Chapter 009: Swiftbird Express

“I never claimed to be a deity!” Qinghu declared earnestly, utterly unwilling to associate herself with those vulgar spirits and monsters who would only lower her own standing.

In this world, the so-called deities were pitifully lacking. Any spirit or monster, so long as they understood cultivation and the art of drawing power from incense, could call themselves a god. They cultivated only their spirits, not their bodies, so that a single bolt of lightning could utterly obliterate them, both soul and form—weak beyond belief.

“But, miss, you just said you were a god,” Qingquan said, exasperated.

“I am, I’m the god of the fish in the lake,” Qinghu said carelessly. “Whatever I tell them to do, they do.”

“Nonsense, don’t believe her,” Qingzhen interrupted crossly. “She’s just making things up.”

“How am I making things up?” Qinghu protested. “Fish, bring up a softshell turtle. We’ll have stewed turtle for lunch.”

With a thud, a massive turtle with a bronze-colored shell, as large as the surface of an ordinary round table, came flying up and crashed right at Qingzhen’s feet.

The turtle, thrown ashore, was utterly bewildered.

It stared wide-eyed at Qingzhen for a long moment before realizing it had somehow ended up on land—facing a human cultivator with a finely forged steel blade at his waist.

The big turtle was terrified and scrambled toward the lake, moving almost as fast as a galloping ox cart.

But it had barely taken a few steps before someone stomped down firmly on its shell.

“Bronze-armored Ao, don’t run,” Qingzhen said, drawing his great blade and, with a quick slash, dismantled the turtle on the spot. Not a drop of its blood was wasted; Qingquan gathered it all into a gourd. “Ninth-tier beast blood makes excellent ink for talismans—it mustn’t go to waste.”

Qingzhen was especially pleased to see the sturdy young men haul the turtle, shell and all, away on a wooden cart, along with a whole batch of grass carp that had not yet perished. Only then did he turn to his sister and say, “What exactly is in that lake? Why does it even send you ferocious beasts?”

“Did you forget about the fish fry I raised?” Qinghu replied with a mischievous smile.

“Eighth-tier white swordfish? But how could such fish know what you want to eat, and even chase it ashore so quickly?” Qingzhen found it all quite unbelievable.

“They can. Eighth-tier beasts are very clever,” Qinghu said.

Qingzhen still felt something wasn’t quite right, but he couldn’t put his finger on what it was.

“A bunch of fish fry are that extraordinary?”

“What’s so extraordinary? They’re just bringing us food. If you think it’s easy, why don’t you go catch some yourself?” Qinghu shot back.

Qingzhen immediately shook his head vigorously. He wasn’t foolish—he was no swimmer. If he went into the lake, he’d just be a meal for the lake’s many fierce beasts. Here on the shore, butchering a ninth-tier bronze-armored turtle was as easy as chopping vegetables.

An hour later, the siblings sat at a large wooden table, sipping fresh fish congee and gnawing on savory fish meat pies, accompanied by pickled cucumbers and cold shredded potatoes—a truly delightful life.

Old Zhao walked in, and at the sight of the siblings hunkered over their meal, he was rendered speechless.

Was this what being sent to clear new land and suffer was supposed to look like? It was more like a wellness retreat than punishment—eating meat from fierce beasts at every meal, living better than their own father.

“Uncle Zhao, you’re here! Why not sit and eat with us?” Qingzhen greeted him warmly.

Old Zhao quickly waved his hand. “No thanks, I’ll eat when I get back.” He’d get some congee and a few fish pies to take home anyway. “You two eat. I just came to ask—what should we do with the remaining live grass carp?”

“They’re still alive? They’ve been out of the water for over an hour!” Qingzhen exclaimed in surprise.

“They’re ninth-tier beasts—do you think they’d die that easily? Even completely out of water, they can endure a full day and night,” Old Zhao replied. “Should I have someone dig a pit, fill it with water, and keep them alive? That way you can eat them whenever you like.”

“That’s a great idea,” Qingzhen said, grinning.

“We should send some to Mother. We’ve had live fish, but she hasn’t. I’m sure she’d love some fish pies and congee,” Qinghu said, feeling exceptionally filial.

“That’s a good idea. I’m sure Mother would like it. But how do we send them—dead or alive?” Qingzhen considered that his mother would surely enjoy the big fish they sent.

“Alive, of course! Fresh fish tastes best,” Qinghu said, finishing the last of her congee with satisfaction.

“Sending live fish will be expensive,” Old Zhao noted. Still, he approved of the siblings’ idea, knowing that whatever excuse they used, Old Shen would get to enjoy the fish.

“We’ll give two big ones to the post station as postage,” Qinghu declared generously.

“Two might not be enough,” Old Zhao considered aloud.

“Then add two more,” Qinghu said magnanimously. They came at no cost, after all, and weren’t gold coins—she didn’t mind at all.

“But that’s a loss. Two ninth-tier grass carp would fetch several hundred gold coins at least,” Qingzhen said. “Better to cut them up, pack the pieces with ice talismans in wooden crates, and send them by the fastest flying courier. That way, we save two fish.”

Wouldn’t it be a waste to give away two whole fish to the post station when Mother could have them stewed herself?

“But fish pieces aren’t as tasty as live fish,” Qinghu hesitated.

“If you slaughter them fresh and freeze them immediately, the taste won’t change much. Most importantly, it’s cheaper. If you really want Mother to have live fish, wait a couple of months until we’re settled and invite her to visit. Then she can eat as much as she likes,” Qingzhen advised.

“Alright, I’ll listen to you this time,” Qinghu conceded.

Qingzhen breathed a sigh of relief. Whenever his sister thought of their mother, she became extravagantly generous. Filial, yes, but wasteful.

Thank goodness he kept his wits about him!

“Very well, Qingzhen, when you’re free, go to Meishan County nearby and buy some ice talismans. We didn’t bring any with us. I’ll have people keep the fish alive for now and have some wooden crates made. When everything’s ready tomorrow, I’ll have the fish slaughtered, packed, and you can take them to the post station,” Old Zhao said.

“No need to buy ice talismans, Uncle Zhao. I have a small box here—ten ninth-tier ice talismans, plenty for the job,” Qingzhen said.

Old Zhao did a quick calculation and nodded. Ten would be enough.

“Good. I’ll send someone tomorrow to fetch them from you.”

“No problem,” Qingzhen replied.

“How much fish can ten ice talismans freeze?” Qinghu asked curiously.

“A thousand catties—one hundred per crate. Ten crates, and whatever’s left can be packaged and given to the post station as postage,” Qingzhen answered, speaking from experience.