Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 16
Among the thousand elite disciples gathered in the arena, each was the cherished heir of a great family within the Gengchen Immortal Manor. From birth they had been blessed with superior talent, resources, and guidance—privileges that common cultivators could only dream of. To smaller sects outside, these youths were untouchable figures; with a single command, they could decide the life or death of countless people.
Yet today, before Daoist Lord Cizang, they were reduced to ants. All their noble heritage and lofty status seemed to crumble, leaving only fear.
Sima Jiao sat languidly on the jade steps, looking no more than a brooding young man. But everyone present knew better. After countless bloody lessons, no one dared mistake him for ordinary. The more capable, cunning, or high-born a person was, the less likely they were to provoke him. Those with the deepest knowledge feared him most.
On the dueling platform, two disciples exchanged restrained blows. But the moment Sima Jiao spoke, their hearts shifted. This Daoist Lord killed without hesitation—he was no calculating patriarch, no schemer weighing factional ties. He was a madman in the simplest, most terrifying sense. If he said someone would die, they would.
One disciple’s expression hardened. His next strike carried killing intent. He knew that even if his clan elders arrived, it would be useless. After all, a family elder had once been cut down at Three Saints Mountain—and still, Daoist Lord Cizang stood here untouched.
His opponent realized it as well. Whatever fragile bond of camaraderie existed between them dissolved instantly. Both fought for their lives now, their true cultivation revealed in deadly techniques. The clash of power was dazzling, yet beneath the brilliance lay desperation. The watching disciples held their breath, eyes wide.
Meanwhile, Sima Jiao remained impassive, already scanning the crowd to select the next pair of sacrifices.
At his side, Liao Tingyan leaned against the coils of the massive black snake. She had no taste for violence, much less death. The sunlight pressed hot and heavy, so she nestled against the snake’s cool scales, more interested in the distant cranes gliding across the mountaintops. She silently counted them, ignoring the carnage below.
By the time the Sect Master and the eight Palace Masters arrived with a retinue of elders and clan leaders, the match had ended: one gravely wounded, one dead.
Such lofty figures rarely gathered in public, but fear of Sima Jiao had driven them here. If he went mad and slaughtered these precious disciples, the future of the Immortal Manor itself would crumble.
“Daoist Lord Cizang.” All bowed low. The Palace Masters’ faces were calm masks, though the eyes of certain elders betrayed resentment. Their disciples had perished, yet none dared show it openly.
The Sect Master stepped forward with practiced courtesy. “Ancestral Master, what brings you to watch the disciples’ sparring today?”
Sima Jiao reclined lazily against his snake, gaze sweeping the assembly of dignified immortals. “I was bored. I watched one fight. Let’s continue—two more, this time to the death.”
The Sect Master kept his composure, but others faltered. Some could not bear the thought of their children being cut down so senselessly. One branch leader ventured, voice trembling, “Daoist Lord Cizang, it is only a match. Perhaps the rules could be changed—”
“But I want to see people die,” Sima Jiao cut him off, his tone flat.
Silence crushed the platform. His cold eyes drifted across their faces before he added, “I once heard that in the old days, disciples of the Immortal Manor fought death matches often, tempering themselves between life and death. That was when true talent flourished. Today, I see only decline.”
His voice grew darker. “From now on, any disciple who can win twenty death matches will earn a petal of the Blood Coagulation Flower from Feng Mountain.”
The crowd froze.
Liao Tingyan, who knew something of the flower, felt her breath catch. One petal equaled a thousand years of cultivation. What she hadn’t known was its terrifying gift: it elevated cultivation directly, talent be damned. The weaker one’s foundation, the greater the leap. A Qi Condensation novice could leap straight to Nascent Soul, bypassing every bottleneck. For veterans stuck at the brink of a breakthrough, it could erase their limits entirely. For the old and dying, it was another lifetime.
Sima Jiao finished speaking, and silence deepened. His senses, keen to the point of cruelty, pierced every expression, every flicker of desire. He felt smothered by the sea of greed surrounding him.
Without warning, he seized Liao Tingyan, pressing his brow against her back, drawing in a sharp breath.
Are you treating me like a pet cat? she thought miserably. Still, today my role as his treasured concubine seems firmly established.
When he spoke again, his voice was a growl. “Begin.”
No one dared object. One by one, disciples volunteered. Some eyed the prize, some the politics, others simply survival. Ten matches, twenty dead—it was not impossible. The real problem was whom to kill without igniting a factional war.
By sunset, the arena ran red. More than a hundred disciples lay dead. Sima Jiao rose without a flicker of remorse and returned to White Deer Cliff.
Liao Tingyan trailed behind, aching from sun and stone steps. “Ancestral Master, are we doing this again tomorrow?”
His reply was flat. “What, you don’t want to?”
“If we are, I’ll prepare an umbrella and cushions,” she sighed. Her bottom and complexion could only endure so much.
Sima Jiao halted, then burst into unrestrained laughter.
Here we go again, she thought. The boss has gone crazy.
“Weren’t you afraid of corpses?” he asked, still smiling.
“I was. That’s why I didn’t look,” she admitted. “Today I spent the whole time stretching my neck—left to watch birds, right to watch elders.”
He chuckled darkly. “How considerate of you.”
She couldn’t tell if it was sarcasm or sincerity. Either way, his mood was calmer, so she risked a question. “Those petals—they all wanted them. But don’t they need your blood to work?”
“Not mine. The Feng Mountain clan’s.” His sleeve brushed flowering branches, scattering petals. “Didn’t I tell you? Sima clan bodies vanish at death, leaving only bone pearls. Their flesh and blood are medicine, divided among the Manor. Though only I remain, there were others once. Enough blood has been hoarded to serve them still.”
Liao Tingyan gagged.
Amused, Sima Jiao plucked a blossom and brushed it against her cheek. “So squeamish? It’s just cannibalism. Isn’t the whole world man-eat-man?”
She stared at him, and he studied her in return, faint suspicion in his eyes. “Are you really from the Demon Realm?”
Demon konjac? What kind of snack is that supposed to be? she cursed silently.
“Never mind,” he dismissed.
Later, back at White Deer Cliff, Liao Tingyan requested dinner from the puppet attendants. To her delight, an immortal crane arrived bearing a meal box. Inside, despite its small size, was a feast. Seated like royalty, she watched the puppets lay the dishes and light crystal lamps among the flowering trees.
Sima Jiao had vanished again. Fine. Eating alone felt wonderful. Each bite brimmed with spiritual power, filling her belly and boosting her cultivation like an experience bar shooting upward. She was halfway through when the great black snake appeared, nudging her hand.
Like an old colleague, she poured it juice. Human and serpent dined together in harmony.
Afterward she wandered the cliffside. With only puppets for company, the emptiness was eerie. The snake padded after her, tail swishing like a dog’s.
Back at her quarters, she headed to the bathing pool. The secluded grove of blooming spiritual trees created a private paradise. Petals drifted into the warm water, glowing under crystal lamps. Laughing, she splashed, stuck petals to her arms, and sank beneath the surface.
Until a shadow loomed.
She shot up, coughing. Across the pool rose Sima Jiao, naked, water streaming from his hair. Expressionless, he walked past, climbed out, and murmured, “You’re noisy.” Then he was gone.
The romantic atmosphere—gone to waste.
Liao Tingyan stared after him, then smirked. So the Ancestral Master was truly impotent. Excellent. Now she could relax.