Chapter 68: Flames in the Spirit Mansion
The demon realm was abuzz with one subject: the mysterious dao partner of Winter City’s Demon Lord, Sima Jiao.
This woman, rarely seen in public, had become the center of countless rumors. Some whispered she was a demon cultivator born and raised in the abyss, while others insisted she was once a disciple of the cultivation world who had fallen into darkness. Stories grew like wild grass—some believable, some outlandish. But none could deny one fact: her presence stirred awe.
The truth was that the original Liao Tingyan had once been a spy under the previous Winter City Demon Lord. Only a handful of people in Winter City had ever known this. Yet when Sima Jiao rose to power, he dragged every one of them out, one by one, interrogated them with his terrifying methods, and destroyed them afterward—former Winter City Lord included.
Thus, when curious eyes sought to dig into her past, they found only scattered fragments: a few years spent in Heron Immortal City, vague traces of ties to the cultivation world, and little else. Everything else was silence. That silence made her seem even more dangerous, even more untouchable.
And so the “mysterious woman” was seen only strolling the quieter corners of Winter City, hand in hand with a small three-headed child, Hong Luo, or accompanied by the great black snake everyone feared. Her daily life seemed ordinary—almost leisurely—yet the sight of her was enough to fuel endless speculation.
Not long after, another rumor took root. They said she had borne Demon Lord Sima Jiao a daughter. The months of absence between the two were explained as Sima Jiao’s devotion—taking her away to some hidden place to give birth safely.
Liao Tingyan: “…”
Hong Luo, tilting her head with all seriousness: “Am I that legendary daughter?”
The girl had little fondness for the Zhi Hun tribe who had both caused her death and given her a new life. Once her vengeance against them was complete, she chose not to stay with her tribe, but instead clung to her only friend—Liao Tingyan. In her new, fragile body, barely that of a newborn child, Hong Luo found safety and trust only here.
What caught Liao Tingyan off guard was Sima Jiao’s reaction to this rumor. Instead of correcting it, he asked her with a calm expression:
“Don’t you want a daughter?”
“Not really,” Liao Tingyan admitted honestly. Although Hong Luo sometimes jokingly called her “dad,” it was all nonsense between friends. She never truly thought of herself as anyone’s father.
Yet two days later, Sima Jiao returned with a boy of five or six. The child had pale skin, black hair, black eyes, and wore a small black robe. His face was eerily familiar—seventy percent a mirror of Sima Jiao himself, like a miniature carved from the same mold.
Liao Tingyan: “???” What the hell? Is this your illegitimate child?!
But Sima Jiao treated the boy with utter indifference. The child, however, trotted straight toward her, circling at her feet as though he had done this a thousand times before.
Something about those movements made her blurt out:
“Snake snake?”
And the truth revealed itself.
The formidable black snake, Sima Jiao’s constant weapon and companion, had been given human form. He did not speak—only hissed—but when his lips curved into a smile, the coldness in that smile was more chilling than his serpent’s face had ever been.
“Not a daughter, how about this son?” Sima Jiao asked with infuriating calm.
Liao Tingyan stared at him, speechless. May I ask how exactly your brain works?
With his usual arrogance, he pressed her forehead lightly. “Take it out for a walk.”
And just like that, she was forced to parade around the city with the snake-child at her side. Rumors immediately twisted again: not only had she given birth to a daughter, but years ago she had already borne Sima Jiao’s eldest son—hidden away until now to protect him from enemies.
Liao Tingyan thought miserably: Without ever being pregnant, I’ve somehow become a mother of two.
The truth was that the black snake’s transformation had only recently been forced into being. He could not hold his human form for long and would often revert back, scales and all. When he was only a snake, Liao Tingyan could treat him as a pet. But once he had a child’s face and human limbs, she could no longer detach herself. Affection grew, whether she wanted it or not.
Meanwhile, Sima Jiao seemed increasingly drained. These days, he seldom moved, spending hours lying motionless on his jade bed. His dark hair spilled over the edge like ink on snow. His skin, pale as jade itself, blurred with the color of the bed beneath him, wrists and ankles so fragile-looking that one might think they could shatter.
One day, Liao Tingyan approached him with the child in her arms. She crouched by his side. His eyes were closed, his breathing faint.
“What are you doing?” His hand brushed the top of her head, voice faint but steady.
“Are you secretly up to something again?” she asked. His face, calm or in pain, always looked the same.
“I did do something,” he replied.
