Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 10
Liao Tingyan stared at the blood slowly dripping from the corner of the ancestor’s lips. Her expression was indescribable. Injured? Really?
Sima Jiao raised his hand, wiped the blood with his thumb, and smiled as though he had just spilled sauce on himself, not blood. He turned that smile on the white-robed woman.
“Back then, I almost wiped out all the elders and palace masters of Gengchen Immortal Mansion. And you alone want to kill me? You’re overestimating yourself.”
He didn’t even bother counting the other “sisters” who had already been swatted aside like gnats.
Ah, so these were two different batches of women with different backers. Workplace politics everywhere, even here.
The white-robed woman staggered upright. With shaky hands, she pulled a jade bottle from her sleeve, dumped a pill into her mouth, and—just like that—looked healthier, deadlier, and freshly moisturized. Then she pulled out a pure-white sword that practically glowed.
“This was my master’s sword—our Moon Palace’s inheritance, the Moonlight. Today, one of us will die.”
Her gaze burned, full of tragic heroine energy. She even enunciated like a drama queen about to deliver a finishing blow.
“The Fengshan clan of the Sima family—your rotten bloodline—should’ve been wiped out long ago.”
As if on cue, the heavy chains outside clattered and the jade seals buzzed with resonance. The entire central tower trembled. This lady wasn’t fighting to win anymore—this was “mutual destruction” mode.
Sima Jiao coughed blood again under the assault, and this time he even stood up, looking slightly serious.
The whole tower became a blender of spiritual power. With Liao Tingyan’s pathetic cultivation, just standing too close meant instant death. So she did the only logical thing: cowered behind the human-shield-boss and prayed.
The battle didn’t last long. A thunderous crash later, the white-robed woman was hurled across the hall, her body drenched in blood, barely alive.
Sima Jiao wasn’t much better. He staggered twice and collapsed onto her bed. His eyelashes drooped, his chest rose faintly, and the blood at his lips now flowed like he was auditioning for a tragic opera.
Liao Tingyan grabbed a handful of her hair. Great. Now she was the only conscious, mobile person in the room. Lucky her.
She crept from the other side of the bed and whispered:
“Ancestor? … You good?”
“Liao Tingyan.”
The voice wasn’t from her boss—it was from the bloody heap of white robes across the room.
“I know you’re a disciple of Qinggu Tian. By seniority, your master would call me Grand-Aunt Master.”
Liao Tingyan: “….” Sister, you’ve got that level of seniority? Immortals and their ridiculous multi-generational timelines—who even kept track anymore?
The woman’s eyes burned with desperate madness. “Sima Jiao can’t fight anymore. Quick, kill him!”
Liao Tingyan: Huh?
“If you kill him now, our Moon Palace will support you. Resources, status—you’ll get it all. Just use the Fengshan Blood Condensed Flower, soak it with his blood, and your cultivation will soar instantly. Then take my Moonlight sword, carve open his chest, dig out his heart, and toss it into that jade pool. He’ll be completely dead.”
Wow. Step-by-step instructions. Tempting to anyone with even a scrap of ambition.
Liao Tingyan peeked at Sima Jiao’s corpse-like form. Honestly, when he first spat blood, she had fleetingly wondered if one lotus petal plus his blood could turbocharge her cultivation.
Then Sima Jiao cracked his eyes open. He was smiling, lips moving silently: Come kill me.
Liao Tingyan: “…?” Did he mean “kill me” or “my back hurts, fix my posture”?
So, naturally, she lifted him a little, adjusted his position on the bed, and tucked the blanket over him.
“Better?”
Sima Jiao: “…”
White-robed woman: “…”
The woman choked on her blood, shrieking hoarsely: “What are you doing? Kill him! He’s a demon—if you don’t, more people will die!”
Liao Tingyan calmly pulled in her earplugs. No thanks. She was a law-abiding, chicken-avoiding civilian. Murder wasn’t on her CV. If she killed him just because someone yelled at her to, what was the point of her twenty-plus years of being a model citizen?
Even through earplugs, the woman’s last words wheezed through: “You’re aiding a tyrant… you’ll regret this—”
Liao Tingyan disagreed. This world wasn’t hers. Their grudges weren’t hers. The ancestor hadn’t personally wronged her, so why should she stab him? She lived simply: no debts, no vendettas.
