Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 32
Liao Tingyan lay sprawled on the bed, gasping for breath, her eyes vacant. Every bone in her body felt as though it had melted—like her kidneys had given up, her soul had collapsed, and she was nothing but a puddle of mud. If Sima Jiao hadn’t been there to pin her down, she would’ve flowed straight off the bed and onto the floor.
She had no idea how long she stayed in that daze. When her mind finally cleared, her first instinct was to reach out and press her palm to Sima Jiao’s forehead.
He caught her wrist, pulling her hand down with a lazy strength. “What are you afraid of?”
What am I afraid of? she thought bitterly. Everything. She had just been dragged through hell and back, spun around, shaken, and wrung dry. Of course she was terrified. The weak, pitiful, and helpless slacker made a valiant attempt to crawl away—only to be hooked back by the ankle and dragged across the sheets.
She flopped down in front of him like a ragdoll. “Ancestor, please, have mercy.”
Sima Jiao laughed, low and unrestrained, like a boy playing a cruel prank. His eyes glittered with mischief. “No mercy.”
Liao Tingyan couldn’t tell if he was joking or not. His voice was playful, but the way he leaned closer made her shrink her neck and press back against the bedframe.
Smack!
A cool, green leaf slapped neatly onto his forehead.
Qinggu Heaven’s special spirit herb—calming, clearing, used by students during exams. In her panic, she had pulled one out and stuck it on him like a talisman, hoping it would sober him up. Unfortunately, on his pale, sharp face, it looked less like medicine and more like the yellow charms pasted on hopping zombies.
For a moment, he stilled. She almost believed it worked.
Then he plucked the leaf from his brow, glanced at it… and promptly collapsed into laughter.
Hair mussed, body bare, sprawled on the messy sheets, Sima Jiao was a picture of improper beauty. If this scene were photographed and uploaded, it would be censored on sight.
“You don’t think it only works on the forehead, do you?” His voice was dark with amusement.
Liao Tingyan’s stomach dropped.
Her bad feeling, as always, came true.
She slumped against him again later, gasping for air, dazed and trembling. Strong arms wrapped around her. Instinctively, she clung back, the way a drowning person clings to driftwood.
When her scattered senses finally returned, her face was wet with tears. She heard the chest against her ear shaking with laughter. She looked up to see Sima Jiao watching her, the corners of his eyes faintly red, hair tumbling over his shoulders like a black waterfall. Cold fingertips brushed her cheek as he murmured, “You cried so loudly.”
You bastard—you laughed so loudly!
Her mental defenses collapsed. For one wild, shameful moment she thought: If he just wanted physical intimacy, that might be easier. At least I’d get to rest sometimes. But this—this endless spiritual entanglement—this is torture.
So she gave up. She played dead, lying there limply as though to say: Fine. Fry the corpse if you want.
Of course, Sima Jiao didn’t let her off. He tapped a cold finger against the hollow of her collarbone. “Hmm… you think lying still will stop me?”
Her head throbbed. If she stayed another second, she really might die in bed. With unexpected agility, she curled into a ball, slipped from under his arm, rolled straight off the bed, and bolted for the door.
Behind her, Sima Jiao’s laughter rang out, loud enough to echo through the courtyard.
Hair disheveled, heart pounding, Liao Tingyan stomped outside and flipped the house a magnificent middle finger.
—
When he woke again, the strange pale world they were in began to fade.
“Should we leave?” she asked cautiously, keeping a safe three meters away.
Dressed and composed, Sima Jiao looked out the window. “This place will vanish in half a day.”
Without another word, he stood. “Let’s go.”
He always acted like this—decisive, unreadable. Even after wandering through his spiritual palace multiple times, Liao Tingyan still had no idea what went on in his head. All she knew was that lately he seemed to enjoy holding her more often. That much made sense; who wouldn’t want to hold a soft, pliant girl? As long as he didn’t drag her into more spiritual entanglement, he could hug her all he liked.
Where they went didn’t matter to her—she couldn’t change his mind anyway. Unsurprisingly, he turned toward Gengchen Immortal Manor.
A day later, they arrived at Luohe Immortal Market.
The market town sat on the edge of Geng City, straddling the Luo River that divided Gengchen Immortal Manor from the outside world. Its name contained the word “immortal,” but the place itself was nothing of the sort. Ordinary mortals bustled through the streets, with only a handful of minor cultivators mixed in—small fry revered here, even if they were nobodies elsewhere.
As the pair strolled in on the massive black snake, a squad of guards swept the road, driving people to the side. The spectacle was grand, but naturally, no one dared shove Sima Jiao aside. Cloaked in his invisible pressure, the crowd instinctively gave way. Even the guards parted without realizing why.
Curious, Liao Tingyan craned her neck to see the procession. At Sima Jiao’s tap, the snake slowed to a languid crawl, like a giant turtle blocking the main street.
A gilded sedan appeared in the distance, carried by more than a dozen servants, trailed by rows of maids. At first glance, it looked like the arrival of a great cultivator. But the man inside was only at Foundation Building.
That’s it? Liao Tingyan thought, unimpressed.
After dual cultivation, her own level had risen again—late Golden Core, brushing Nascent Soul. She wasn’t much use beside Sima Jiao, but compared to this pompous display, she was basically a boss herself.
Sima Jiao, apparently bored, flicked his fingers. A jewel popped off the sedan’s exterior and shot inside, smacking the young man and woman seated beside the Foundation Building cultivator. Their startled cries made her quickly withdraw the breeze she’d been using to peek inside.
Ancestor was clearly in the mood to dismantle the whole parade.
And indeed, he followed the group all the way to the man’s residence.
Inside, the arrogant siblings—spoiled children of a Mu clan daughter and a Night Wandering Palace disciple—looked down their noses at their host. The girl sneered at his vulgarity; the boy pretended at courtesy but couldn’t hide his disdain. Their entourage bustled about, redecorating the mansion to suit their pampered tastes.
Liao Tingyan watched, unimpressed. Why are there so many spoiled second-generation brats in the cultivation world?
When the siblings began bragging about their destined greatness, Sima Jiao finally turned to her. He pointed at them, voice light. “How about we use their identities?”
“…Huh?” she blinked.
He took that as agreement.
Moments later, the siblings had been transformed into two miserable gray mountain chickens. And Sima Jiao, wearing the boy’s face, pushed them toward her. “Sister,” he said smoothly, “a little gift for you.”
Liao Tingyan stared at the chickens flapping pathetically on the floor. Ancestor, what kind of twisted game are you playing this time?