She touched his hand. It was cold—comfortingly so. She had learned that when his body was cool, it meant he was well. But if his body grew hot, it was a sign of danger. Relieved for the moment, she placed the child’s small hands on the edge of the bed.
“Aren’t you going to give him a name? I’ve never heard you call him by one.”
Sima Jiao’s gaze shifted lazily to the boy. The black snake had once been nothing more than a timid creature, terrified of him. But years together had left their mark.
“It has no name,” he said. “You can give it one.”
“Should it take your surname or mine?” she asked.
“…You plan to treat it as a son?”
“…Wasn’t that what you said? Were you just messing with me again?”
“Forget it. Just pick any name.”
So she bent to the child and asked kindly, “What do you want to be called?”
“Hiss hiss—”
“Alright,” she decided solemnly, “we’ll call you Sisi.”
Sima Jiao: “…”
He pressed his forehead, then burst into sudden, uncontrollable laughter, shaking as if seized by madness.
Liao Tingyan blinked. Is this what epilepsy looks like?
She leaned against him, resting her head on his hair. “Dual cultivate? The spirit mansion kind?”
At once, his laughter stopped. His gaze deepened.
“What, still not hurt enough?” he murmured.
“You’ve never actively asked before. Could it be you enjoy this kind of pain?”
“Why are you making me sound like a pervert?!” she protested. “I’m very afraid of pain. In this life, I fear it most.”
“Then just stay put.”
But she couldn’t. Something about him made her restless. She feared he was hiding something, that his spirit fire burned more violently than before. Dual cultivation might reveal what he would not tell her.
Yet he refused.
So she sent the child away, shut the doors, and turned back. Sima Jiao was already untying his belt, tossing his robe aside with lazy disdain.
“I don’t want to move. If you want to come, then come yourself.”
Liao Tingyan: “…?” What kind of domineering villain is this? Other people’s bosses demand passion; mine just wants to lie still!
Frustrated, she grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Tell me! What’s wrong with you? What’s happening with the fire in your spirit mansion? It’s getting stronger—I know it’s not good. Are you hiding something from me?”
“There is indeed something I haven’t told you,” he admitted at last. His expression was pure arrogance, full of what can you do about it?
Driven by desperation, she tugged sharply at his belt.
What ‘I don’t want to’—all lies.
If she believed him again, she’d be the fool.
While his health faltered, his generals thrived. Within three months, they had conquered the demon realm entirely. Maps were redrawn under his rule. Sima Jiao became the sole Demon Lord.
And with that conquest came Shi Qianlü—finally captured after years in hiding.
Sima Jiao executed him personally. His body and soul were scattered into nothing. But before death, Shi Qianlü cursed him:
“You too will burn, Demon Lord. You will die by fire, your soul destroyed as mine!”
With those words, he struck Sima Jiao with an immortal weapon, piercing his abdomen. Flames burst from the wound, devouring him from within.
Winter City shook with terror. Generals paled. Was their lord doomed?
But with sheer force of will, Sima Jiao subdued the fire. He closed the forbidden palace to outsiders, delegating all affairs to others, his expression grim.
When Liao Tingyan rushed to him, he allowed her to lift his robe, only to reveal unbroken skin.
“There is no wound,” he said. “Shi Qianlü was already finished. He could not hurt me.”
He’s lying again, she thought. He’s planning something.
The palace became their cage. For a month, they did not leave.
Until one night, chaos broke outside. Traitors had been lured out. Sima Jiao rose at last.
Liao Tingyan cracked melon seeds as if watching a show. She drew her blade, ready to go.
But his hand closed over hers, warm and firm.
“Tonight,” he whispered, “sit here and watch Winter City burn.”
His tone—bloodthirsty, perverse, wicked.
So she stayed. And through the windows, the city blazed. Fire spread like flowers blooming, dyeing the snow-white walls crimson. By dawn, half the demon generals were dead, countless city lords with them.
The realm trembled. Yet strangely, those who survived bent their knees lower, their loyalty absolute.
“Too many people are hard to manage,” he told her with a rare smile. “Now it’s about right.”
“…But you never managed them at all,” she pointed out.
He only laughed.
Time passed. Beyond the demon realm, cities rose on the territory once given to her. Liao Tingyan liked it there more than Winter City, so he took her away to live outside. The new capital was named after her—Yan City.
Seven years slipped by.
And Liao Tingyan, somehow, had become not just the Demon Lord’s partner, but also a city lord in her own right.