Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 45
The Shi clan was vast, sprawling like an empire within an empire. Their main branch resided in the inner court, and just the well-known members numbered in the hundreds. Each of them had descendants, and—ironically—the weaker their cultivation, the more children they tended to produce.
At birth, once their bloodline was recognized, every Shi child received a jade tablet inscribed with their identity. That token was more than just proof of lineage—it was a key, granting access to the clan’s most jealously guarded treasures:
Thunder Roar Valley, which blunted the fury of heavenly lightning.
Sacred medicinal pools that healed wounds and washed away impurities.
The Tranquil Spirit Platform, where heart demons dissolved under its serene power.
And more besides. Generation after generation, these sacred grounds forged cultivators of terrifying ability, ensuring the Shi clan’s unshakable rule over Gengchen Immortal Mansion.
These places were heavily guarded. Not even the Mu clan, closest allies and intermarried kin for centuries, could pass their gates.
Liao Tingyan knew none of this. Sima Jiao never explained, and she never asked. She simply followed his instructions, carrying the little white rat, Shi Yuxiang, through layer after layer of defenses until she stood at the mouth of Thunder Roar Valley.
The valley was nothing like the jewel-like landscapes of the immortal mansion. No mountains. No rivers. No birdsong. No green. Only an endless expanse of jagged thunderstones—deep purple, towering like cliffs or scattered low like stools, forming a chaotic quarry carved by heaven’s wrath.
And she was alone.
“Go in yourself. I won’t accompany you,” Sima Jiao had said.
Fine then.
At first, she felt nothing. But after a few steps, silence pressed in from every side. For the first time since she’d landed in this world, she realized how rarely she’d been apart from him. The longest they’d ever been separated was three days. This time, it could be half a month.
But solitude didn’t scare her. Before meeting Sima Jiao, she had lived alone for years. Which working adult hadn’t? She might lack many strengths, but adaptability was one she’d mastered.
She picked a thunderstone shaped like a bench, washed it clean with water arts, dried it with a gust of wind, spread a soft cushion, and even set up a sun umbrella. Then she set down the unfortunate Shi Yuxiang—still a squeaking white rat—under a sound-blocking cover.
Next came a protective formation, just in case.
Other cultivators in her place would have sat cross-legged immediately, anxiously consolidating their realm. Liao Tingyan? She lay down for a nap.
High above, perched on a thunderstone, Sima Jiao sat cross-legged, rolling a black thunderheart stone in his hand. He had said he wouldn’t come, but here he was, watching her from afar.
Her laziness sparked a memory. Their first meeting—while others schemed and trembled, she had simply dozed off. Always finding a way to make herself comfortable, no matter the place.
As dusk bled across the valley, his sharp gaze narrowed. The ground stirred near her.
From beneath the stones crawled long, slick worms—silent worms, creatures that devoured sound itself. They swarmed toward her resting place, countless and relentless.
Sima Jiao leaned forward, ready to intervene. He had never seen her kill before. She was lazy, soft, almost unsuited to this world. Would she panic?
But she simply sat up, calm as ever.
With casual precision, she crushed a handful of pills into powder, scattered it, and the worms fell into a stupor. Then, with practiced efficiency, she scooped them into a jar and sealed it.
Sima Jiao paused. Prepared? And… collecting them?
Meanwhile, she washed her hands, applied a face mask, ate a snack, and opened a book and jade slips—reviewing notes.
Sima Jiao nearly laughed aloud. Preparing for tribulation like it was an exam? Yet he recognized the steadiness in her actions, the kind of psychological resilience forged not by cultivation, but by habit.
…
When her cultivation neared perfection, thunderclouds gathered above. At first, she stayed calm. With Thunder Roar Valley’s protection, Sima Jiao’s enchanted necklace, and her own above-average aptitude, this breakthrough should have been manageable.
Until she saw the sky.
The clouds weren’t ordinary. They were thick, violet-black, stretching endlessly, lightning flickering with suffocating pressure.
The first bolt crashed down like heaven’s sword.
Liao Tingyan reeled. This is just the first strike? Cultivators in this world really have it too hard!
After enduring one cycle, realization struck like a second bolt: this wasn’t the Four-Nine Heavenly Tribulation she had prepared for.
It was the Nine-Nine Heavenly Tribulation.
Her blood chilled. Nine rounds of nine tribulations each. The kind reserved for those about to ascend. The kind heaven used to punish beings who defied its will.
What virtue, what ability did she have to deserve this?
It was like walking into a sixth-grade math exam and being handed calculus instead.
The lightning pounded her relentlessly. Her necklace flared, crackled, and weakened with each strike. She could already hear it fracturing, one defense layer after another breaking apart. When it shattered completely, she would be nothing but ash.
And she could feel it—heaven wasn’t testing her. It was trying to kill her.
Her mind flickered to Sima Jiao’s parting words: “If I don’t let you die, you won’t die.”
Arrogant bastard. If she exploded here, wouldn’t his precious pride take a hit? She should at least try to hold on—for his face.
She braced herself for the next bolt, summoning all her strength.
The sky roared. The lightning fell—
—and a black figure stepped between her and annihilation.
Long sleeves whipping, black hair flying, arms raised to meet the bolt. Purple arcs carved veins of light across his skin. With raw, impossible force, he seized the lightning and ripped it apart.
Liao Tingyan: “…”
Bare-handed lightning. Of course. Ancestor things.
She tried to rise, but his hand pressed her back down, firm and unyielding.
“Sit. You won’t die. I said so.” His voice, cold and venomous, wasn’t aimed at her but at the heavens themselves.
He stood like a mountain, unyielding, his defiance carved into every line of his frame. Above him, thunder seethed. Around him, fire erupted—his flames colliding with heaven’s lightning in a cataclysm of light and fury.
Liao Tingyan could barely breathe. And yet, watching him, her panic dissolved.
He bled. His hands split under the force, blood scattering through the storm, shaped by lightning into burning lotuses. The sight was terrible, and beautiful, and utterly inhuman.
Heaven above. Fire below. Stones glowing purple as lightning and flame seared them into bloom. All creation blazed here.
…
When at last the tribulation ended, silence dropped so suddenly her ears rang. The clouds lingered, unwilling to disperse.
Sima Jiao lowered his hand, laughed coldly at the sky.
One final bolt fell, not tribulation but petty vengeance. He swept his sleeve, scattering it like nothing. Blood flicked from his fingers onto the stones.
Then he turned, eyes dark and burning, and dragged a bloodied finger across her cheek.
His touch was cold. His blood was warm.