Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 53
Traveling south past the undulating crimson mountains of Du Yan, then crossing the murky green tributary of the Zhi Qi River, one entered the territory of the Demon Realm.
Though the orthodox sects and spiritual mountains openly despised this place, dismissing it as a “remote, barbaric land,” in truth it was not so different from the outside world. Its size was smaller, its spiritual mountains and blessed lands fewer, its resources less abundant—but life persisted all the same.
The Demon Realm was not merely a nest of crazed demonic cultivators who slaughtered and burned without restraint. Ordinary people lived here, too. Though its mortal population was sparse, nearly everyone cultivated. The number of cultivators here rivaled that of the vast outside world.
Legends claimed that the Demon Realm was once a drifting continent, arriving from some unknown corner of creation and fusing into this world. Those who lived here cultivated with reversed spiritual flows, their methods more ruthless and unrestrained. They once waged a great war against the orthodox path, earning the name “Demon Realm”—a mark of evil, something to be eradicated.
Yet the people of the Demon Realm hardly resisted this reputation. Many leaned into it—burning, killing, looting, indulging in dark practices like dual cultivation with children, mother-son gu refinement, and soul refinement—rituals whose very names inspired dread.
To outsiders, the Demon Realm was synonymous with horror. Yet anyone who lived here long enough would find it strangely ordinary. Cities bustled with life, though under looser rule and greater chaos, colored with an unsettling freedom and ever-present danger.
Within its borders, powerful demonic cultivators carved up territories, each ruling cities that mirrored those of the outside world—only more lawless.
Shi Yan had lived in the Demon Realm nearly ten years. For two years, she had scraped by on the outskirts with a sickly father and older brother. Later, they moved to Crane Immortal City, where she had spent the last eight years.
The name Crane Immortal City suggested elegance, an ethereal aura more fitting for the righteous sects. But the name was nothing but a veneer. In truth, it was just as chaotic and blood-soaked as any other Demon Realm city.
Here, murders and robberies were daily occurrences. The streets reeked of blood. It was not unusual to find severed limbs left rotting in alleyways, stench wafting for half a month with no one to clean them.
“Which idiot did this again? If you kill someone, at least dispose of the body. Do they think people don’t need to step outside their doors?” Shi Yan muttered as she left her courtyard one morning, her gaze landing on a severed head and splattered viscera.
She casually formed a seal to burn the head, then washed away the blood with a wave of water. Once, such sights would have made her retch. Now, after years of life here, her reaction was no more than annoyance—like stepping around discarded trash.
Leaving her relatively quiet neighborhood, she merged into the chaos of the main street.
Crowds shoved and jostled, tempers flaring into constant brawls. Shi Yan suspected the arid climate was partly to blame—dry air bred dry tempers.
Vendors openly refined corpses at their stalls, cauldrons belching clouds of acrid smoke that stung the nose. She covered her face whenever she passed.
Thieves prowled in packs, their numbers so great they could have formed sects of their own. Once, a shadow cultivator had stolen her newly earned bag of spirit stones. Furious, Shi Yan had tracked him down, crippled his cultivation, and smashed one of his eyes. He fled the city bloodied and broken—but in the Demon Realm, for every thief gone, another appeared.
Here, life was dictated by cultivation. The strong lived freely; the weak lived at their mercy. Shi Yan survived well enough—her Divine Transformation stage cultivation gave her status and safety. Her father claimed that, had she not been injured, she might have reached Void Refinement by now. But Divine Transformation was enough.
Turning a corner, Shi Yan arrived at Rogue’s Theatre, the largest entertainment hall in Crane Immortal City. Brothels, gambling dens, and drug parlors thrived here—nothing was illegal, so long as it drew customers.
At night, Rogue’s Theatre blazed with lantern light, corridors glowing crimson, a gaudy paradise of endless revelry. By day, it slept under the sun, quieter, shadows lingering in corners.
Shi Yan worked here as an enforcer—essentially, security. She slipped in through the back, greeting the corpse-cleaners as they hauled away last night’s “garbage.” Corpses were, after all, the most common waste in Rogue’s Theatre.
She checked in for duty, made her patrol, then found a corner to slack off. Morning shifts rarely brought trouble. Her stomach grumbled—time for breakfast.
“Hey, Lu Yan, come with me to eat! I just finished work.” A woman in crimson waved as she emerged from the hall.
Shi Yan, known by the alias Lu Yan, smiled and joined her. Her father had once claimed their real surname, Shi, could bring calamity—they were hunted, he said. Whether true or not, Shi Yan hardly cared. To her, names were just names.
Her friend’s stage name was Hong Luo, though her real name remained unknown. She was a courtesan, but more than that—she cultivated the Path of Romance, absorbing men’s yang energy to advance. Many who took this path registered at brothels, using their cultivation to both live and grow stronger.
Life in the Demon Realm was harsh. Money was survival, and cultivation required it.
Shi Yan and Hong Luo often shared meals, trading stories about work. Hong Luo was exhausted today, cursing about last night’s useless client.
Shi Yan laughed, slurping her noodles as her friend ranted about bottlenecks, weak men, and her dream of bedding a Demon Lord or General to break through.
Shi Yan teased: “Doesn’t our city have a Demon General? Why not try him?”
“Old men,” Hong Luo spat, pounding the table. “If only you were a man! I’d have already slept with you eight hundred times.”
Shi Yan only shrugged. In the Demon Realm, such shamelessness was normal. And in Hong Luo, she had found something resembling camaraderie.
As they ate and chatted, Shi Yan couldn’t help recalling her past life, when meals with colleagues had carried the same warmth. For a moment, the Demon Realm almost felt like home.