Master, Your Salted Fish Has Arrived - Chapter 30
Now it was even better—she had always thought Sima Jiao looked like a villainous final boss, and now, with her own identity as a demon cultivator added in, the pairing was perfect. Together, they looked exactly like the kind of people you wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. A true villain duo.
Liao Tingyan tried to reason her way out of the label.
“I think… even if I’m technically a demon cultivator, I shouldn’t have done anything bad.”
The high monk shook his head gently. “No need to be nervous. I can see the balance of good and evil. You may come from the Demon Realm, but your heart is not wicked.”
She let out a long breath. Thank goodness. For a moment, she thought he’d appeared to exterminate her on the spot.
The monk’s voice grew heavier, his words slow and deliberate.
“Many years ago, I crossed paths with Sima Jiao on Three Saints Mountain. He was still young then, but already brilliant beyond his peers. I gave him the Dharma name Cizang—hoping he would have compassion for all beings and restrain his killing intent.”
He paused, his eyes seeming to see through time itself.
“But when I calculated his fate, I saw a nightmare. His future was drenched in blood and fire. He would grow into a terrifying figure, nearly toppling the cultivation world singlehandedly. He would destroy Gengchen Immortal Manor, slaughter innocents without number, and turn paradise into a wasteland. The sins he would commit could never be forgiven.”
Liao Tingyan’s scalp tingled. So the monk really had come here to vanquish evil.
Then, unexpectedly, his tone softened.
“Yet nothing in this world is absolute. Even the darkest road may hold a glimmer of light. Within his blood-soaked fate, I glimpsed a possibility—a turning point, a person who could change him.”
Her eyelid twitched. Somehow, she already knew where this was going.
“I left him a Buddhist bead to suppress his violent energy,” the monk continued, gesturing at the red-string anklet tied to Sima Jiao’s leg. “When he harbors killing intent, the bead inflicts unbearable pain, keeping him in check. It is both a seal and a medicine. If you can undo it, it means you are the person destined to guide him—and it can save his life once. If not, then his fate ends here.”
So her hunch was right. She was the so-called “turning point.”
Classic transmigrator setup: the fated one who could save the villain. Why did this cliché always land on her?
“…I’ll give it a try then,” she said weakly.
The monk nodded encouragingly, like a teacher watching a child about to take their first exam.
She crouched by Sima Jiao’s ankle and examined the string. No knot, no loose end. Fine. She grabbed it with both hands and pulled. Snap.
…That was it?
She stared at the broken string in her hands, suspicious.
“Does breaking it count? Or did I just ruin the artifact?”
The high monk’s expression suddenly turned solemn. He rose, bowed deeply to her, and declared:
“Indeed, this is proof. You are his ray of hope—the dawn that may yet lead all beings to salvation. From this day forward, I entrust him to you. Guide him toward the light.”
Liao Tingyan: “…This feels like a promotion I didn’t apply for.”
The monk only smiled more warmly, like a boss heaping empty praise while piling impossible work on an employee.
She glanced at the unconscious man on the bed, her “assignment,” and seriously considered whether letting him die might have been the smarter move.
“High Monk…” She turned back to ask what to do next, only to find the man had vanished.
“???”
She hurried outside, but the only thing left was his voice drifting away on the wind:
“This karmic thread has run its course. Take care in the days ahead.”
…What a convenient exit. Do the job, dump the responsibility, and vanish. How very monk-like.
Resigned, she returned inside, stuffed the wooden bead into Sima Jiao’s mouth (who cared it came from his foot—she wasn’t the one eating it), and sat back with a sigh. At least the “medicine” was supposed to work. The rest could wait till later.
Sure enough, the bleeding slowed. His veins stopped bulging. Even his impossible wounds began knitting together. She tested her new ability, peering into his body as though she were a CT machine, and was stunned. His internal organs were shredded, his meridians fractured, half his cultivation foundation in ruins. Only sheer stubborn willpower—and fire—had kept him standing this long.
Liao Tingyan shivered. Handsome face aside, this man was truly made of steel.
All afternoon she watched his condition stabilize. The black snake eventually slithered over to check as well. But still, Sima Jiao didn’t wake. Looking at his blood-caked hair, she finally couldn’t stand it. She formed spheres of water, cleaning him head to toe like a magical washing machine. She even changed out the straw bedding, levitated him into clean sheets, and covered him with one of her own dresses since there weren’t any men’s clothes around.
Finally, she slumped onto a cushion. Maybe tomorrow he’d wake, smirking and ready to torment her again. Then she could happily go back to being lazy.
But just as she was about to rest, flames surged from his body. They twisted into the shape of a flower above him—and spoke.
“What are you staring at? He’s about to die!”
Liao Tingyan: “…What the hell???”
The flame’s childlike voice shrieked, “His spiritual palace is in chaos! His body might be healing, but his soul is unraveling. If you don’t act, his consciousness will scatter!”
Her head throbbed. “Excuse me? I’m not a soul doctor!”
“Enter his spiritual palace and fix it!” the flame snapped.
“That sounds like brain surgery!” she shot back.
“Do you think I want to save him? If he dies, I die too! So hurry up!”
She stared at it, unconvinced. But the flame’s panic was real, shrinking smaller with every second.
“Damn it,” she muttered, dragging a chair to the bedside. She pressed her forehead to his, sweat already prickling her skin.
Slowly, carefully, she extended her consciousness toward his spiritual palace.
Instead of resistance, she slipped right in.
And there, she saw it—his spiritual world, a land of blackened earth and raging flames, suffused with blood and despair. In the center, his soul hovered like a dying flower, petals falling away one by one.
Liao Tingyan braced herself and drifted toward it.