Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 5
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Liao Tingyan had always been a heavy sleeper. Even after transmigrating into this strange cultivation world, even after watching two people die in front of her, her nightly rest remained undisturbed.
Around the third watch, when her sleep was deepest, a faint hissing slithered into her room. A colossal black serpent silently coiled around her couch, its scales rasping softly against the floor.
“Hissss…”
It lingered, circling her sleeping form, but the woman did not stir. The snake lowered its vast head until its fangs hovered just above her cheek, cold light glinting along their edges. She lay still as a stone.
The serpent: “…”
Something wasn’t right. No prey ignored its presence like this. Could she be unconscious?
The black snake was not especially clever. It wasn’t even a proper demonic beast—merely a common snake that had once crawled onto Three Saints Mountain and nearly perished. Sima Jiao had found it, and, out of boredom, dripped his blood into its mouth. That blood transformed it, gave it size, longevity, and a bond to him.
Once, it had been no thicker than a finger, its scales patterned and glossy. But as Sima Jiao’s frenzies scarred his own body, the snake devoured fragments of his flesh and blood, mutating further. It grew immense, its markings fading until it was blacker than midnight itself.
Yet here on the mountain there was little to eat. Hunger gnawed at it constantly. That afternoon, it had caught the scent of the bamboo juice Liao Tingyan drank, and ever since, it had been thinking of little else. Now, under the cover of night, it had come to beg.
With its dull instincts, it imitated the only method it knew. Extending its tongue, it licked her hand. In the past, when desperate, it had licked Sima Jiao’s fingers this way—then he would scratch himself against its fangs, letting a few drops of blood fall to sate it.
Perhaps this human would do the same.
Half asleep, Liao Tingyan felt the wetness and pushed it away irritably. “Big Baby, stinky dog… don’t lick me, go away.”
Her former roommate’s dog had been named Big Baby. It had loved ambushing her bed at night, flattening her under its weight and smothering her with sloppy face-licks. The memory surfaced so vividly that she shoved at the sensation without thinking—only this time, her hand met something slick and cold instead of warm fur.
She opened her eyes.
A vast maw loomed above her, teeth gleaming like knives, eyes burning red without a trace of warmth.
Liao Tingyan’s heart lurched. She clamped both hands over her mouth, stifling the scream rising in her throat. Her scalp tingled, her chest tightened.
The snake, however, seemed delighted. It gaped wider in excitement, which only made her terror worse.
Your teeth! Your teeth are right there—don’t you dare come closer! I can’t breathe!
Her eyes stung with tears. Snake brother, if you’re here for a midnight snack, couldn’t you at least pace yourself? A hundred people in total—eat one per day and that’s three months! At three a night, we’ll last a month at best!
But she misunderstood. The serpent did not like human flesh at all. Compared to Sima Jiao’s blood—the last remnant of the Feng Mountain clan—every other mortal tasted like ash and rot. It swallowed corpses only because Sima Jiao disliked them cluttering his halls. To the serpent, carrion was merely duty, not food.
Still, it remained crouched over her, and her life flashed before her eyes all the same. Twenty-odd years of utterly ordinary memories paraded through her head while the serpent simply stared back.
Well? Are you going to eat me or not?
The serpent, for its part, thought only: Friend, food please?
But it lacked the wit to ask. So woman and snake simply stared, unblinking, eyes like lanterns and bulbs locked together in exhausted stalemate.
At last, the snake caught a scent. With a swish of its tail, it fished a bamboo container from beneath the couch and set it before her.
Inside was bamboo juice.
Liao Tingyan froze. Then, a spark of comprehension lit her mind. Slowly, she drew out another container. She had plenty—spirit bamboo continuously produced the stuff, and she’d stocked her pouch full before coming.
The instant she produced it, the serpent’s tail began wagging with such vigor that it stirred the air.
She blinked. Wait… do snakes wag their tails? Isn’t that… dogs? Don’t tell me the Ancestral Master trained his snake to act like a pet mutt.
Resigned, she poured the juice into a basin. The snake plunged its head in and drank noisily, gurgling and slurping until the container was dry.
Liao Tingyan lay back, wiping sweat from her forehead. Escaped death. Again.
After that night, the serpent came often, always for bamboo juice. She prepared basins in advance.
“Snake brother, let’s make a deal. You drink quietly, don’t wake me, alright?”
But it never understood. Each time, it courteously woke her first before helping itself, as if bound by ritual. Half-asleep, she would grunt and wave before rolling over again.
So the days passed in deceptive peace. She napped under the sun, watched sunsets, and treated the deadly mountain like a lazy vacation. Meanwhile, without her noticing, more than twenty of the other women vanished.
The Ancestral Master was merciless even when idle. Any who approached him uninvited fared worse. Yun Xi Yue, leading the Palace Master faction, perished first.
On the third day, she and two followers presented themselves at the central tower.
Sima Jiao received them.
“Why have you come?”
Yun Xi Yue bowed meekly. “This disciple came to attend to the Ancestral Master’s daily needs.”
His robes trailed like a serpent’s coils as he moved closer, footsteps silent. His gaze was as cold as his serpent’s eyes. Extending one finger, he touched her brow.
“Why have you come?”
Against her will, her mouth answered: “I came to be your concubine. I want to bear a child with the Si Ma bloodline. Once the Feng Mountain line continues, we can trap and kill you, ending the threat to Gengchen Immortal Mansion. Then the Yun lineage will rule in its place—”
Her face twisted in horror. She tried to stop, but could not. Every hidden thought spilled out, laid bare by his power.
Her companions confessed the same—betrayals, ambitions, schemes.
Sima Jiao listened without surprise, his smile sharp with mockery.
“How many years, and still the same tricks. Do you fools not understand? I am the last of the Si Ma line. Once I die, Gengchen Immortal Mansion dies with me. Your Palace Masters, your lineages, all of you—buried together.”
Terror dawned in their eyes. But they never lived long enough to truly understand. His laughter echoed once before he killed them all with casual ease.
In the Lamp Hall, three soul-lamps went out, then several more, plunging the sect into heavy silence.
At the water source, Liao Tingyan finally noticed the dwindling numbers. She grew uneasy, but still avoided entanglements. When another disciple scoffed, “How are you still alive?” she only shrugged.
Low profile saves lives, she thought smugly.
But fate was not so simple. That night, she awoke in pain—not from the serpent, but from her own body. Cramps twisted her gut like an auger. She broke into cold sweat, doubled over.
Menstrual pain? Here? Even in this world I can’t escape it? Where’s my ibuprofen?
The agony ebbed, leaving her shaken but unbleeding. Puzzled, she muttered, Immortal physiology sure is weird.
Far away, at the foot of a peak, a figure hidden in shadow sneered, “Still no response? So she thinks bedding the Ancestral Master frees her from our grasp? Very well. Let’s see how long you last against the bone-corroding poison.”
Unaware, Liao Tingyan dismissed the incident. But three nights later, the pain returned—sharper, unbearable. Blood welled in her throat. She collapsed, vision dimming.
Her last thought: This isn’t menstrual pain.
That night, when the black serpent came slinking in for bamboo juice, it found her convulsing on the ground, breath shallow, blood staining the floor. It nudged her once, twice. No response.
After a long hesitation, it coiled around her limp form, lifted her, and carried her toward the central tower.
High above, Sima Jiao sat at the summit, gazing at the distant lights of the sect. Hearing movement behind him, he turned.
“Little beast,” he drawled. “What have you dragged back this time?”