Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 35
Liao Tingyan couldn’t sleep that night—not because of the “cultivation sexual health class” the teacher had given during the day, but because her classmates had dragged her to a banquet.
Her borrowed identity was that of Yong Lingchun from the Night Tour Palace. At this level of society, eating, drinking, and building connections went hand in hand; feasts weren’t optional, they were obligations. Since the entire class was going, she had no excuse not to. Even office workers had to show up at dull company dinners, so she might as well blend in.
Led by the two highest-ranking students—one male, one female—the group made its way to the Brocade Painting Hall outside Chenxue Academy to enjoy the capital’s nightlife.
Men and women sat apart, separated by lantern light and blossoming branches. Musicians strummed beneath the flowers, attendants drifted in and out with trays of wine and spirit-infused delicacies. The scene was harmonious, elegant, even picturesque. To adult Liao Tingyan, however, it felt like a disappointment.
Yong Lingchun’s seat was right in the middle of the women’s section. No sooner had she picked up a peony-shaped meatball than the first wave of conversation rolled in.
“Lingchun, didn’t you come to the academy with your brother? Why haven’t we seen him lately?”
Forced to put down the meatball, she smiled. “He has matters elsewhere. He’ll be back in a few days.”
Then a fragile-looking girl clung to her arm. “Since you’re alone these days, why not attend classes with me? I’m lonely too. Our courtyards aren’t far apart.”
From the girl’s confidence, it was clear she expected Lingchun to recognize her. Liao Tingyan, of course, had no clue who she was. So she switched on her seasoned office-worker skills: polite small talk, vague agreement, graceful exit.
Before she could spear another meatball, a new challenger appeared—a sweet-looking girl with a sharp tongue. “Did you embarrass my cousin in class? Was it you who made him lose face?”
Ah. Qi Letian’s cousin.
Liao Tingyan widened her eyes, face the very picture of innocence. “I didn’t. Who’s your cousin?”
Slacker skill one: Whatever you say, fine.
Slacker skill two: What? I don’t know. Not me.
The cousin, duly confused, left.
But before she could chew her reclaimed meatball, yet another girl leaned over, ready for a fight. “So even Night Tour Palace disciples come to Gengchen Immortal Sect for schooling? Can’t blame you—your tiny sect barely has people, let alone teachers.”
Liao Tingyan put her chopsticks down and answered with complete sincerity, “Exactly. You’re right.”
Slacker skill three: Yes, yes. Everything you say is correct.
The girl blinked, thrown off, but pressed on. “I can tell your spirit roots aren’t much. You probably won’t amount to anything here. Better find a Dao partner to rely on early.”
Liao Tingyan nodded thoughtfully. “Good advice. Makes sense.”
The girl faltered. “…So you came tonight looking for a Dao partner? Too bad—everyone here’s from families far above your reach. Best know your place.”
“Right,” Liao Tingyan agreed serenely. “That’s exactly what I think too.”
The would-be provocateur left fuming. Wasn’t Yong Lingchun supposed to be arrogant, quick to explode? Why was she acting like a compliant doormat?
At last, Liao Tingyan finished her meatball in peace. She sighed inwardly. This wasn’t a banquet at all; it was a networking battlefield where nobody came for the food. She scooped up a bowl of milky-white sweet soup instead. The taste—refreshing and sweet—was a small comfort.
Her mind wandered. Life on Three Saints Mountain had been worse; back then she had to bring her own rations, sometimes not even getting dried meat. White Deer Cliff had been a food paradise—anything she asked for appeared instantly. Later, while fleeing for her life, it was back to rations and preserved foods. Compared to all that, this banquet food was more than acceptable.
Halfway through her second spoonful of sweet soup, another girl leaned in. “Your temper’s impressive. Even when Yuan Rongxue mocked you earlier, you didn’t get angry.”
“There’s nothing to be angry about,” Liao Tingyan replied blandly. After all, the insults were aimed at Yong Lingchun—what did that have to do with her?
She thought of her position now: the “great ancestor” of Sima Jiao’s people. If Sima Jiao were an eccentric corporate heir, parachuted into a subsidiary, then she was his assistant—protected by his towering shield of madness. In other words, untouchable.
The chatter around her turned to gossip. Someone leaned in with a conspiratorial tone. “Have you heard? Something major happened in the inner sect.”
