Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 41
A thousand yards beneath the mountain range, the years had carved out hollow cavities, worn away by the ceaseless flow of spiritual energy. They wound together like meridians in a human body, forming an intricate network. At their heart lay a spirit pool—pure, condensed energy, the lifeblood of the mountain itself.
A tall black figure stood by the pool, his form a shadow against the faint glow. He flicked his fingers, letting golden-red liquid drip into the water. Each drop ignited like sparks in wine, spreading soundless fire across the pool’s surface. The flames burned swiftly yet silently, as if they belonged to another realm.
Energy dispersed, flowing back through the mountain’s hollow veins, carrying the fire with it. The figure’s cold white fingers twitched, brushing aside the rushing aura, before he turned away.
The spirit pool was nearly impossible to find, let alone reach. But here in Gengchen Immortal Mansion, almost every spirit mountain was tied to the Sacred Mountain Fire. That was the only reason Sima Jiao had managed to uncover it.
Behind him, the spark he left behind began to spread.
The nine mountains of the inner court were the Shi clan’s stronghold—the palaces of the sect leader, the ruling elders, the sacrificial plaza, and the Sacred Mountain Temple itself. And deep within each of those mountains, their spirit pools now smoldered with hidden flames, waiting only for the east wind to roar.
Sima Jiao emerged from the belly of the mountain. At the entrance stood a man in Shi clan robes, eyes vacant, his posture docile. Sima Jiao brushed past him, resting a pale fingertip against his forehead. The man did not stir. Only much later, when his eyes cleared, did he wander off in another direction, showing no sign of abnormality.
He was one of many. Fringe disciples, overlooked by the clan, weak in cultivation and status, yet perfect as “seeds” to scatter among the cracks of a great behemoth. When the fire bloomed, these seeds would ensure it spread, unstoppable.
Even giants could fall—especially when flames were planted in their very heart.
Tonight, Sima Jiao’s hands were unstained by blood. He realized only when he reached his courtyard that he carried nothing back. Somewhere along the way, he had grown used to always returning with some small trinket for her.
Forget it. This time, he would let her sleep.
But the house was empty.
Usually, the room held her warmth—the faint fragrance lingering in the air, a tray of snacks set neatly by the bed, a flask of spirit liquid, the low hum of the telescope by the bedside. The flower lantern would glow softly, its light casting delicate shadows on the curtains.
Now the chamber was cold, desolate. The lantern was unlit, the scent fading. She had gone out again.
Sima Jiao sat in the dark for a while. His mood soured. Rising, he prepared to drag her back himself.
A sudden rustling came at the window. A small black snake slithered in, tail wagging frantically. It clamped down on his robe and tugged.
Sima Jiao lowered his eyes, expression flat. “Release.”
The snake whimpered and circled on the floor, then abruptly stiffened, collapsing like a dead twig.
His gaze sharpened. “Liao Tingyan?”
At the sound of her name, the snake twisted again, then stilled. Sima Jiao’s face darkened, frost spreading across his features. He seized the snake and flung it outside.
“Go. Find her.”
The small snake stretched into its true form, a massive serpent. Sima Jiao stepped onto its back, and together they flew toward Purple Stallion Mountain.
At the mountain’s summit sat Cloud Terrace Palace, Yue Chuhui’s domain. The little princess lived surrounded by opulence, guarded by layers of maids and guards. Below her glittering halls, however, lay the dungeon where she kept her prisoners.
Liao Tingyan had been thrown there after refusing to surrender the snake. Yue Chuhui had dismissed her as insignificant, ordering a casual beating and confinement. That was all. And then she forgot her.
When Sima Jiao found her, Liao Tingyan was curled in a corner of the icy dungeon, face pale. He crouched beside her, brushing his fingers against her cheek. Her skin was cold—too cold. He thought she had fainted, but realized she was asleep.
“…Wake up.”
Liao Tingyan stirred, her gaze landing on his fierce expression. “Ah… you finally came to rescue me…” she yawned, then quickly changed her tone at his glare, “I mean—it was awful, terrible! You saved me, ancestor!”
Sima Jiao said nothing, only lifted her into his arms. Her injuries were worse than he expected, her spiritual energy sealed. And when he noticed the blood-crusted gash across her face, his eyes chilled further. He touched it; she winced and cried out.
But instead of releasing her, his grip tightened. He pressed until the wound split again, blood welling up fresh.
“Ancestor, stop—pain, pain!”
He ignored her, tilting her face and running his tongue along the cut, licking away the blood.
She froze. Heat surged through her skin. “What the hell?!”
If he decided to “disinfect” all her wounds like this, she wouldn’t survive the embarrassment, let alone the pain.
Sima Jiao’s lips darkened with her blood. He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her. Then, without a word, he carried her out.
“Ancestor… maybe we should go back first? At least let me bathe?”
“Shut up.”
“…Are we going to kill people?”
His gaze was ice. “What else?”
She swallowed. “…Wouldn’t it be safer to send me home first?”
“Too late for that. If you speak again, I’ll kill you myself.”
The chill in his tone told her he meant it.
By the time they stormed into Cloud Terrace, Yue Chuhui was roused by the firelight. She called for her guards, but no one came. Instead, Sima Jiao entered, dragging her from her bed by the throat.
Her eyes widened in disbelief at the carnage outside. “Impossible… they can’t be dead…”
But Sima Jiao paid no mind. He shoved her in front of Liao Tingyan, pressing Liao’s trembling hand forward, shaping her fingers into a blade of spiritual energy.
“She hurt you. Peel her face. Break her bones. Make her suffer.” His voice was low, seething with wrath.
Yue Chuhui wept, pleading desperately.
“Ancestor, no—I can’t!” Liao Tingyan’s voice cracked as she coughed up blood, feigning weakness. “I’ll die if you don’t heal me first!”
For a moment, his grip faltered. She seized it, clinging to him, pressing hurried kisses against his face. “Please, ancestor, I’m afraid of pain… let’s go back first. Please.”