Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 60

Shi Yan lounged on the couch by the window, idly staring at the snow-white buildings outside. The endless whiteness was dazzling—if someone splashed a little blue over it, it might even resemble a Mediterranean town, or those famous blue-and-white villages in travel photos. As an unemployed drifter who had lost her job, she supposed this was the ultimate vacation vibe: lying around with nothing to do and all the time in the world to waste.

Her thoughts wandered lazily until a black speck appeared in the distance. It drew closer, wings slicing the pale sky, until it landed on the carved wooden railing just outside.

A palm-sized black bird tilted its head, two bead-like eyes staring directly at her with unnerving focus. For a moment, woman and bird studied one another, and Shi Yan could have sworn there was intelligence gleaming in those eyes.

She reached for the plate of melon seeds on the side table. These weren’t actually called “melon seeds” in the Demon Realm, but since she had named them so, Winter City obediently followed her lead. She cracked a couple open and held them out. The bird pecked the railing twice—tap, tap—before daintily eating from her palm. When she reached to stroke its head, it didn’t move away.

Shi Yan fed it a small handful, and perhaps it was her imagination, but the bird’s body seemed to grow plumper with every bite. Just as she was wondering about this, a pale hand slipped from behind her and seized the bird.

Startled, she turned to see Sima Jiao pinching its beak. The bird dissolved into smoke in his palm, leaving behind a square of black paper. On its surface sat the pile of melon seeds the creature had swallowed earlier, unchanged.

Shi Yan: “…” So it had been a messenger pigeon all along?

Sima Jiao brushed the kernels into his hand, reading the letter with his other. “A magic sound bird,” he explained smoothly. “It delivers messages and can carry small items. It obeyed you because of my aura on you. And it swallowed the seeds because it mistook them for its payload.”

Shi Yan silently popped the “returned” melon seeds into her mouth. Even with her cultivation, she hadn’t noticed the bird wasn’t real. That was unsettling.

After scanning the message, Sima Jiao folded the black paper twice. It shifted back into a bird and perched in Shi Yan’s palm.

“You like it? Keep it.”

She stroked its sleek feathers, squeezing its now-comically round belly. The texture was strange—not quite a bird’s—but she still found it amusing.

Watching her, Sima Jiao finally said, “This afternoon, I’ll take you to see someone.”

“Oh,” Shi Yan replied, tone obedient as always.

He left, but she could feel his presence lingering, hidden yet watchful, like a cat stalking from the shadows. He concealed his aura perfectly, yet she always knew he was there. Pretending not to notice, she continued playing with the blackbird until it dissipated into smoke.

Moments later, a whole flock of blackbirds appeared, their glossy wings stark against the snow-white sky. They circled once, then descended on her railing, cooing like pigeons. This time, Shi Yan checked carefully—yes, they were real. She hadn’t seen a single bird dare near the Forbidden Palace before. Clearly, someone had arranged this.

She sighed inwardly. Only the great Demon Lord would think of sending her birds just because she wanted to feed them. For a tyrant feared across realms, his attentiveness was unnervingly… considerate.

Down below, the Demon General responsible for summoning beasts looked thoroughly miserable. Once, she had commanded bloodthirsty creatures; now, by her lord’s command, she was reduced to calling over harmless sparrows and doves. Her face remained cold, but inside she was cursing. Orders were orders.

Shi Yan happily fed birds all morning. By afternoon, servants carried something into the palace, and soon after, Sima Jiao returned to fetch her.

The “someone” was her aunt, Shi Qiandu.

Bound and battered, Shi Qiandu glared at them with eyes full of venom. Real imprisonment, Shi Yan thought, meant this—starved, beaten, stripped of freedom. Her own life here, free to roam, fed and indulged, was nothing of the sort.

Shi Qiandu’s voice was gone, but her eyes screamed “traitor.” Shi Yan, uneasy, glanced at Sima Jiao. The silent exchange seemed to ignite his fury. He seized Shi Qiandu’s forehead, and a faintly luminous halo struggled against his grip.

Shi Yan froze. A soul. She had lived in this world for years, but it was her first time seeing someone’s soul forcibly dragged from their body.

Before she could react, Sima Jiao took her hand and pressed it against the halo.

Soul search. The words rose unbidden in her mind. At once, visions unfurled around her like flickering lantern slides—palaces, gardens, ambushes. She saw herself—called “Liao Tingyan”—captured and taken to Taixuan Peak. She saw Shi Qiandu betray her, her brother Shi Zhenxu guarding her, her father Shi Qianlü battling Sima Jiao in flames and magma. She heard Shi Qiandu’s taunt: That woman by your side is also on Taixuan Peak. If we die, she dies with us!

The vision shattered into darkness.

When Shi Yan woke, her head rested against Sima Jiao’s chest. His cool fingers pressed her temples, soothing her splitting pain. “Her cultivation is higher than yours. You could only endure fragments,” he said.

She blinked up at him, then caught sight of Shi Qiandu, eyes vacant, drooling, her mind clearly broken. The soul search was merciless. That Sima Jiao had pulled her into one spoke volumes of his mastery.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked.

Shi Yan nodded weakly. “I believe I’m Liao Tingyan.” Relief rushed through her. So Shi Qianlü wasn’t her father after all.

But Sima Jiao studied her too long, his gaze sharp as a blade. “You don’t truly believe it,” he murmured.

“No, I do,” she insisted, changing her own address. “I am Liao Tingyan.”

He smiled faintly. “Of course you are. But sometimes, I wonder whether Liao Tingyan is really you.”

Her mind stalled. What was that supposed to mean?

“Since the day I met you, I’ve never mistaken you. Whatever your name, your soul is marked as mine.” He tapped her forehead, arrogant, certain. “Even if your body changes, I’d still know you. We are dao partners.”

Her stomach knotted. Soul marks? Spirit mansions? Flowers blooming in her spirit that belonged to him? This was no ordinary substitution plot. In this world, souls ruled over flesh—and this Demon Lord had nearly crushed one barehanded. Could he not also rip hers free if he chose?

Her mind screamed don’t panic, but her palms sweated.

Sima Jiao brushed her damp forehead, lips curved. “Are you feeling insecure?”

“…A little,” she admitted.

He leaned close, voice husky: “You’ve rested well. Now it’s time to restore your cultivation.”

Shi Yan: “…” The tone! It sounded like he was about to drag her into some dual-cultivation flower field. Her brain immediately supplied a dozen scandalous images.

Sima Jiao burst out laughing, leaning against a pillar as though her embarrassment was the funniest thing in the world.

In the end, it wasn’t dual cultivation at all. He set rows of medicine bottles before her. “Take them.”

She eyed the pearl-like pills suspiciously. They looked big enough to choke on.

“They’re sweet,” Sima Jiao coaxed, rolling one toward her.

Shi Yan: “…” Pills are never sweet. She had taken enough to know.

“The highest-grade ones are,” he replied smoothly.

Half skeptical, she tried one. To her shock, it was indeed sweet.

What she didn’t know was that the Demon Realm’s greatest alchemists had spent sleepless nights figuring out how to sugarcoat the Demon Lord’s medicine, nearly driving themselves bald in the process.