Eyes lit up. “Is it about… the Ancestor?”
At last, the rumors she’d been waiting for. Liao Tingyan perked her ears.
They spoke in veiled words, but it was obvious: Master Cizang’s affairs, the chaos Sima Jiao had stirred.
“I heard the Ancestor killed people in a rage—all because of some female disciple he favored. The Sect Leader is even covering for him.”
“They say the Ancestor quarreled with the Sect Leader and shut himself away at White Deer Cliff.”
Liao Tingyan nearly snorted into her sweet soup. Fake news. Clearly the higher-ups were covering the truth for the sake of stability.
Someone muttered too bluntly, “I thought the Ancestor would strengthen Gengchen Immortal Sect. Now he seems like a disaster.”
The table fell silent.
A haughty youth quickly countered. “The Ancestor’s cultivation is unmatched, and he’s the only heir of the Sima clan. Willfulness is normal. Haven’t you read our sect’s history? The Sima disciples have always risen to greatness. They’re worthy of our respect. If given the chance, I would gladly die for him.”
Many nodded. As long as they weren’t the ones killed, most found it safer to admire such power.
But Sima Jiao had never cared to rally forces. His contempt for the sect was absolute; he’d always act alone.
“Finished eating? Let’s go.”
Speak of the devil—there he was. Sima Jiao, wearing Yong Shichu’s face, appeared behind her as though he’d been there all along.
The entire hall turned to stare. He ignored them, gesturing to Liao Tingyan. She obediently put down her sweet soup and stood.
The male leader tried to stop them politely. “Brother Yong, we arranged this banquet to get to know one another. Why not stay for the performances?”
Sima Jiao shot him a look—the kind one gives an ant crawling across one’s boot. “Banquet? Looks like idle chatter to me.”
Liao Tingyan’s heart cheered. Exactly my thought. Boss, you get me.
They walked out together, leaving a trail of strained smiles behind.
“Do you like it here?” Sima Jiao asked casually as they crossed the pavilion corridor.
“It’s all right,” she admitted. “The food’s better than at the academy.”
He frowned. “With your cultivation, you don’t need to eat. Apart from appetite, there’s no point.”
“Oh, but I like it,” she said. “Good food keeps me cheerful.”
He snorted.
Since half a meatball and sweet soup weren’t enough, they ordered another table’s worth of food. Liao Tingyan ate happily while Sima Jiao sat in silence, distant. At times, she thought he resembled a withdrawn child.
Then he spoke: “I can sense what you’re thinking.”
Liao Tingyan quickly shut her thoughts off and focused on eating, narrating in her head as if starring in a food documentary.
He kept staring.
“…Want to try some?” she offered at last.
Sima Jiao leaned in and stole a bite straight from her spoon.
Liao Tingyan froze. There’s a whole bowl, why steal mine? Do you only eat what you snatch?
She stuffed a pearl-white bird egg into her mouth defiantly. Hah, let’s see you take this one.
But Sima Jiao caught her chin, leaned closer—
“!!!”
Their lips met. Tongues brushed. A shiver ran down her spine, dredging up memories of their soul communion.
When he pulled back, he chewed the stolen egg with lazy satisfaction. She swallowed instinctively, lips damp, but found only the taste of him lingering. His fleeting smile disappeared into his usual cold disdain. “What’s so good about this?”
She wanted to force-feed him every last pearl egg until he choked.
Instead, he picked up the entire bowl and tossed soup and eggs into the flowerbed.
Liao Tingyan: “…Are you serious?”
Not far away, Qi Letian—late to the banquet—walked in just in time to witness that scene. His expression soured, then darkened. Yong Lingchun, the girl he’d been eyeing, kissing her own “brother”?
He approached, trying to play it cool. “Sister Lingchun, weren’t you at the banquet? Who is this gentleman?”
Liao Tingyan, oblivious to his assumptions, said casually, “This is my brother, Yong Shichu.”
Qi Letian froze. Four horrified syllables formed in his mind: in-ces-tu-ous.
Sima Jiao stirred his food with utter disinterest. “If you’ve got no business here, get lost.”
Qi Letian stiffened, sneered, and stalked off, face pale.
Liao Tingyan blinked. “Why did he look so constipated?”