When Destiny Brings the Demon

Sima Jiao woke up to find himself having fallen asleep in the carriage. It was rare for him to sleep soundly, let alone in a moving carriage. As he tried to recall the moments before drifting off, his memories seemed oddly hazy—as if he had been talking with Liao Tingyan and gradually felt drowsy. This woman was definitely not normal, he realized immediately.

The suspicious woman had her arms wrapped around his neck, leaning against his chest, sleeping soundly. In the groggy haze of waking up, Sima Jiao instinctively held her waist and pinched the back of her neck. Only after doing so did he fully regain his senses, staring at his own hand with an inscrutable expression.

Just who was this woman?

After all, Sima Jiao was the epitome of a temperamental emperor who "could not tolerate others snoring by his bedside." No living creature had ever managed to sleep peacefully beside him. Generally speaking, if someone was near him, he wouldn’t be able to sleep either.

"Wake up," Sima Jiao shook the woman in his arms who showed no signs of stirring.

Liao Tingyan, completely relaxed and deep in sleep, recognized the familiar rhythm of this wake-up shake—it was just Sima Jiao bothering her again.

So, conditioned by reflex, she tightened her arms around his neck, buried her face into the crook of his neck, and mumbled sleepily, "Mmm, no noise."

She didn’t even open her eyes.

Sima Jiao felt her nose and lips pressed against his neck, her breath brushing lightly over his skin, making his entire body feel strange. It was a peculiar sensation—his rational mind sensed something was off, but he couldn’t react in time, his usual vigilance and danger assessment failing him.

This Liao Tingyan had a face that often appeared in his dreams. Was that why he could tolerate her to this extent? Sima Jiao didn’t quite understand. He frowned, lost in thought for a long while. When he snapped out of it, he realized he was still holding her in his arms, his hand seemingly moving of its own accord to stroke her stomach.

His Majesty wore a contemplative expression, thinking to himself, It’s quite nice to touch.

He rubbed his fingers together and thought, Fine, I’ll keep her by my side for observation. If there’s anything amiss, she’ll slip up sooner or later. Since this woman is so eager to please me, I’ll grant her a higher rank once we return to the palace.

With that, he lifted the carriage curtain and glanced outside. The bright sunlight streamed in, falling onto Liao Tingyan’s face.

Liao Tingyan: "...Hot."

Sima Jiao: "..."

He rapped his knuckles against the carriage wall, and the vehicle immediately slowed. A eunuch pulled aside the gauze door and brocade curtain, kneeling at the entrance and calling out, "Your Majesty—"

The moment he caught sight of Sima Jiao holding Liao Tingyan, his face registered shock. But under the emperor’s suddenly darkened expression, he quickly bowed his head in fear.

Sima Jiao: "Bring ice."

To cater to His Majesty’s every whim at all times, the procession carried an abundance of luxurious comforts. The eunuch acknowledged the order and soon returned with attendants carrying a frost-covered ice container, placing it inside the carriage.

Liao Tingyan had actually woken up right after complaining about the heat. Still half-asleep and off guard, she had nearly used Spells to cool down before barely remembering the situation—this was only her first day meeting the mortal emperor Sima Jiao. Pulling something so drastic might scare him.

What if he mistook her for a monster? Some fox spirit scheming to corrupt the imperial court, perhaps. She wasn’t keen on that kind of storyline.

I’ve gotten too relaxed around him. Can’t let that happen—need to be more careful. Sima Jiao: "Since you're awake, get up. My leg's gone numb from you lying on it."

Liao Tingyan slowly sat to the side, glancing at his leg. Mortal bodies were truly too fragile. In a daze, fragmented memories flashed before her eyes—

Sima Jiao, clad in black robes, sat atop a giant serpent, looking down at her nestled in his arms with faint disdain. "With cultivation this weak, you're too fragile. If I exert even a little force, wouldn’t you die?"

Yet in the next moment, it was the same Sima Jiao, unhesitatingly slicing his palm to feed her his blood.

She, too, had once been such a fragile mortal. It was he who had transformed her into what she was now.

...

Inside the carriage, the sixteen-year-old emperor didn’t notice Liao Tingyan’s expression. He ordered the icebox opened, retrieving chilled fruit and motioning for her to eat.

"Go ahead."

Leaning back, he tapped his knee absently, suddenly wondering—why did it feel so natural to offer her food?

Liao Tingyan blinked, hugging the frosty peach, and sidled up to Sima Jiao. Pretending to massage his numb leg, she secretly channeled strands of spiritual power into him, ensuring smooth blood circulation.

The emperor, who had been about to summon a eunuch to knead his leg, snorted and reclined like a pampered lord, convinced this beauty was utterly infatuated—throwing herself at him, batting her eyes, even volunteering to massage his legs.

His ego swelled a little.

