Chapter 62: Hidden Truths in the Streaming Mirror
Liao Tingyan belatedly realized that someone had just confessed to her.
Saying things like, “You are this way, and I am also this way,” should have been the other way around. His meaning was clearly: “Because I am this way, you are also this way.” A leader brimming with confidence, indeed.
But other people’s boyfriends would whisper words of love tenderly. Not him—he spoke as if making a casual observation, his attitude far from proper.
And after speaking, he didn’t even wait for her reaction before releasing her hand and rifling through the pile of items she had brought out.
My only male friend? You won’t even let me respond? —Though she hadn’t decided what to say, he had already taken away the chance.
Sima Jiao tapped on the streaming mirror, a spiritual tool long untouched. The device sprang to life quickly, displaying a vivid scene: a fairyland of green mountains and clear waters, with albino animals drinking by a crystalline lake. Liao Tingyan’s curiosity was piqued; she leaned in, captivated.
“This is for you,” Sima Jiao said, handing her the mirror. “You called it the ‘streaming mirror.’”
Liao Tingyan thought back—her previous life must have been quite pleasant if she had even started streaming. She swiped across the image, but the serene scene abruptly shifted to a scorched wasteland. Black poles, each topped with a severed head, pierced the charred earth, exuding an eerie malevolence. The contrast with the earlier fairyland made her recoil.
Sima Jiao swiped the mirror again, changing the image casually. “Many of the places we chose back then are destroyed. Nothing worth seeing. Next time, I’ll find new locations for you.”
The mirror revealed ruins of pavilions and towers, overgrown with weeds. Fragments of murals hinted at past grandeur.
“That’s the Gengchen Immortal Mansion,” Sima Jiao remarked. “It’s fallen into desolation.”
Liao Tingyan remembered the gossip: Sima Jiao, once Immortal Lord Cizang, had become demonic through improper cultivation. He had destroyed much of the mansion and its underground spirit veins, turning paradise into wasteland. The news of its fall had spread across the Cultivation World—and even into the Demon Realm—benefiting countless sects that plundered its treasures.
Though daily interactions made Sima Jiao seem harmless, the streaming mirror revealed his fierce side—like a divine-eyed tiger, sudden and lethal. Liao Tingyan imagined him raining destruction on the imperial palace, then glanced at the calm Sima Jiao beside her.
He swiped through more images: deserted cities, ruined outer districts, and finally a bustling kitchen filled with the aroma of steaming meats and sweet soups. Her stomach rumbled. Food in the Demon Realm could never compare.
Sima Jiao, unfazed by the culinary display, picked up a wooden figurine from the pile. He tapped its forehead, and three small figures tumbled out, growing larger with round heads and tiny limbs. One grabbed a mallet, another mockingly stared at Liao Tingyan, and the third began organizing scattered melon seeds.
“Did I make these?” she asked.
“You made two,” Sima Jiao said, pointing. “I made the other.”
Ah, so they had once created together. Liao Tingyan felt a pang of guilt for abandoning this past.
“Will I ever recover my memories?” she asked. Amnesia tropes aside, memories typically returned after a life-or-death experience.
Sima Jiao paused. “Whether you remember or not doesn’t matter. It wasn’t a long period, and nothing urgent requires your recall.”
Liao Tingyan relaxed slightly. Better to let nature take its course.
Still, curiosity got the better of her. “How did we interact before?”
“Just like this,” Sima Jiao replied casually.
Her mind drifted. “Did we… you know… do that?”
Sima Jiao, understanding immediately, lounged on the couch. “Which ‘that’?”
“You know… premarital…”
“Yes, we did. Many times.”
Her mind raced with images too wild to process.
“Spiritual communion and dual cultivation together,” he added.
Liao Tingyan’s thoughts spun out of control.
“Now that you’re back, we should be as we were before,” he said, collapsing on the couch, black hair flowing like water.
She searched her storage for courage—a jar of strong alcohol—and drank. Seeing Sima Jiao’s amused expression, she offered him some.
“No need to boost… yang,” he said with a peculiar grin, then laughed uncontrollably.
Her mind froze as she realized the jar’s original purpose. Why had I stored yang-boosting wine before?
Sima Jiao’s gaze hardened. “I’m sure this is a misunderstanding!” she blurted, trying to explain.
Indeed it was—a leftover from fruit wine she’d bought long ago. Still, couples thrived on misunderstandings.
Sima Jiao attempted to rise, but she pressed him down with one hand, calming him with a talisman. The sense of déjà vu struck her.
…
When she woke, bamboo shadows and red maple leaves greeted her outside the window. The Winter City Imperial Palace didn’t look like this.
She stepped into the soft silk robe, drew a mirror, and inspected herself—same face, just a bite mark on her neck.
A foot grabbed her, plunging her into water. A pale-faced water ghost in black clothes muttered, “Finally awake.”
She wiped her face, but halfway to shore, the ghost grabbed her waist and tossed her back.
“We’ll go up later,” it said.
Liao Tingyan measured him. “Cats don’t like baths.”
“What do you mean?” Sima Jiao asked.
She quickly shifted topics. “Where is this?”
“The villa with the big kitchen from the streaming mirror,” he answered.
“…The Cultivation World?”
“Yes.”
“Hiss—”
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