My Enemy Became My Cultivation Companion
Chapter 135 - 115: Death and Resurrection

Chapter 135: Chapter 115: Death and Resurrection

She couldn’t bring the sword down.

Even though Chen Yi’s self-attachment had been shattered,

even though an indescribable sense of regret surged through her heart, she still couldn’t bring the sword down.

She clearly ought to bring it down. She had shattered Chen Yi’s self-attachment—he would no longer be tied to her!

She should bring it down; doing so would grant a new beginning instead of a state of stagnation.

But stubborn people always have a fatal flaw. When he hugged her, her sword dropped to the ground.

The one-armed woman cried silently and bitterly. She clearly knew that if she brought the sword down, she could have him, yet still she couldn’t do it.

The Ruoque Sword lying on the ground let out a piercing, resonant cry.

"Shut up!"

Zhou Yitang spat out.

The Ruoque Sword continued to hum, as if urging her, as if roaring, demanding that she sever Chen Yi’s three corpses.

Chen Yi’s gaze was vacant, yet he still gently embraced her.

In the blink of an eye, Zhou Yitang turned slightly, her consciousness stirring. The pure white blade of the Ruoque Sword flew into her hand.

The Ruoque Sword buzzed faintly, as if joyful, but then suddenly let out a sharp, mournful wail.

The one-armed woman pinched the blade with her fingers.

Her expression, once complex and obscure, now carried an unprecedented clarity in her gaze.

The blade trembled.

What she was about to do was wrong. She shouldn’t do it. She should grip the hilt and sever Chen Yi’s three corpses, not clutch the blade itself.

It bore a divine destiny, the sword opening the heavenly gate. Even if it didn’t incur the immense backlash of the Heavenly Dao, it was still her ultimate Magic Sword, crucial to her path of eternal life...

Zhou Yitang slightly lowered her eyes, her tear-streaked face dry,

"If I cannot sever his three corpses, then I must sever this thought."

The sword of a thousand blades in the Sword Tomb, already embodying the true essence of "Absolute Completion, Thought Attuned to True Mysticism," now let out its final cry—a thousand words condensed into one lament—at the moment Zhou Yitang pinched its blade.

A loud crash.

A crack appeared, followed by the sharp sound of shattering. The Ruoque Sword instantly broke apart, like the toll of a funeral bell echoing through the underground palace.

The two fragmented halves of the Ruoque Sword fell to the ground. Blood seeped from the corner of the one-armed woman’s mouth, her body suddenly losing all strength, her feet staggering, and she collapsed into Chen Yi’s unwavering embrace.

She closed her eyes as her heart tightened, a suffocating breath she could never seem to release. Her thoughts grew increasingly uncertain; she could no longer have him.

Through tear-filled eyes, she lowered her gaze, resembling an incarnation from a past life who had once stood trembling atop a mountain peak, whispering softly:

"Night of winter, day of summer..."

.........

Chen Yi sank into an endless darkness.

It resembled the World of Ignorance as described in Buddhist teachings—a realm where all was scattered, and darkness thickened like water.

His soul floated atop the surface like a lone skiff, unsure of where it would drift.

Suddenly, two hands reached gently into the abyssal waters, slowly lifting him up.

"Yi’er."

Chen Yi heard the tender voice.

Turning his face, he saw Tushan Clan. She no longer bore the appearance of An Hou but instead her own visage—neither strikingly beautiful nor plain—just quietly gazing at him.

The Tushan Clan cradled his soul, drawing it into her embrace, swaying him gently as though soothing an infant.

Chen Yi wanted to open his mouth, yet he couldn’t think of what to call her. At this moment, he truly resembled a newborn, only able to babble incoherently, incapable of figuring out what to say...

He grew anxious!

Thus, he began bawling with abandon.

"Don’t cry, don’t cry..."

The Tushan Clan held him close,

"It’s mother, mother, mother."

"...Mother."

"Yes, yes, it’s mother!"

