On her way back, Liao Tingyan spotted Sima Jiao. He stood amidst a field of crimson blossoms, his pitch-black silhouette resembling a specter haunting the night. The flowers, of an unknown kind, carried a fragrance so heavy it smothered the air, making it impossible to notice any other scent.
From a cautious distance, she called out:
“Ancestral Master? You haven’t gone to sleep yet?”
The atmosphere felt like the opening of a ghost story, and she half-worried that when he turned around, his face might be missing.
But when Sima Jiao turned, crushing a red flower in his hand, his face was perfectly normal.
Liao Tingyan noted again how much he seemed to enjoy breaking things—flowers, fruits, and… occasionally, people’s heads.
“You’ve reached the Nascent Soul stage, yet you still need sleep?” he asked, stepping over the flowers with deliberate disregard.
Liao Tingyan, very seriously, replied:
“Sleep isn’t necessary, but I want to sleep. Food isn’t necessary, but I want to eat.”
Sima Jiao studied her, then said, “You’re very strange,” and carelessly tossed aside the ruined blossom.
Not as strange as you, she thought.
After remembering her earlier run-in, she asked cautiously:
“Did the Ancestral Master hear everything just now? Then… you also know my identity?”
“I’ve known for a long time,” Sima Jiao replied indifferently. “No one can hide anything from me.”
Except me, Liao Tingyan muttered inwardly. She pressed:
“Then what exactly is my identity, according to you?”
“You came to kill me.” His finger brushed lightly across her lips. “So tell me—should I kill you or not?”
Her scalp tingled. How was she supposed to answer that? If he killed her now, wouldn’t yesterday’s rescue have been pointless? And could he remove his hand while speaking?
“What are you thinking?” His eyes glowed faintly red.
“My lips. Your hand touched that flower, and now it’s touching my mouth,” she blurted under his truth-telling effect.
Sima Jiao turned it off immediately, not wanting more mood-killing honesty. He leaned in again, voice low and dangerous:
“Should I kill you or not?”
“I don’t think you should.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“Because I’ve already abandoned darkness for light. I’m standing on the Ancestral Master’s side now.”
His brows lifted. “I am the light?”
“…I mean, I’ve abandoned light for darkness,” she corrected quickly.
“You change your tune very quickly.” His tone was amused, though it was impossible to tell which side was truly darker—the Demon Realm, or him.
Then, out of nowhere, he said, “Just now, you were utterly useless. You couldn’t even handle a Yuan Ying cultivator.”
Ah, so he was the one who’d sent her “ex-boyfriend” flying.
“Yes, I thought so too,” she said with a forced smile. “I’m certainly no match for the Ancestral Master’s power.” Bah! Who could fully master a Nascent Soul body in just one day?
Sima Jiao studied her false smile for a moment, then suddenly laughed, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. “Kill a few more people and you’ll get used to it.”
“Wait—what? Where are we going?!”
“To kill people, of course. I became this powerful by killing countless people,” he said with eerie nonchalance.
Liao Tingyan dropped to the ground like a stubborn child. “I won’t go.”
“Get up.”
“No. I don’t want to kill anyone.”
“What if I insist?”
“Then you may as well kill me instead.” She flopped down dramatically.
His face darkened. “Do you truly think I won’t kill you?”
But she wasn’t afraid. Somehow, she sensed he wouldn’t. He could do whatever he wanted, but she wouldn’t compromise on this.
For the first time in ages, he hesitated. Normally, such defiance would be met with instant death. Yet here she was, still alive. Finally, instead of striking her, he simply picked her up.
“Calm down, let’s talk this through—don’t be rash,” Liao Tingyan yelped, hugging his waist when she realized he’d lifted her high into the sky.
Sima Jiao ignored her, his eyes fixing on a White Goose Flying Pavilion drifting nearby. With one motion, he dragged it into White Deer Cliff’s domain.
Inside, Yuan Chuhui—the pampered daughter of the Moon Palace Master—was lounging by the window, daydreaming about the legendary Daoist Lord Cizang, when the pavilion abruptly lurched. Her junior sister screamed.
And then, Sima Jiao entered directly through the second-floor window, Liao Tingyan in his arms.
“Daoist Lord… Cizang?!” Yuan Chuhui exclaimed with unrestrained excitement.
Sima Jiao kicked her straight out of the window.
Her scream echoed into the night.
The rest of the pavilion’s occupants were promptly tossed out as well. Only Liao Tingyan remained, now confined alone in the luxurious White Goose Flying Pavilion.
“You stay here and reflect,” Sima Jiao ordered. “When you’ve finished reflecting, you may come out.”
Then he left her hovering in the moonlit sky.
Liao Tingyan blinked. “…Eh?”
Wasn’t this the very flying pavilion she’d once admired from afar? With gardens, terraces, and a view of the whole manor beneath the moonlight? She was alone, with food and wine laid out, a hot spring waiting, and no one to bother her.
Was this punishment? Or… was it vacation?
She happily explored, changed clothes, bathed, then stretched out on the terrace to admire the moon.
“Ah—the moonlight is beautiful—”
Yes. Being left alone like this was infinitely better.
The next day, the Patriarch of the Yuan family from the Yuan Mei lineage of the Four Seasons Palace ascended White Deer Cliff, carrying the corpse of his eighteenth son, Yuan Shang. There, he encountered the Moon Palace Master, her expression icy as she came to demand justice for her daughter, and Sect Leader Shi Qianlü, who arrived with True Immortal Dong Yang of Clear Valley Heaven Cave to pay respects to the ancestral master.
“Sect Leader, my son died so inexplicably. I demand an explanation from Daoist Lord Cizang!” the Yuan Patriarch thundered.
“Sect Leader, yesterday my daughter was humiliated, and even the gift I bestowed upon her was seized. Is this how an ancestral master should conduct himself?” the Moon Palace Master said coldly.
Shi Qianlü, unruffled, replied, “Then let us all go together and hear what the Ancestral Master has to say.”
When they faced him, Sima Jiao’s response was chilling.
He first glanced at the Yuan Patriarch. “So what if I killed your son? You have more than twenty sons and hundreds of grandsons. Does one less truly matter? Or do you think I don’t know the real reason you’ve come? Cross me again, and whichever son I meet next, I’ll kill him too.”
Then, his gaze shifted to the Moon Palace Master. “Your daughter wants her possession back? Very well. If she dies, it becomes ownerless, doesn’t it?”
Finally, he looked at Shi Qianlü. “My patience is thin today.”
Shi Qianlü bowed. “Grand Uncle, please calm your anger. Liao Tingyan, True Immortal Dong Yang’s disciple, has been by your side caring for you. Today, we specifically came to see this disciple.”
Sima Jiao idly toyed with a green leaf stuck to his wrist. “She angered me.”
Shi Qianlü stiffened. There was only one fate for those who angered this demon: death. A pity, though hardly unexpected. No one could hope to linger long near Sima Jiao and live. “Then… Liao Tingyan’s remains?”
“There are no remains,” Sima Jiao said flatly.
Shi Qianlü understood. Nothing left. Not even bones.
Impatience flashed across Sima Jiao’s face. He rubbed at his temple and, with a sharp kick, split a jade pillar clean in half. “If there is nothing else—get out.”
Shi Qianlü smiled benignly as he withdrew, though his heart whispered otherwise: Sima Jiao was growing more violent, more bloodthirsty. The day he had long been waiting for was surely drawing near.
NEXT
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