Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 4
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On the vast and silent Three Saints Mountain, there was no trace of birds or beasts. Only two presences lingered: an ancestor who killed without hesitation, and a colossal black serpent that devoured humans in a single gulp. Beyond them, nothing lived.
At the tower’s base, ninety-nine female cultivators stood together, the air heavy with unease. At last, the leading disciple cleared her throat.
“We should first find a place to settle down. Since the Sect Leader ordered us to serve the Ancestral Master, we must remain here.”
A hesitant voice rose. “Master-Aunt Ni Sheng, without spiritual power, how are we to cultivate?”
Mu Ni Sheng’s expression was resolute, her tone unwavering. “If we cannot use spiritual power, then we won’t. If we cannot cultivate, then we won’t. For now, nothing is more important than serving the Ancestral Master.”
Most dared not contradict her, but unease rippled beneath the surface. A cold, ethereal-looking woman finally spoke, her voice soft yet cutting.
“Senior Sister Ni Sheng, though we came to serve the Ancestral Master, he seems unwilling to accept us. I fear our presence here may prove meaningless.”
She was the descendant of a Palace Master, her status equal to Mu Ni Sheng’s. Each had their supporters, and among the group were others with ambitions of their own. Soon enough, the unity they had clung to unraveled, and the cultivators drifted into distinct clusters.
Liao Tingyan: “…”
Seriously? We just got here, and everyone’s already splitting into factions? Wasn’t this supposed to be about cultivation, not palace politics?
In the end, three groups emerged. Mu Ni Sheng led the Sect Leader’s faction. Yun Xi Yue, the Palace Master’s descendant, drew another. The remaining low-status disciples—reluctant to follow either side—formed a loose, third alliance.
By rights, Liao Tingyan should have been among this last group. But no one wanted her. After all, during the earlier audience with the Ancestral Master, only two people had drawn his “special attention.” One was already dead. The other was Liao Tingyan. That alone was enough to make everyone wary of her, fearful of being dragged into disaster.
When the groups finally dispersed, she was left entirely alone.
Unbothered, she strolled over to the steps, sat down, and began rubbing her sore legs.
Heavens, they ached.
By now, the afternoon sun was tilting west. From her qiankun pouch—a modest one gifted by her master, the True Immortal of Dongyang—she took out water, washed her hands, examined herself in a mirror, wiped away bloodstains, combed her hair, rinsed her mouth, drank, and finally pulled out a peach to eat.
Still at the Qi Condensation stage, she hadn’t reached the point of surviving without food. Eating was a necessity. Fortunately, Clear Valley Heaven specialized in cultivating spiritual plants and fruits, and she had brought ample supplies—enough to last a year or more.
That is, if she actually survived that long.
Like the others, she doubted her chances of living. Unlike them, however, she wasn’t native to this world. If she died, perhaps she would return to her own. It wasn’t death itself that frightened her—it was the pain before it.
With no one watching, she felt a rare sense of freedom. Leaving the shadow of the central tower, she sought out a sunlit rooftop—quiet, empty, and perfectly warm. An ideal spot for an afternoon nap.
She had always needed naps. Without one, her head never felt clear.
Changing out of her bloodstained skirt, she set up a couch and table. The sunlight was too bright, so she slipped on an eye mask—woven from cool spiritual leaves by a senior brother at Clear Valley Heaven. Comfortable and soothing, it blocked the glare perfectly.
Before long, she was dozing. When thirst stirred her awake, too lazy to lift the mask, she fished out a flask of bamboo juice—sweet, refreshing, detoxifying. One sip, and she sighed contentedly before drifting back into sleep.
While she napped in peace, the other factions gathered in grim discussion.
The neutral faction lamented that even spirit stones could not form a gathering array, suspecting a powerful formation beneath the mountain. Mu Ni Sheng’s group struggled with the useless Spirit Mirror that had been meant to contact the outside world. Yun Xi Yue’s faction, though smaller, schemed openly to approach the Ancestral Master first, certain that his favor would decide Gengchen Immortal Mansion’s survival.
None of them noticed the enormous black serpent gliding silently overhead.
Seated upon its back, clad in black, was the Ancestral Master himself—Dharma Lord Sima Jiao. His voice was laced with disdain and cold killing intent.
“How bold these creatures are.”
At his words, the serpent shuddered beneath him.
As it slithered idly, Sima Jiao’s gaze fell upon something unusual—Liao Tingyan, sprawled on her rooftop, eye mask on, basking in the sun as if she were on holiday.
“…So this is the boldest one.”
He lifted her mask slightly, studied her face, then smirked. At once, he saw through her disguise: the aura of the Demon Realm. Others might overlook it—but not him.
By reason, he should have killed her. Yet he felt no desire to do so. Perhaps because she amused him. Perhaps because watching Gengchen Immortal Mansion collapse was more entertaining.
On a whim, he pried off one of the serpent’s scales, then discarded it carelessly. The serpent trembled inwardly but made no sound, long used to such cruelty.
Later, he picked up Liao Tingyan’s bamboo flask, sipped, and spat the juice out in disgust. “Foul.” He tossed it back without care.
The serpent flicked its tongue regretfully. It had wanted that drink.
Meanwhile, Liao Tingyan slept peacefully until dusk. Stretching awake, she rubbed her eyes, momentarily forgetting where she was. But the empty palaces and shadowed mountains reminded her.
“Oh, right. I transmigrated.”
She took another sip of bamboo juice and muttered, “Scenery, food, no work… honestly, this feels like a free vacation.”
Cheered by the thought, she found a quiet attic nearby, lit everlasting candles, and ate dinner while watching the sunset.
But when night came, its cruelty revealed itself.
Below, the Day and Night Ghostly Flowers shifted—their blossoms black, their white leaves glowing eerily. They were the only plants in sight.
A young woman wandered near, enchanted. Reaching out, she plucked one.
No! Liao Tingyan’s breath caught.
In the same instant, a shadowy figure appeared behind the girl—and with the same casual motion she had used to pick the flower, he plucked her head from her shoulders. Blood spattered across the glowing leaves, staining the scene with brutal beauty.
The second death of the day.
Liao Tingyan clapped a hand over her mouth, struggling not to vomit. When she dared look again, the black-robed Ancestral Master was gone. Only the serpent remained, swallowing the corpse whole.
Far away, in the Lamp Hall of Gengchen Immortal Mansion, more than a hundred soul-lamps flickered. Suddenly, one extinguished.
“Terrible news! My family’s Rong Rong—her life flame has gone out!”
A handsome man reached forward, summoning her soul back. A pale mist formed into the image of a bewildered young woman.
“Ancestor!” she cried in relief.
Yu Qiu Xiao’s face darkened. “Didn’t I warn you to be cautious? How could you die so quickly?”
“…I’m dead?” Yu Rong Rong asked, stunned.
The hall fell silent. Her ancestor nearly collapsed from fury at her foolishness.
Soul inheritance had once been a way to honor disciples who sacrificed for the sect. But over the centuries, it had become a tool of corruption—Palace Masters and elders hoarding bloodlines, recycling themselves through reincarnation, generation after generation.
Now, in a single day, two flames had been snuffed out.
And this was only the beginning.
Chap 5.