The Tushan Clan’s eyes brimmed with tears. She laughed and cried simultaneously, wiping away tears as she taught him to call her mother,

"It’s mother, not mistress, it’s mother!"

In truth, she understood everything. She knew Chen Yi’s "mistress" was not synonymous with "mother." A mother understands all but often remains silent.

With each utterance of "mother," Chen Yi gradually became aware of his own self.

An infant, nurtured under a mother’s care, comes to recognize its sense of self, to understand what it means to say... I am me.

Almost innate, this is what is known as... innate self-attachment.

A mother brings her child into the world, endowing them with... self-attachment.

The Tushan Clan stroked his brow and eyes. Then, silhouettes began to appear across the water’s surface—upon closer inspection, each one was a woman.

"This one is Yin Weiyin, this one is Min Ming, this one is Min Ning, this one is the Great Yu Empress..."

The Tushan Clan held him close, introducing each figure one by one. She soon taught him to recognize several of them, leaving only the last two.

She pointed to the delicate, pitiful silhouette and spoke softly:

"This one is Yin Tingxue."

Chen Yi nodded slightly.

She pointed to the one-armed silhouette and whispered:

"This one is Zhou Yitang."

Chen Yi froze momentarily, then gently nodded.

The Tushan Clan held him silently, cherishing this rare moment of warmth between mother and child.

After a long time, Chen Yi turned his face and pointed at her,

"This one... is mother."

The Tushan Clan’s mouth fell agape as tears streamed down her face. She smiled—a smile she hadn’t worn in ages, as though this was the most beautiful moment of her life.

"It’s mother, it’s mother..."

She understood that Chen Yi’s consciousness was gradually clarifying.

She was Chen Yi’s final safeguard, just as most mothers in the world are their children’s ultimate refuge.

Chen Yi’s eyes felt sore as tears began to fall; he laughed faintly despite the pain.

Nestled in the Tushan Clan’s embrace, everything felt exceptionally tender.

This moment lingered until Chen Yi finally spoke:

"Mother, there’s a conspiracy behind all of this."

"Hmm..."

"A grand conspiracy—one that caused the heavenly gate to shatter, one that led me... to mend the heavens."

"Then Yi’er must be cautious, careful of those malicious souls outside. Even Zhu Xiu’s revival techniques cannot withstand further turmoil."

"I understand."

Chen Yi replied softly.

The Tushan Clan held him tightly, stroking his brow, ruffling his hair, occasionally caressing his neck.

The Yin Sword Mountain’s Sword Armor had plotted across two lifetimes, drawing her to possess An Hou. Amid the chaos, she regarded him as her child.

Yet this was merely unconsciousness; once clarity returned, they were naturally no longer mother and son.

When was it that she truly began to see him as her child?

Perhaps it was when he couldn’t bear to kill her but instead drove the blade deep into his own heart.

And now, he truly was her son. Just like all mothers under heaven, she had endowed him with... self-attachment.

"Mother."

Lost in her thoughts, she heard him call out once again.

"I’m here."

The Tushan Clan replied, tears flowing endlessly.

The swordmaster Zhou Yitang hadn’t acquired what she desired, but she had.

Here was a child who, from now on, would call her mother whenever they saw her.

A long, long time passed.

Chen Yi wasn’t sure how much time had elapsed.

But it seemed as though a long time had passed—or perhaps none at all.

"You should go now."

The Tushan Clan whispered.

After a while, Chen Yi nodded faintly.

"Goodbye, Mother."

"Goodbye."

The Tushan Clan let go of him, pushing him farther and farther away.

His silhouette drifted across the water, pushed ever distant until he became a tiny speck, until he could no longer be seen.

"Houri ren xi yi."

She sang quietly.

Chen Yi, Mother will wait for you.

......

The serpent transforms into a fish; Zhu Xiu dies and is reborn.

Chen Yi, who had been stripped of self-attachment,

dies—only to rise again.