Liao Tingyan gave exactly three pats before withdrawing to eat her peach. Honestly, once accustomed to the delicacies of the cultivation world, mortal fruit just didn’t compare.

Sima Jiao: "...Is this how you curry favor?" Only three pats?

Liao Tingyan: "...Is Your Majesty’s leg still numb?" Hadn’t she used spiritual power? Three pats were plenty.

Sima Jiao: "..." It wasn’t numb anymore, but—was this the extent of her efforts to please him?

He fixed her with a stern, oppressive gaze. Typically, this look sent ministers, servants, and concubines alike trembling in fear.

Liao Tingyan: Seriously? Must you glare like that? Sima Jiao, are you... sulking?

Whatever. Sixteen years old—barely past his rebellious phase. Humoring him wouldn’t kill her. No point arguing with a brat. If he wanted a leg massage, fine.

Though his goal was achieved, the emperor inexplicably sensed Liao Tingyan’s thoughts didn’t align with his. He even imagined her cooing "little emperor" in her mind with affectionate pity.

Sima Jiao: "..." A delusion, surely.

Gazing out at the river, he suddenly remembered something and rapped the carriage wall.

"Your Majesty," a mounted attendant outside murmured, drawing near.

Sima Jiao: "What of Wei Xianyu?"

The attendant: "Governor Wei has already returned."

Sima Jiao rubbed his temples. He’d forgotten to deal with Wei Xianyu. His visit to Liyang wasn’t random—Wei Xianyu had been colluding with Marquis Nanyan, scheming behind the scenes. He’d intended to settle the matter this trip, but... he glanced at Liao Tingyan. Distractions had made him overlook it.

Torn between "let Wei Xianyu go for now" and "dispatch men to handle him immediately," he hesitated briefly before choosing the latter.Since they had come all this way, there was no way they would let him off. He immediately dispatched a few men back to take care of the matter.

A few days later, those men caught up with the procession and brought back results that satisfied Sima Jiao.

Under his command was a group of obedient and efficient eunuchs, utterly loyal to him. They were as notorious as the venomous beauties in his harem—neither group was seen as anything good in the eyes of the court officials. The venomous beauties ruined families, while the ruthless eunuchs took lives. Together, they made sure no one could escape unscathed, whether inside or outside the palace.

Over the years, anyone who displeased Sima Jiao met a terrible fate.

If not for the fact that everyone had been thoroughly intimidated by him, his habit of casually leaving the palace for leisure trips—sometimes for one or two months at a time—would have long since thrown the court into chaos. How could things remain so eerily quiet?

Fortunately, he paid little attention to court affairs, leaving most of the governance to a few senior ministers. These ministers, each representing different factions, could put on quite the spectacle in court. Sima Jiao, the ruler who should have been the protagonist, had instead become a mere spectator.

A feared and despised spectator.

The moment Sima Jiao’s ceremonial procession entered the capital city of Yancheng, many who had been waiting at the gates rushed back to inform their respective factions—Sima Jiao had returned, which meant their days of peace were over.

Liao Tingyan found it all quite novel. She had been with Sima Jiao for a long time now. Back then, though he was formidable and everyone feared him, he rarely indulged in extravagant displays of power. He preferred traveling with just her and the Black Snake, growing irritated if disturbed. But now, surrounded by attendants and guards, he truly looked the part of an emperor.

The procession moved along the broad main street, heading straight for the palace gates. Heavy security lined the route, keeping bystanders at a distance.

The Yancheng Palace was a vast complex, different from the structures of the immortal sects or the Demon Realm that Liao Tingyan had seen before. This palace had history—its architecture grand and dignified, its blue-gray brick walls exuding a simple, weighty presence. Perhaps this was the mark of mortal time, unlike the perpetually pristine opulence of the immortal realms.

She had been an "immortal cultivator" for so many years that she had nearly forgotten she was once an ordinary person.

Sima Jiao noticed her gazing out the window with a distant, melancholic expression, and his mood soured. Was she reluctant to enter the palace? Only now, at this point, was she realizing what kind of life awaited her? What was that look supposed to mean?

When Sima Jiao was displeased, he decided to raise the rank he had originally planned to bestow upon Liao Tingyan.

Surely that would make her happy.

If she still wasn’t satisfied, then she was being presumptuous, and he wouldn’t tolerate it indefinitely.

Completely unaware of the emperor’s musings, Liao Tingyan was taken to the Chen Hall, where Sima Jiao resided. After bathing, changing, and grooming, she was to attend the evening banquet.

Every time Sima Jiao returned from his wanderings, he held a banquet to "strengthen bonds" with his long-absent ministers—by gifting them beautiful women.

His harem sat in the inner hall, separated by a screen, their graceful silhouettes faintly visible. The outer hall was filled with ministers, their expressions grim, as if attending a funeral.

