Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 17
After leaving the pool, Sima Jiao returned to his residence at White Deer Cliff. He didn’t bother drying himself, yet the water evaporated with every step, as though flames burned beneath his skin.
His face was shadowed, his brows drawn tight, and faint red veins surfaced in his dark eyes. White Deer Cliff, once alive with spiritual beasts, now lay in utter silence. Every creature with the faintest spiritual sense shrank back. White deer collapsed trembling in the forest, while the cranes that had soared above Cloud Peak descended into the pines, unwilling to fly again, their gaze fixed nervously on the palace at the cliff’s heart.
Inside the hall, Sima Jiao pressed one pale hand to the jade floor. A burst of scarlet fire flared beneath his palm, racing outward until the solid jade melted like ice under flame. Within moments, a deep pool opened in the center of the chamber. At its edge, Sima Jiao curled his fingers in the air, summoning the mist that shrouded the cliff. It surged like a tide, funnelling into the hollow, condensing into icy water that breathed frost.
Fully clothed, he stepped in and submerged himself.
Meanwhile, in the flower pool outside, Liao Tingyan’s off-key singing faltered. The water grew warmer, the mist thinned, and the blossoms shivered though no wind stirred. After a pause, she scratched her cheek and resumed bathing, unconcerned. When she finished, she returned to her chamber, secretly delighted—White Deer Cliff was far more comfortable than the Central Tower. The bed was soft, the furnishings beautiful, only the gaudy rose-red curtains bothered her. Lying against the cloud-like mattress beneath those curtains, she always felt like a courtesan in some tasteless painting.
She shut the windows, convinced Big Black Snake had drunk enough and wouldn’t come looking for a midnight snack. But sometime after midnight, she was jolted awake—not by her scaly companion, but by a chill that crept into her bones.
The door and windows gaped open. Rain whispered outside. And beside her lay a figure.
Her hand brushed across cool strands of hair. She almost yelped but stopped herself. That touch told her exactly who it was—her boss, Sima Jiao.
This ancestor had slipped into her bed without a sound. Still clothed, yes, but what was his intention? Liao Tingyan froze. Sneaking into a woman’s bed in the middle of the night—surely he wasn’t thinking of…? She swallowed hard. His body radiated icy air, stiff and cold like meat just pulled from a freezer. He looked less like a man alive than a corpse.
After a long hesitation, she reached out and touched his hand. Ice cold. No response. She touched him again. Still nothing. Her scalp prickled. Slowly, she leaned closer, peering at his face in the dark. Eyes closed. Skin pale. Not a sound of breath.
Dead?
She pressed a palm against his chest.
A heartbeat—slow, faint, but steady.
Relieved, she tucked the blanket around herself, shut her eyes, and tried to sleep.
Then a low voice murmured, “You’re just going to sleep like this?”
Her eyes snapped open. After a long pause, she cleared her throat and asked cautiously, “Does Ancestral Master… want a share of the blanket?”
Silence.
So she carefully tugged the quilt over him too. He didn’t object. Taking that as permission, she closed her eyes again.
Sima Jiao studied her in the dark. In Gengchen Immortal Manor, no one met him without trembling—Sect Master Shi Qianlü himself hid unease behind courtesy. Yet this woman, while easily startled, carried only shallow fears—like an ordinary mortal frightened of ghosts, not someone cowering before death.
She claimed to fear corpses, yet here she was, sleeping peacefully beside a man who slaughtered at will. It baffled him.
Tonight his skull throbbed with the same splitting pain that always came before bloodlust. That was why he had come—seeking to kill, to release the pressure. But standing by her bedside, watching her sleep without stirring, the boiling urge had ebbed. Remembering how he had once slept well beside her in the Central Tower, he lay down.
He had expected terror, trembling, maybe even desperate attempts at flattery or seduction. He had not expected her to yawn, cover him with a quilt, and drift back into slumber as though his presence was ordinary.
The dissonance was unbearable. He shook her awake.
“Get up. No more sleeping.”
Liao Tingyan wanted to cry. Dark circles ruined a girl’s complexion—couldn’t this lunatic consider that?
She sat up groggily, forcing a polite smile. “Is there some problem, Ancestral Master?”
“How can you still sleep?”
“…Why couldn’t I?”
“I am here.”
“Oh.” She glanced at the quilt. “It’s not that cold if we share the blanket.”
From his expression, she realized his meaning belatedly. He wasn’t saying “How can you sleep next to an ice cube?” but “How can you sleep beside a mad killer like me?”
Well, hadn’t she already done that before? If she could sleep through being used as his pillow, she could sleep through this too.
But that night, sleep eluded her. Unlike Sima Jiao, she had no cultivation to ward off fatigue. She sat on the bed fighting drowsiness, eyelids drooping, staring at him blankly. When Big Black Snake slithered in, saw them together, and fled in terror, she almost wished she could follow.
The next day, Sima Jiao appeared at Lingyan Mountain Platform again. This time, Liao Tingyan had brought an umbrella and cushions, but they weren’t needed—a new viewing platform had been built, complete with couches and food. She noticed with alarm that the dishes included many of her favorites. Someone had already memorized her tastes. Pretending not to notice, she sat beside Sima Jiao.
He surveyed the crowd below, lips curving into a faint smile. Yesterday, only elite disciples had been forced into matches. Today, the platform swarmed with ordinary disciples—sacrifices offered up by branch leaders eager to protect their prized heirs.
Sect Master Shi Qianlü smiled politely. “Ancestral Master, shall today proceed as yesterday did?”
“No,” Sima Jiao replied. “Today will be a hundred-man death battle.”
Shi Qianlü bowed, a flicker of calculation in his eyes, then raised his voice: “Let the disciples begin.”
He had arranged for many Clear Valley Heaven disciples to be included. This was a test—not just of Sima Jiao, but of the woman who now sat beside him. Would she stay silent when her fellow sect members died? Or would she beg for mercy—and how would Sima Jiao react if she did?
Yet while he schemed, Liao Tingyan, who had been awake all night, leaned back against the couch and promptly fell asleep.
Before long, her head slid sideways—landing squarely on Sima Jiao’s thigh.
The assembled leaders: “!!!”
Pillowing her head on Daoist Lord Cizang’s lap in front of all Gengchen Immortal Manor—this was courting death!
Shi Qianlü stared, waiting for the inevitable fury, the snap of her neck, the disdainful shove to the floor.
Instead, Sima Jiao adjusted his sleeve, then let her rest against him, expression unchanged.
The high elders exchanged glances, their refined composure cracking with disbelief.
It was undeniable now. The cold, bloodthirsty Ancestral Master, Daoist Lord Cizang, had grown attached to a woman.