During those years as Shi Yan, weakened by this body’s injuries, she had indeed swallowed many bitter medicinal pills. At first, that false father, Shi Qianlü, had told her plainly that her cultivation would never return to its peak. To step once more into the Void Refinement stage was impossible. He gave her only enough pills to heal her wounds and stabilize her at the Transformation Deity stage, ensuring she would not decline further.
Later, in Hexian City, she sought her own path to recovery. Though treatment was possible, the cost was staggering, and she would need a cultivator one realm higher than she had once been to repair her shattered spiritual veins. After calculating her meager earnings and considering the Shi family’s decline, she resigned herself to remain at the Transformation Deity stage forever.
After all, it was not a realm she had struggled for with her own effort. It was borrowed. To remain there was enough; she would learn contentment.
Who could have guessed that one day her peak cultivation could be restored so swiftly—by pills that melted on the tongue like candy? The process was painless, even pleasant. She found herself craving more. One type of pill even reminded her of childhood—a white, sugar-like tablet she once ate, something called a cerebrospinal pill.
“This one tastes good. Do you have any more?” Liao Tingyan licked her lips.
Sima Jiao’s eyes lingered on her, sharp and searching. Then he gave an order, summoning all the pill-making alchemists. They arrived one by one, leaving behind their half-finished hair-growth pills, their bald heads glistening with sweat.
Liao Tingyan was oddly moved. What kind of treatment was this? Was she a pampered concubine now? It felt absurd.
But then Sima Jiao pointed at her and barked furiously at the alchemists: “Why does she look even more foolish after eating your pills?” His tone carried genuine anger, which only made it worse.
Liao Tingyan: “…” What in the world? That’s it. Relationship over. Done.
Changing subjects with ease, Sima Jiao ordered, “Make more of those detoxification pills.”
One alchemist stepped forward, protesting, “Demon Lord, one Cleansing Pill is sufficient to purge every trace of pill toxin and stagnant qi. I’ve refined them for decades. I cannot be mistaken! One pill is more than enough for the Lady!”
If his pills required so many to be effective, unlike the others, where would he put his pride?
Liao Tingyan covered her face. She couldn’t bear to watch.
But Sima Jiao was unmoved. “Then make pills without detoxification effects that taste the same.”
Alchemist: “???” Only then did he realize he had not been summoned to refine medicine—but candy. The realization left him reeling, like a craftsman stripped of purpose.
And so, Liao Tingyan was gifted endless candy pills, delivered in baskets and boxes, with the Demon Realm’s characteristic generosity: “Take them, eat to your heart’s content.”
Sima Jiao tried one himself, his gaze fixed on her. “One day, I’ll catch Shi Qianlü and kill him properly.”
Liao Tingyan: “…Huh?” Where did that come from?
“All these years, you haven’t tasted anything good, have you?” he asked quietly.
Expressionless, she sucked on her candy pills. Nostalgia ruined. Childhood memories stolen.
Sima Jiao leaned lazily beside her, his elbow on his knee, chin in hand. His other hand reached out, pinching her stomach without warning.
She froze. Excuse me? Too familiar. We haven’t even confirmed we’re a couple yet!
She blocked his hand, but he simply laced his fingers with hers instead.
“Do you know why I haven’t explained your identity yet?” His breath brushed close. “Because… you’ll find out soon enough.”
Crunch. She bit down on her candy pill. The sound made his lips curve.
Liao Tingyan always felt he was pushing her patience to its edge. Was this his hobby—provoking her?
That night, she drifted into sleep, uneasy but reassured by his words: when she awoke, her cultivation would be fully restored.
She slept soundly. Meanwhile, Sima Jiao sat beside her, pressing her limbs, rubbing her stomach, massaging her body to guide the medicine through her blocked veins. He turned her this way and that, methodical yet oddly tender, and she never stirred.
“How can she still sleep so deeply,” he murmured, watching her. Slowly, the smile faded from his face.
Peaceful moments were rare for him—rarer still since losing her. That time apart had felt longer than the five hundred years he once spent on Three Saints Mountain.
His pale fingers lifted a strand of her hair, curling it, then letting it fall.
…
Winter City was harshest at dawn and dusk. Frost glazed the pale walls, only to vanish once the sun climbed, leaving no trace.
The dry cold of Winter City was foreign to Liao Tingyan, long used to Hexian’s warmth. Her palace alone, wrapped in protective arrays, remained as gentle as spring. Sometimes she added humidity herself.
But this morning, dark clouds gathered above the Forbidden Palace, and snow fell thickly. Spiritual energy stirred the heavens themselves, bringing a rare snowfall.
Awakening, Liao Tingyan rushed to the window, then realized—this was because of her. She pulled back her overflowing spiritual power, closed her eyes, and examined herself.
The difference was immense. The Void Refinement stage brimmed with power—she felt she could defeat twenty of her former selves.
Exploring further, she found within her body a sealed space, one she could never open before. Now, like discovering a hidden basement, she stepped inside.
It was a warehouse filled with everything—clothes, food, tools—all meticulously stored. Had she really been the one to hoard like a squirrel?
There were mirrors she didn’t recognize, little wooden figurines numbered 1, 2, 3, with silly faces.
Her heart lurched. Had she really once dared to date the great lord? Unimaginable.
Flipping further, she found a notebook locked with a simple formation. She tried her birthday—it opened.
Inside, she found not a diary but a study notebook, scrawled in her own handwriting, messy enough that only she could read it. Alongside spell notes were doodles—turtles, fried chicken, milk tea. Her own name written again and again. Zou Yan. Liao Tingyan. And circled, inside a shaky heart, “Sima Jiao.”
Liao Tingyan: “…” Oh no. It was me. I was the reckless fool who liked him.
Mortified, she peeked through her fingers.
A folded paper crane slipped free. She opened it with dread. Inside: “Sima Jiao, you big pig’s trotter, stupid idiot.”
Arrogant. Bold. Shameless. And yet… undeniably affectionate.
She folded it quickly, cheeks burning, and searched further.
In a small jewelry box, she found a locked drawer. Again, her birthday was the key. Inside lay two rings—simple bands engraved with patterns, one large, one small. Inside were two letters: “j” and “y.”
Her throat tightened. Rings weren’t gifts given lightly. It was obvious who they were meant for.
“What are you looking at?” His voice came suddenly from behind, soft but lethal.
Startled, she dropped the drawer. He caught sight of the rings, lifted them. “Why so nervous? They’re just rings.”
In this world, rings carried no special meaning. But she stammered, “They must be something I owned before.”
“Oh.” He slid the larger one onto his hand. It fit his middle finger. Then he tried the smaller one on his little finger.
Liao Tingyan stared, numb. The little deer in her chest? Already fallen off a cliff. Fine. Let him wear them all.
But he took the smaller ring off, caught her hand, and slipped it onto her finger instead. Then he kissed it lightly.
His gaze burned. “I know you liked me before. You will again. You’ll trust me, stay by my side, always.”
Liao Tingyan: “…” Such confidence. Even I don’t know what I feel.
But Sima Jiao only caressed her hand and smiled. “Because that’s who you are. And who I am.”
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