Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 33
Liao Tingyan saw fragments of Sima Jiao’s past.
He was walking alone on the high tower of Three Saints Mountain. He looked young then, his face still carrying traces of boyishness. Round and round he went, circling the tower, descending one side only to climb the stairs on the other, tireless and solitary. The silence around him was suffocating, not even a whisper of wind to break it.
She also saw him wandering among the Day-Moon Dark Blooms. Each plant bore a single flower that never withered—unless it was plucked. Then the entire plant would wither away. Sima Jiao stood among them, idly snapping the blossoms and tossing them to the ground, watching them fade without the slightest care.
These were shards of memory. Because Liao Tingyan had once entered his spiritual palace and seized fragments of his soul, they sometimes leaked into her dreams. While resting, she would see flashes of his past, fleeting and shallow, like images slipping through the cracks of her sleep.
Sometimes, she even felt his emotions. They were always heavy, always bleak. Upon waking, she realized—he had likely never known a day of happiness. Trapped in that place like a prisoner, who could be?
Still, there was a strange benefit. After that intimate spiritual connection with the grandmaster ancestor, her own cultivation had quietly risen. She hadn’t practiced a single technique, yet her strength was growing, leaving her with the guilty illusion that she had somehow stolen his yang essence to nourish her yin. It was embarrassing.
Sima Jiao, of course, showed no embarrassment at all. Apart from being more openly close to her, he acted as though nothing had changed. That steadiness, oddly enough, made it easier for her to accept. Soon, she was able to slump beside him again, as naturally as before.
They traveled disguised as a young master and lady of the Night Wandering Palace, bound for Geng City Immortal Manor’s Chen Academy. Half the journey was already behind them.
Her current role was Yong Lingchun, the young miss; Sima Jiao was her “brother,” Yong Siqiu. She had no acting skills, and he had no interest in acting, so their personas were inevitably off. The two Nascent Soul cultivators escorting them were suspicious, but found no real flaws—chalked it up to the eccentricities of the young.
The real brother and sister had been transformed into two fluffy little mountain chickens, now handed to Liao Tingyan as “pets.” She didn’t particularly enjoy them, but the big black snake, shrunk to the size of her thumb, adored them—chasing them around and feeding them scraps of his meals. The poor chicks chirped and scuttled in terror, but at least they were cared for.
Compared to the many great cultivators Sima Jiao had killed, the siblings were lucky to have survived as chickens. Sometimes he would tap their cage just to watch them tremble, but most of the time he ignored them. What he did enjoy was curling up against Liao Tingyan and sleeping.
Not ordinary sleep, either. Because his soul had not yet fully recovered, he preferred resting inside her spiritual palace.
It was like this: his own soulscape was scorched earth and flames, suffocating with the stench of blood. Hers, by contrast, was filled with flowers and wind. In her spiritual palace, he experienced—for the first time in his life—peaceful sleep. Sweet, dreamless rest.
And once he discovered it, he couldn’t stop. Every time Liao Tingyan lay down, another Sima Jiao would simply appear beside her. He claimed half her bed, half her spiritual palace, and slept.
Oddly enough, it made him calmer. In the half-month they traveled, he hadn’t killed a single person. For her, that was proof of a miracle.
Eventually, they arrived at the Mu family of the outer court, who were related by blood to the Shi clan of the sect leaders. Elder Mu, their “maternal grandfather,” received them. He looked young but carried the imposing air of someone long used to power. His voice was gentle, but always condescending.
To Elder Mu, his grandchildren were respectfully greeting him. In truth, Sima Jiao had led Liao Tingyan to sit comfortably aside, and she was watching Elder Mu perform to empty air.
Illusion techniques, impressive indeed. She had once asked Sima Jiao how to learn such things. He had looked at her, surprised. “Learn? Don’t they just come naturally?”
Liao Tingyan: …Goodbye.
After the formalities, they were escorted to Chen Academy to register. Students of the outer court lived there until they either excelled and entered the inner academy—or failed and returned home.
Liao Tingyan stared at the grand academy gates. “…Ancestor, did you bring me here to study the basics?”
The idea horrified her. She had already endured almost twenty years of schooling in her old life. She had hoped transmigrating meant a permanent vacation.
Sima Jiao, naturally, was unmoved. “Study? I’m here to kill people.”
She relaxed—then stiffened again. “…Wait, who exactly?”
His expression darkened. “The Shi clan. And their closest allies.”
For a moment, she felt relieved it wasn’t everyone. At least he wasn’t planning another massacre. But then he glanced at her and said quietly: “Don’t think too much. I’ve already spared the others—for your sake.”
Her mind went blank. For her sake? When had she ever tried to persuade him? Wasn’t he imagining things?
He tapped her forehead. “During spiritual intercourse, I see fragments of your thoughts. You don’t have to speak for me to know.”
So that was it. He had adjusted his killing for her, simply because he knew she disliked it.
That night, she decided: during their next connection, she must guard her thoughts carefully. Next time—wait, why was she already assuming there would be a next time? She pushed the thought aside.
They were placed in the Tian class, the most prestigious. Their villa was large enough for them, attendants, and guards—standard for privileged heirs.
On the first morning, the academy bell tolled, and Liao Tingyan shot upright in bed. Normally, she could sleep through anything. But the sound of a school bell awakened all her old instincts—never late, never absent. Years of conditioning left her conscience twitching.
She glanced at Sima Jiao, who had taken to sleeping in with her, and shook him awake.
He cracked open his eyes. “What?”
“Class,” she said firmly.
His expression made it clear he thought she was insane. But she dragged him all the way to the classroom anyway.
When they slipped inside, the Nascent Soul teacher was already lecturing on spiritual root circulation and the Five Elements. Liao Tingyan tugged Sima Jiao’s sleeve. “Ancestor, use an illusion. Make us invisible.”
Sima Jiao: …
Moments later, under the teacher’s very nose, they sat down in a corner.
Liao Tingyan yawned, leaned back, and whispered, “All right. Now we can sleep.”