Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 57

 

The Demon Realm was unlike the outside world. It lacked both rich spiritual energy and the change of seasons. Everywhere felt dry and lifeless, a desolate atmosphere that weighed on the heart.

Winter City, however, stood apart. Its air was sharp and bitterly cold year-round, and the rolling hills and forests surrounding it were blanketed in white—not snow, but a strange, pale stone unique to the land. The people of Winter City used this stone to build their homes, giving the entire city the appearance of a frozen landscape carved from ice. That was how it earned its name.

From the window of the forbidden palace, Shi Yan finally saw Winter City in its true form. Endless white stretched to the horizon, stark and pristine, almost mocking the name “Demon Realm.” On the way here, jostled in the black snake’s mouth, she had been too disoriented—whether carsick or snake-sick—to notice anything.

By appearance alone, Winter City was far more striking than Crane Immortal City. But the cold here was merciless. Even she, a Transformation Immortal cultivator, shivered until she felt she might freeze solid just standing at the window. If the cold could bite her like this, she wondered how ordinary cultivators managed to endure.

Back in Crane Immortal City, she had occasionally overheard gossip about Winter City and its infamous master, Sima Jiao. She had dismissed the tales as idle chatter—especially since those telling them had never been here either. People described Winter City as a city blanketed in snow, and now, seeing it with her own eyes, she realized for the first time that the rumors had been true.

It reminded her of Sima Jiao himself. Before meeting him, she hadn’t believed that the ruthless man of legend could behave like… a capricious, unpredictable cat. She never knew what might amuse him, what might enrage him, or how to avoid triggering either. His moods were a mystery.

Shi Yan: I don’t dare speak.

At least he didn’t vent his temper directly on her. When she provoked him, he would only look at her with a cold patience, as if to say, You’re sick, so I’ll let it slide for now. But wait until I’ve taken it out elsewhere—then we’ll speak again.

Shi Yan found this darkly amusing.

Since entering the forbidden palace, she had not been allowed to leave. The palace itself was vast and empty, its silence broken only by the presence of Sima Jiao in his dark robes, the great black snake slithering about, and now herself—the lone newcomer. Not even a single maid served here.

So this was the “status” of the Demon Lord? She had imagined something grand, like an emperor’s court, surrounded by attendants at his beck and call. Instead, Sima Jiao hardly seemed the type to manage details of daily life, let alone the comfort of others. She had resigned herself to a hard stay here—poor food, poor sleep, nothing more than imprisonment.

But she was wrong.

A short while later, trembling demon generals carried in a bed so large it could have swallowed a room. Piles of bedding followed: thick mattresses, silken quilts, embroidered pillows—nothing lacking. What stunned Shi Yan most was the bright red “double happiness” character stitched across them. The demon generals’ strained expressions suggested they were no less embarrassed.

“My… my lady, this is what the Demon Lord ordered. Shall we place it here?” one of them asked nervously.

Shi Yan nearly choked. This was the same general she had once seen commanding armies at Crane Immortal City, his very presence radiating menace. She had imagined him to be the type who roared with laughter while splitting corpses with his blade. Yet here he was, smiling obsequiously like a eunuch waiting upon the Empress Dowager.

The contrast was almost comical. Clearly, Sima Jiao had them well-trained.

And what was with this “my lady” nonsense?!

The bed was only the beginning. One by one, furniture filled the hall—folding screens, carved chairs, polished cabinets, soft couches. Brocade carpets unfurled across the floor. By the time they were done, the once-empty chamber looked like a bridal suite.

Shi Yan rubbed her temples. Was Sima Jiao trying to marry her here?

Heaven help her. Just a few days ago she had been nothing more than a security guard at Rouge Platform, and now she was apparently the Demon Lord’s bride. The absurdity of her life was beyond words.

And if word reached her Shi family “father”? He might die on the spot.

While she plotted ways to escape this melodramatic fate, Sima Jiao himself returned. His brows knit as soon as he saw the room swathed in red. “What is all this nonsense? Who arranged this?”

Shi Yan nearly blurted out: Weren’t you the one who ordered it?

With a single glare, he summoned the demon generals back. They stood trembling before him until he wordlessly pointed at the furnishings. Terrified, they scrambled to haul everything away and replace it with simple, practical furniture.

Then he turned to Shi Yan. “How do you like it?”

Shi Yan: Why does this sound like a newlywed couple discussing their home décor?

“…It’s fine,” she said cautiously. At least it looked livable now.

The surprises didn’t stop there. Soon, the same generals arrived again, this time carrying trays of food instead of weapons. The sight was so bizarre it hurt to watch. To Shi Yan, it felt like watching civil and military officials reduced to palace maids, their stiff movements betraying their awkwardness.

“My lady,” said a long-bearded general, clearly struggling with his new role, “the Demon Lord ordered us to bring you some food. If there is anything else you wish to eat, please tell us.”

