age left its mark, they still addressed each other as sisters and got along harmoniously.

In many households in the Capital City, even if such harmony in the inner court was absent, there would still be rivalries, jealous clashes, noisy quarrels. Yet, in this courtyard of Chen Yi, there was no usual harmony. Instead, an inexplicable awkwardness lingered.

By all accounts, the three women here could all be considered Chen Yi's women, yet when they gathered, there was no drama to be fought.

It was said men loved watching women quarrel and fight, but here in this hall, that seemed unlikely. No one seemed to care who was more favored, nor did they care whom Chen Yi liked most. There weren't even family trivialities to bring up, and any minor concerns weren't worth mentioning.

As Yin Weiyin sipped her tea, her thoughts turned inward. Chen Yi often thought she was oblivious. But that wasn't entirely true. When it came to others' affairs, she was far from clueless. Among the three women in this courtyard, the one most devoted to Chen Yi was Master Tongxuan. If Min Ning were present, perhaps there'd be some reaction. But right now, in this hall, they were but her and Yin Tingxue. She, who had followed this distant cousin to become a concubine in this mansion, had always been reluctant to accept it.

The hall remained silent. Though there wasn't much to be said, they never clashed. Yin Weiyin admired the rain, her thoughts wandering. At that moment, the princess of Xiang added more tea to her cup. After softly thanking her, Yin Weiyin caught, from the corner of her eye, a glimmer on Tingxue's hairpin.

That seemed to be evidence of Chen Yi's fondness for her.

Her once-scattered thoughts suddenly sank like a dark stone in her heart. Her chest felt stifled, as if something was trapped inside, and her gaze grew increasingly complex.

She did not want her Daoist cultivation to be taken.

But Chen Yi had said that Yin Tingxue could be, but she could not...

Why?

The grievances in Yin Weiyin's heart built up like clinging shadows of discontent. At last, she broke the silence and called softly, "Tingxue."

"Hmm?"

"...How did you make him like you?" Yin Weiyin, with no outsiders present, asked directly.

The princess of Xiang heard her words and curved her lips into a faint smile tinged with bitterness.

"I don't know."

How did she make him like her? She didn't know either. It was hardly a pleasant memory. She only remembered the night she was married off. He agreed to almost nothing she asked. She begged him not to hurt her, but that night was filled only with sorrow and humiliation. In the end, there had been no answers. When she woke, he simply said he actually liked her very much.

Yin Weiyin fell silent for a long time before saying, "I don't want him to take my Daoist cultivation. Do you… understand?"

She could hear the frustration in her voice. Tingxue also knew that Chen Yi must have seen this as well. But the girl herself was like a clay Bodhisattva crossing a river—she couldn't help anyone, not even herself. And Chen Yi... he never yielded to anyone easily.

The female crown lowered her delicate head. She had been holding the teacup with one hand, but now she cradled it with both. She seemed lost, murmuring faintly to herself, "What must I do to make him love me?"

Her expression was the picture of a woman longing for love but forever unattainable.

Yet she knew she had never loved, nor had she ever been loved. She understood that herself, and Yin Tingxue could hear it clearly too.

Chen Yi had never truly opened his heart to this "oblivious" woman, and she would never reciprocate full affection in return.