Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 26
The Sima clan of Fengshan had once been the race closest to the gods on the ancient continent. Yet when the gods withdrew from heaven and earth, the power of every race weakened—Fengshan included. After the deity they served perished, they turned to preserving blood purity, desperate to prolong their glory. It birthed many brilliant talents, but their numbers dwindled with each generation.
In the long history of the Gengchen Immortal Mansion, nearly half of its brilliance had once belonged to the Sima clan. But time eroded all things. While the Shi clan, who once served them, grew prosperous generation after generation, the Sima dwindled. Numbers shifted, strength reversed. The once mighty clan became “birds in a cage.”
In the last few millennia, what few powerful Sima cultivators remained perished one by one, leaving only children too young to resist. Even the greatest talent needs years to mature. Under the Shi clan’s “guardianship,” these heirs gradually lost freedom, their wings clipped before they could unfurl.
Greed devours loyalty. The Shi clan betrayed their masters, confining the last of the Sima to Three Saints Mountain. In the eyes of the outside world, the Sima still glittered with prestige. But in truth, they were pampered prisoners—exotic beasts raised in gilded cages.
Among them, Sima E, the last pure-blooded daughter, mounted one desperate act of resistance. She offered up her flesh, blood, and spirit bones to purify the Fengshan Spirit Fire—the foundation of the Immortal Mansion itself. From that agony was born a newborn flame, which she entrusted to her son, binding his life and death to its own.
That boy was Sima Jiao.
The Spirit Fire empowered him. His cultivation soared with unnatural speed. The Shi clan smiled sweetly and extended hands of “kinship,” yet in his eyes their hearts seethed with deception, greed, and fear. He was cursed with the gift of True Words—he could not be lied to, and he could not escape the poison of others’ true intentions.
The more he saw, the more ruthless he became. Where his mother’s nature had been soft, his was forged sharp. Even as a child, he killed without hesitation, absorbing the cultivation of Shi disciples until none dared approach. They whispered that he was demonic, but his qi was not reversed like the devil path—it was simply hunger, raw and unrestrained.
“If he cannot be bound, he will destroy us all,” the families muttered. Fear grew. Plots multiplied. Yet each trap only made him stronger. In the end, they could do nothing but sacrifice countless lives to seal him away for centuries.
…
Liao Tingyan woke, padded onto the low table, and washed her whiskers with exaggerated seriousness. Grooming finished, she sat primly by a plate of snow-white cakes, nibbling delicately. After two bites, she stole a glance to the side.
Sima Jiao reclined there, sleeves rumpled on his thigh—the same place she had been curled in his palm before. Since becoming an otter, she had often woken up on him. She no longer resisted the habit. But today, he didn’t stir when she moved.
Was he… asleep? Impossible. The Spirit Fire itself had told her he hadn’t slept in years.
Suspicious, she flicked a droplet of water from her cup. It landed on his lashes. His eyes opened. The droplet slid down his cheek like a tear.
The fur on her back bristled.
Expressionless, Sima Jiao picked her up and wiped his face with her fur as if she were a hand towel.
Liao Tingyan: “…”
She smoothed her flattened fur and reached for melon seeds. But before she could crack one, his voice startled her.
“I dreamed.”
The melon seed slipped from her paws. Sima Jiao? Dreaming? This was rarer than a five-hundred-year meteor shower. She turned to him, eyes wide, waiting.
But he didn’t elaborate—his gaze drifted toward the window, bored.
In truth, he had dreamed of a stormy night, of his mother’s hands tightening around his throat. Tenderness and malice in one act. Even in that moment, he had felt no hatred from her, only love. While everyone else who claimed to “protect” him reeked of cruelty and greed.
He glanced at Liao Tingyan again. She was sprawled on the table, sampling a five-colored cake, taking a bite of each as though comparing textures. She neither feared nor adored him, but treated him like ordinary scenery. Her faint indifference was strangely restful.
Truly intelligent creatures, he thought, find a way to live well anywhere.
Then she dropped her cake, smearing cream across her whiskers and spraying crumbs over her fur.
Sima Jiao thought: I take it back.
A voice called from outside: “Senior, the guides to Hundred Phoenix Mountain have arrived.”
At last. Two days here, and now the journey began. Sima Jiao rose. Liao Tingyan padded forward, ready to perch on his shoulder.
But his hand blocked her. With a flick, he sent her flying onto a soft cushion.
“You stay.”
She froze. Not taking her? A gift from heaven! She immediately flopped back down. Whoever wanted to watch bloodbaths could go—she preferred her cushion.
Sima Jiao conjured a small flame and tossed it toward her. “Take this.”
The tiny fireball landed by her tail. Enclosed in a translucent sphere, it glared at her. “What are you staring at, scruffy furball?”
Liao Tingyan pulled it closer. “Why are you so small?”
“Ever heard of spirit division? This is a fragment of me, meant to keep an eye on you!”
“Oh.”
She tucked herself comfortably across the bed, covering her ears with a sound barrier to muffle its endless insults. The flame was like a lonely child, unable to talk without insulting. After a while, she uncovered the barrier and tried baiting it.
“You said before that when Sima Jiao dreams, you dream too. Can you see them?”
The flame puffed smugly. “Of course! I know all his little secrets. I saw this one too.”
“What did he dream?”
“He cried for his mother!” The flame cackled, inventing slander. “Snot everywhere!”
“I don’t believe you,” Liao Tingyan said dryly. “Spread that rumor, and when he burns you, you’ll be the one crying.”
The flame faltered, then snapped, “I—I’m not afraid of him!”
“Yes, you are,” she replied sweetly, resealing the soundproof cover.
…
Meanwhile, wearing Young Master Yan’s face, Sima Jiao followed Old Master Yan to the dock where a silent Yuan Ying cultivator waited with a boat-shaped artifact. The cultivator accepted a bribe of spirit stones and let them board, glancing only once at the infant girl in Yan’s arms.
Old Master Yan clutched the child tightly. She was the only one of Young Master Yan’s children to inherit the bloodline—her future determined the Yan family’s fortune. If she stayed in Hundred Phoenix Mountain, their house would flourish for centuries more.
But as the artifact lifted into the sky, Old Master Yan’s heart trembled. Sitting beside him, the “son” he had brought along radiated an unknowable pressure. Something told him this journey would not be ordinary.