Shi Yan wasn’t used to being addressed as “my lady,” but when it came to food, she wasn’t about to stay quiet. Food is the most important thing to the people!

“I want Red Cherry Fruits,” she said seriously.

These fruits were a Demon Realm delicacy, found only in a few southern cities. They were rare, precious, and notoriously expensive.

To her shock, within moments a basket brimming with the glossy red fruits was set before her.

“This is all we have in the city,” the general apologized nervously, glancing at Sima Jiao.

Shi Yan almost spat out her soul. All you have? Back at Rouge Platform, a tiny plate of nine fruits cost a fortune. And here they were serving them by the basket.

After years of work, she had never been able to afford even one plate. Now, kidnapped and imprisoned, she was being spoiled with them. Her resolve wavered.

Then Sima Jiao spoke. “Take Chi Lao, Hui Che, and Jiu Feng Cities for me.”

The generals straightened instantly. Those three cities were the primary growers of Red Cherry Fruits. For them, this was more than an order—it was a call to war.

Their bloodlust surged. They had long yearned for conquest, to unify the Demon Realm under their lord’s banner. At last, a command worthy of their ambition.

Shi Yan, meanwhile, stared blankly. …Wait. Is this really for me?

This was worse than Yang Guifei’s lychees.

Sima Jiao turned to her. “What else do you want?”

Shi Yan: Like hell I’m answering. If I ask for roast duck, will you conquer the cultivation world too?

“…Nothing,” she said firmly.

Sima Jiao chuckled and brushed a finger over her cheek. “Still the same. Always tricking me.”

Shi Yan froze. No, no, no—I didn’t trick you, old man. Don’t pin this on me.

But as she scratched at the spot he’d touched, her hand stilled. Something was different.

She ran for a mirror—and gasped. The small scar that had marked her face since she arrived in this world was gone.

“Where’s my scar?” she demanded, turning instinctively to Sima Jiao.

The Shi family had told her it was his doing, burned by his unique spiritual fire—impossible to heal by conventional means. She had grown used to it, sometimes even forgetting it was there, though it had always carried a weight of unease. And now, without warning, it had vanished.

Had he healed it while she slept?

Sima Jiao’s expression darkened. He pulled her closer, his thumb brushing the smooth skin where the scar had been. His gaze was heavy with unspoken memory.

Shi Yan’s scalp prickled under his cool touch. She tried to pull away, but his hand held the back of her head firm. His eyes burned with something sharp, something fragile, something she could not name.

He remembered ten years ago.

Back then, his arrogance had blinded him. He thought Shi Qianlü could never find Liao Tingyan, that the distractions he set in the inner mansion were enough to protect her. He had given her a defensive treasure, swearing it could withstand half a day of attack. He never imagined his own power—combined with Sima Shi’s—would shatter it in an instant, destroying the very thing he meant to protect.

And when she was gone, he told himself there was always soul transmigration. He could bring her back, unchanged. He cared little for life or death, and with resurrection in his grasp, why should he fear either?

But years of fruitless searching had taught him the truth. The terror of death was not in dying—it was in the separation it imposed.

Ten years ago, rage had drowned him. But as time stretched on, something colder, heavier took its place: fear. The fear of losing her forever. Yet pride forbade him from admitting it. Instead, he grew only more capricious, more unstable.

Shi Yan: Uh oh. Bad atmosphere alert! He’s sinking into some tragic memory. And usually at this stage, don’t people… kiss?! Oh no. Nope. I don’t dare!

Sima Jiao’s fingers pressed harder against her cheek. His voice, low and bitter, broke the silence. “Don’t make me laugh.”

Shi Yan: Huh? I didn’t! What did I do?

He stroked her face one last time, then abruptly rose and walked away.

Shi Yan was left blinking. Like a cat—you never know why it comes to you, and you never know why it leaves.

But the food still waited. Best not to waste it.

She ate the Red Cherry Fruits she had long dreamed of, sampling the other dishes as well. The flavors were bold and rough, Demon Realm cooking relying on heavy stews and stir-fries with no subtlety. Only imported marinated duck from the cultivation world had true finesse.

When she finished, drowsiness crept in. At Rouge Platform, she would nap in the shade of the garden trees; at the Shi family home, on the roof beneath the branches. Now…

She eyed the two options in the hall: a grand bed and a simple couch.

The bed was too neat. The couch, slightly rumpled, looked softer. Without hesitation, she chose the couch, sinking into its curve. Its messy comfort fit her perfectly, as though made for her. She let out a content sigh and drifted off almost at once.

Behind the folding screen, Sima Jiao sat silently by the window, unsurprised. He had tossed those pillows there himself, knowing she would prefer it. Liao Tingyan had always liked such places, always curling up wherever comfort beckoned.

When her breathing steadied in sleep, he rose. Quietly, he fastened an anklet around her slender ankle—a defensive treasure he had prepared long ago. Now, at last, he could give it to her.