Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 25
Though she found Sima Jiao stealing a child’s toy rather roguish, Liao Tingyan’s curiosity still got the better of her. She leaned closer for a look.
After examining it for a moment, Sima Jiao lost interest. Seeing the little otter craning forward, he casually ruffled her fur and tossed the object into her paws. She held it carefully, studying the eye-like stone. Why it glowed was beyond her—fantasy worlds didn’t bother with science.
The living streetlamps nearby snapped their mouths open, gobbling down insects with wet smacks. Liao Tingyan wanted to investigate, but Sima Jiao showed no interest. He was scanning the streets for something else entirely.
She tugged his hair and pointed at the lamps.
Sima Jiao didn’t even look. “What’s so interesting about those things?”
Oh? And stealing a kid’s toy was high culture, then? Liao Tingyan grumbled inwardly, then flew off to check by herself. She barely got close before a long, slimy tongue lashed out from beneath the lamp. Startled, she hit reverse like a pro gamer and zipped back onto his shoulder. Too much drool. She was done.
They walked a while before Sima Jiao clicked his tongue impatiently. The next moment, Liao Tingyan’s vision blurred—he’d leapt onto a rooftop, then a tall building. His gaze swept toward the brightest, noisiest district. After a pause, he headed straight there.
As they drew closer, Liao Tingyan’s expression turned odd.
The streets were lined with flowers—but not just blossoms. Flower girls. It was a red-light district.
Seriously? Did this ancestor really come all this way for prostitutes? She stared. Weren’t you the one with zero interest in women and… kidney deficiencies? What’s this, a late-life crisis?
Sima Jiao turned his head, stared at her for a long moment, and said darkly, “Say one more word and I’ll strangle you.”
Liao Tingyan froze. …What did I even say out loud?
“Ancestral Master,” she asked cautiously, “do you… have mind-reading abilities?” Hopefully he hadn’t caught her thinking about his kidneys.
“No.” His voice was cold.
He couldn’t read thoughts, only feel the truth of emotions.
“I wasn’t speaking,” she protested.
“You were. Loudly. In your head.”
Liao Tingyan: …
She immediately switched gears and began silently cursing him.
Sima Jiao: “You’re cursing me.”
She switched again—this time filling her mind with images of her favorite male idols.
Sima Jiao began pinching her tail.
She stopped at once. Wait. That’s not mind-reading… is it?
Yanking her tail free, she pointed wildly. “Look over there!”
He followed her finger, made a low sound, and flew toward a brightly lit pavilion. Beneath it, pampered young masters caroused with wine and women. Liao Tingyan instinctively covered her eyes—then dropped her paws. Why bother? This wasn’t modern TV with censorship mosaics. Might as well broaden her horizons.
Sima Jiao, arms crossed, stood above it all with a sneer. “Do you see that person?”
She followed his finger and squinted. “I see… but it’s a bit small.”
“Who told you to look there?” he snapped.
Then where? she thought helplessly.
The young master he meant soon staggered off, dragging his pants up. With dark circles, glazed eyes, and pallid skin, he looked sickly, greasy pale—nothing like Sima Jiao’s cold, deathly pallor. On his back was a faint red flame mark.
So that’s what she was supposed to notice.
Sima Jiao shadowed him, following into a lavish chamber where even the toilet involved beautiful attendants. The otter perched on his shoulder, unimpressed—she’d seen racy films before, but this was another level. What truly chilled her wasn’t the scene, but the killing intent radiating from the man carrying her.
When the debauched young master emerged with a woman clinging to him, Sima Jiao stepped forward, kicked them both unconscious, and revealed the flame mark. He pressed a hand to the man’s head. A flare of fire later, and the body was gone—ashes swept away with a flick of his sleeve.
Liao Tingyan: …Yep, he’s angry.
Then, before she could blink, Sima Jiao had taken the dead man’s form.
Wait… is he infiltrating? Since when does Ancestor play spy?
Stuffing her into his robe, he strode out. Courtesans greeted him as “Young Master Yan,” only to be swatted aside by his sleeve. Their shrieks followed him out of the pleasure house, where attendants rushed up.
“Young Master, leaving so soon?”
“Home,” Sima Jiao said curtly, and boarded a waiting carriage. Inside, two beautiful youths moved to serve him—until his cold “Get out” sent them scurrying.
Alone, he leaned back, silent, red fire flickering in his eyes. Liao Tingyan poked her head out from his robe, took one look at his expression, and ducked right back in.
The ancestor was plotting something big.
She remembered what he’d once declared: once free of Three Sacred Mountain, he’d kill everyone. She’d assumed he’d given up after seeing how massive Gengchen Immortal Manor was. Now… maybe not.
At Yan Mansion, attendants bowed left and right. He ignored them all—even “Young Master Yan’s” father, Lord Yan. The man raged, scolding his son for debauchery, until Sima Jiao dragged him into a chamber.
“Who are you?” Lord Yan finally gasped.
“I am your ancestor,” Sima Jiao said, amused.
And he began questioning him. Piece by piece, the truth came out: every few generations, the Yan family produced children with a flame mark—an ancestral bloodline. Those children were sent to a mysterious place, escorted by emissaries. Strong bloodlines stayed. Weak ones, like the dead young master, returned.
Listening in, Liao Tingyan finally understood: the ancestor wasn’t chasing one person. He was hunting bloodlines.
Small clans like the Yan family—scattered through the outer regions of Gengchen Immortal Manor—were all tied to that same hidden force.