Eventually the woman’s voice died out, and the room was silent.
Liao Tingyan glanced back at her boss—neatly tucked into her bed—who was now staring at her with a half-smile that was… unsettling.
“…You alright, elder?” she asked cautiously. If he croaked, she’d have to rethink her five-year career plan.
Sima Jiao obligingly coughed another mouthful of blood. “What do you think?”
That looked… bad. He lay flat, barely able to speak.
“I feel like there should be some kind of healing medicine for this situation…” she muttered.
That was when she saw his eyes flash. Suddenly, she was yanked down into his arms. Her vision blurred—and the next second, she was dangling outside the tower in his grip.
Behind them, her bed, her walls, her whole room—gone.
Liao Tingyan: “F***?!”
Moments ago, he’d looked like death warmed over. Now, steady as a mountain, he held her like luggage while floating midair. His arms were solid iron. His “weakness”? Fake.
She clung to his waist, face stiff. There was no floor beneath her anymore.
Then flames bloomed in his hand—an entire sea of fire exploded outward, swallowing the sky around the central tower.
Dozens of figures appeared, old and young, men and women, radiating danger, surrounding them. Even with their numbers, their faces were pinched and grave.
Sima Jiao? Radiated smugness.
Liao Tingyan? Considered herself part of the furniture, hanging there quietly. This was officially way above her pay grade.
The intruders, however, weren’t united. Some hated him, some coveted his blood, some just wanted him contained. They’d been lurking for ages, waiting for tonight’s “weakest new moon.” And then some impatient old fool had jumped early… only to find out the ancestor had been acting sick.
And now—everyone was stuck inside his inferno.
A tall man tried to smooth things over: “Lord Cizang, this is a misunderstanding. At least our Heaven Palace has no disrespect toward you.”
Sima Jiao’s gaze cut to a sharp-nosed old man. “Which palace’s trash are you? I’ve been imprisoned by you for five hundred years—I’ve forgotten your faces.”
Liao Tingyan: “….” Amazing. Still provoking people mid-battle. Truly ancestor behavior.
The old man, furious, snapped at the others: “Don’t be fooled! He’s already at the end of his strength. If we don’t finish him tonight, none of us will escape later!”
Some hesitated, some retreated, others pressed forward. In the end, seven stayed to fight.
Liao Tingyan gripped Sima Jiao’s waist tighter, trying not to hyperventilate. This was absolutely not in her contract.
“What are you afraid of?”
She blinked up—he was talking to her.
“I don’t want you to die, so you won’t die. Didn’t I say? Even at my weakest, they’re still too weak for me.”
…Impressive.
The next few minutes redefined “impressive.” Sima Jiao alone slaughtered seven leaders of Gengchen Immortal Mansion.
Liao Tingyan suddenly realized: back in the tower, when he coughed blood in front of that white-robed woman, he’d been putting on a full Broadway show. Just for fun. And she had nearly been conned into becoming part of the act.
Now, seven human-shaped husks smoldered in his fire. The survivors looked at him with raw terror. So much for “weakened.”
Someone tried again, voice trembling: “Lord Cizang, those people were disrespectful and deserved it. We’ll punish their branches when we return—”
But Sima Jiao wasn’t done. He smiled, sharp. “One of you stays.”
Everyone froze.
The tall man who spoke first screamed as he combusted, turning into living fire.
The rest went pale.
A kindly old man gasped: “Not good—could it be—”
He never finished. The corpse of the white-robed woman flew from the tower, aligning with eight others. Nine corpses fell into formation around the central tower—the bloodlines of the eight palaces plus the main sect, the same ones who’d sealed him five centuries ago.
“I’ve endured these eyesore seals long enough.”
The ground shuddered. Chains clashed and snapped. The tower’s bindings shattered, crashing into ruins.
And over the chaos, Sima Jiao laughed, bright and pleased.
Meanwhile, Liao Tingyan’s brain was blank. Her main thought: Wow, this ancestor’s waist is really slim.
Sima Jiao, delighted with his destruction, noticed the spy hanging in his arm staring blankly. Amused, he lifted her chin.
“Look at them. Each one was once a feared powerhouse. Now? Pathetic. What do you think?”
Liao Tingyan, under the truth buff: “…Your waist is very slim.”
The smile froze on his face. Had he misheard?