Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 47
Although the thunder tribulation had been blocked by Sima Jiao, the credit still fell to Liao Tingyan. With that, she advanced smoothly from the Divine Transformation stage to the Void Refinement stage.
The world, after all, had its own rules. Her original Four-Nine Heavenly Tribulation had been twisted into a Nine-Nine Heavenly Tribulation because of her connection to him. But since Sima Jiao had taken the blows, the heavens still counted her test as complete.
It was like signing up for a sixth-grade math exam, only to be handed a college-level calculus paper—and just when despair set in, a stranger barged in, solved everything for you, and handed it back with a flourish. The whole process was terrifying, but in the end, Liao Tingyan’s tribulation passed without her breaking a sweat.
On paper, she was now a formidable cultivator of the Inner Court. Yet she felt no pride.
Perhaps if she were surrounded by a group of Qi Condensation or Foundation Building juniors, she might have held her head high. But her constant companion was a man who could step into ascension at any moment. The enemies they faced were never beneath her—Divine Transformation, Void Refinement, Integration, Grand Completion—every one of them had lived centuries or millennia longer than she had. Against that backdrop, her “achievement” felt more like a joke.
Still, after crossing the tribulation, they needed to stay in Thunder Echoing Valley to stabilize her foundation.
Liao Tingyan had no desire to remain. The last thing she wanted was to cultivate further. Yet when Sima Jiao said, “Stay here,” she answered obediently, “Fine.”
She missed her cozy nap spot in Shi Yuxiang’s fragrant palace. Even the simple comfort of a good mattress and a steady streaming mirror signal felt like luxury. Here, there was nothing but barren stone—and no signal. It was like suddenly losing your internet connection: unbearable once you’d had a taste of the good life.
But she knew Sima Jiao never did anything without a reason. So she only asked, “How long?”
“Three days.”
Her gaze fell to his bandaged fingers. A suspicion rose. Was he keeping her here out of sheer spite, just because she had insisted his hand remain wrapped for three days? Childish? Absolutely. But this man was perfectly capable of such behavior.
Night fell again. With her new cultivation, she could see clearly in the dark, but she preferred the warmth of light. She hung a flower-shaped lamp, its shade casting blossoms of light across the stone walls. Then she set about preparing a meal.
Liao Tingyan believed firmly: eat well, sleep well, and happiness would follow. Wherever she traveled with Sima Jiao, she recreated comfort—soft cushions, fur pads, pillows, bamboo mats, hotpots, grills. Her storage space was crammed more with household comforts than with weapons.
Sima Jiao, by contrast, never cared. Whether in a grand palace or sitting on a bare rock, his expression remained the same—untouched, aloof. But he didn’t mind her fussing and sometimes even seemed entertained by it.
That evening, she ate slowly under his gaze, wiped her mouth, then pulled out two wooden figurines she had carved. With a flicker of concentration, she cast Soul-Binding Art.
The palm-sized figures expanded to waist-high, their round heads marked with emoticon faces: a laughing mouth shaped like a “3,” and a sulky pout shaped the same way. To her, they were unbearably cute; to Sima Jiao, they were bizarre.
But the little puppets were useful. One cleaned up dishes, the other hammered her back with its tiny fists.
“What’s that on its back?” Sima Jiao plucked up Number Two, who flailed indignantly in midair.
“Numbers. That one’s One, this one’s Two.”
He glanced at her oddly but let it go, assuming it was some obscure Demon Realm thing. Then, without a word, he asked for the Gengchen Record of Ten Thousand Techniques.
She handed over the massive tome. He flipped, scanned the Soul-Binding Art, closed his eyes briefly—and then picked up a blank figurine. A moment later, it sprang to life under his command.
Liao Tingyan: “…”
Fifteen seconds. A heavenly-tier technique she had wrestled with for weeks, finally mastering only after reaching Void Refinement—and this man picked it up in fifteen seconds flat. Watching him toy with the blank-faced figure, she felt her pride curl up and die.
She quickly drew it a mocking little face, numbered it Three, and gave it a bowl of nuts to shell. The figure sat obediently and got to work.
Sima Jiao: “…”
“I animated that one.”
“Hey, what’s the difference?” She shoved a handful of nuts into his mouth. “Here, good for your brain.”
He chewed mechanically, forgetting until too late that he didn’t eat. The distaste that followed wasn’t about flavor—it was about memory. When he was young, fed scraps by the Shi clan, food had become something he rejected altogether.
She didn’t notice. She only giggled when Little Three kept shelling nuts until an absurd little mountain piled up.
Three days passed quickly. Despite her attempts to slack off, her cultivation crept higher.
“Isn’t it time to leave?” she asked.
Sima Jiao extended his hand. “Remove this, then we’ll go.”
She sighed, peeling off the “paw socks.” His hand had healed well, but when she clasped it between hers, her voice turned dramatic. “Promise me, don’t reopen the wound. Don’t bump it. It would break my heart.”
His face twisted like she’d just dropped a caterpillar down his robes.
Before she could laugh, he turned inward instead of outward.
“Where are you going?”
“Picking something up.”
Something, in Sima Jiao’s mouth, was never simple. He caught her hand, and in a blink, they stood at the valley’s center. Beneath his palm, an ordinary stone shifted. The world trembled, the ground vanished, and suddenly they were standing on a river of stars.
Purple lights flowed beneath their feet like water. Liao Tingyan’s breath caught.
“Come.” He walked steadily along the river, arcs of violet starlight swirling.
At the river’s convergence, a fist-sized purple stone glowed, wrapped in arcs of lightning. Sima Jiao reached out, tore the lightning apart as though peeling fruit, and handed the stone to her.
“What is this?” she asked, stunned.
“Thunder Stone. The heart of Thunder Echoing Valley. It blocks tribulations.”
Her jaw nearly dropped. “You mean—you just destroyed Thunder Echoing Valley?”
He only smiled. “No one will notice. Not until it no longer matters.”
“Simple as that? You just… take the core away?”
“This valley was built by the Sima clan. The Thunder Stone belonged to us from the start.”
Realization dawned. “Ah, no wonder you could enter so easily. But after so many years under the Shi clan, surely they set prohibitions?”
His laugh was sharp, scornful. “They tried. Against me?”
His expression alone was enough to kill ten Shi clansmen on the spot.