Sima Jiao arrived last, with Liao Tingyan in tow. As she walked beside him, she felt countless eyes on her—more, even, than those fixed on the emperor himself.Sima Jiao sat at the head seat and didn’t send Liao Tingyan to sit in the inner hall, directly having her sit beside him instead. This move once again caused an uproar. Liao Tingyan’s sharp ears caught the instant commotion among the beauties in the inner hall.

“Let the banquet begin.”

As soon as Sima Jiao spoke, an endless stream of attendants brought forth hot dishes and wine, clearing away the pastries and other refreshments. Graceful dancers swayed their slender waists, gliding in from outside the hall—in the blink of an eye, the scene was one of revelry and celebration.

Liao Tingyan eyed the dishes before her with appetite, ready to dig in. She took a bite without hesitation, only to hear the attendant serving wine beside her gasp sharply. She stiffened, remembering things weren’t as they used to be.

Sima Jiao said casually to Liao Tingyan, “Eat whatever you like.”

Then, turning with displeasure, he snapped at the attendant, “Get out.”

The attendant hastily wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and retreated. The Emperor’s temper seemed slightly better than before—truly a stroke of luck to escape with his life.

Liao Tingyan sampled a few bites out of curiosity. Noticing Sima Jiao propping his chin on his hand, watching her eat without touching his own chopsticks, she couldn’t help but ask, “Your Majesty, aren’t you eating?”

Even during their journey, he had rarely eaten. He had always been like this, never fond of food. But now that he was mortal, how could he survive without eating? No wonder his health was in such a state—this man had far too many bad habits.

Mentally calculating when she could prepare some nourishing meals for him, she casually scooped a meatball into his bowl. “Your Majesty, this one’s delicious. Would you like to try it?”

Just then, an attendant delivering wine saw this and was so startled he dropped his tray.

Liao Tingyan: What’s with all the overreactions?

Sima Jiao glanced at the meatball in his bowl with distaste, waving away the attendant who had fallen to his knees in fright. “No.”

Was his pickiness ingrained in his Divine Soul or something?

Resigned, Liao Tingyan picked it back up and ate it herself.

Perhaps because the Emperor seemed unusually harmless tonight, the ministers, having waited in vain for him to stir up trouble, gradually relaxed and indulged in the feast. After several rounds of wine, many were drunk. As was customary, the officials stepped forward to offer toasts.

Then came the reward ceremony.

Sima Jiao, as usual, bestowed two beauties as gifts.

Among the ministers was a man surnamed Zhao, who had risen rapidly in the past two years. As one of Sima Jiao’s trusted allies—favored for his shamelessness and ruthlessness—he had been promoted to the position of Shao Fu , one of the Nine Ministers, despite being only in his twenties. Already riding high for months and further emboldened by wine, he attempted to show familiarity by joking, “Your Majesty, this humble servant quite fancies the new beauties you’ve acquired. Might you be willing to part with them?”

The hall abruptly fell silent.

Sima Jiao didn’t speak. He turned his gaze toward Zhao, his face utterly expressionless.

The music and dancing ceased. The clamor of toasts died down. Everyone sensed something amiss and instinctively quieted, leaving only an oppressive stillness.

“You want my Noble Consort?” Sima Jiao leaned forward slightly, his voice soft.

That whisper-light tone struck like thunder, sending a collective shudder through the crowd.Imperial Consort? In this emperor's harem, all the beauties held no rank, merely the lowest title of "Beauty." The positions of Empress, the three highest-ranking consorts, and the nine concubines remained vacant—never had he promoted any beauty's rank. Yet now, without any warning, he suddenly produced an Imperial Consort?

An unknown woman had abruptly become an Imperial Consort?

No one believed Sima Jiao could be swayed by beauty, but now, they weren’t so sure.

The Junior Minister of the Imperial Treasury, Zhao, finally sobered up. Stunned, he stared at Sima Jiao’s dark expression before tremblingly dropping to his knees, stammering, "Th-This subject drank too much, lost his senses for a moment..."

Sima Jiao tapped the table lightly. "Tear out his tongue and hang him at the palace gates."

Four attendants, who had been standing like shadows nearby, stepped forward with savage expressions. In full view of everyone, two pinned the man down, another pried open his mouth, and the last ripped out his tongue.

"Gah—no—urk—"

Liao Tingyan still held her chopsticks, watching as two men dragged away a twitching body. A long streak of red trailed across the hall, left uncleaned. The entire palace was deathly silent.

Sima Jiao then turned to Liao Tingyan, smiling faintly. His youthful face showed no trace of the earlier cruelty. In a gentle tone, he said, "Why stop eating? Try this ox tongue." As if killing someone had finally put him in a better mood, he now took interest in the dishes before him.

Liao Tingyan: "..."