Han Juncheng sat under the eaves, a pair of black-framed glasses perched on his flat face, as he silently observed the fortune teller before him.
The fortune teller smiled humbly and said, "Mister Han, I’ve told you about the matter. Do you think it’s suitable for us to take action tonight?"
Han Juncheng sneered. "When my father was still the Border Defense Envoy, I wouldn’t have spared a second glance for someone like you."
The fortune teller nodded repeatedly. "Thank you for your consideration, Young Master Han. This is also out of respect for our master."
Han Juncheng huffed, "Master? Who is your master? He Jiaqing? You have no idea what my father’s status was. Back then, even the son of a merchant like He Jiaqing wouldn’t have found it easy to get an audience with me."
The fortune teller still maintained his smile.
Han Juncheng was undeniably arrogant, but this was distinct from aloof pride.
"You’re going to take action tonight, and you only tell me now?" Han Juncheng was quite dissatisfied with this.
The fortune teller explained, "It’s urgent. Initially, our master was waiting for a better opportunity..."
"Enough with the rambling! What’s the point of saying so much?" Han Juncheng interrupted the fortune teller impatiently. "Go and prepare what needs to be prepared. We act at midnight tonight. I detest that Iron Gate Fort—a bunch of paupers who can barely scrape up a few coins, who have never seen the world and have no idea how to speak or act properly. After this is done, have He Jiaqing find an opportunity to get rid of them. I feel sick just looking at them."
As a Home Cultivator, Han Juncheng had also visited Iron Gate Fort.
He had claimed to be a Third Layer Home Cultivator then, but in reality, he had already attained the Sixth Layer of cultivation.
Initially, he could conceal it, but in less than a fortnight, Han Juncheng beat up an old vegetable-selling lady over a trivial matter.
He had struck heavily, leaving the old lady seriously injured.
Upon seeing the Technique he used, Zhou Anju realized Han Juncheng had surpassed the Fifth Layer. That very night, he was expelled from the fort.
To this day, Han Juncheng harbored this grudge and had longed to obliterate Iron Gate Fort.
Having settled on a time, the fortune teller went off to prepare, while Han Juncheng consulted with the House Spirit about their plan.
It was possible. The prerequisite was to obtain the consent of the House Spirit.
Han Juncheng’s House Spirit was a woman who, for reasons unknown, was utterly devoted and obedient to him. Whatever Han Juncheng said, she would naturally agree to.
"Juncheng, please be very careful. There are quite a few experts in Iron Gate Fort," she warned, referring to other House Spirits.
Han Juncheng scoffed disdainfully, "So what if there are experts? House Spirits are nothing but the servants of Home Cultivators."
The House Spirit fell silent.
Han Juncheng sat under the eaves, his expression cold as he watched the sky.
「...」
The fortune teller entered Iron Gate Fort, and, it turned out, his services were in high demand there.
Home Cultivators were very superstitious, deeply fascinated by divination, character fortune-telling, and palmistry.
The fortune teller made his rounds inside the fort, and within a day, had told fortunes for over thirty households.
Those who sought his services all claimed he was accurate, and after returning home content, they felt drowsy.
When drowsy, they simply slept; Home Cultivators were rather nonchalant about such things.
But this sleep was extraordinarily deep; they slept so soundly that they continued deep into the night, with no desire to wake.
This was the handiwork of a Seventh Layer Disease Cultivator, and the fortune teller was none other than Wan Jinxian.
He afflicted every Home Cultivator who had their fortune told with a sleeping sickness. It was a one-time bout of sleepiness that would be cured upon waking the next day.
Wan Jinxian certainly could have inflicted more severe diseases upon them; he could even have brought a plague upon Iron Gate Fort.
But to do all this without drawing any attention was no easy feat.
His cultivation level was high and his techniques powerful, but Home Cultivators were not that easy to kill. As long as they reached their homesteads, they could recover rapidly. If one Home Cultivator fell ill, the others would immediately be on guard.
Wan Jinxian was a cautious man; he wouldn’t do anything superfluous at such a critical juncture.
To Home Cultivators, sleeping was not considered an illness. Even if they slept more than usual, ordinary cultivators wouldn’t mind; they might even feel it was to their benefit.
After dark, Iron Gate Fort closed its gates, and all was quiet.
Wan Jinxian used a Magical Treasure to take Han Juncheng directly from outside the fortress into its midst. They followed a route designated by Wan Jinxian, all the way to the Fortress Lord’s residence.
Along this path, they passed many Home Cultivators’ residences, but not a single one noticed them since every cultivator on this path was asleep.
The main house was off-limits. As per Li Banfeng’s orders, no one was allowed to approach within a hundred meters, and two Home Cultivators were assigned to stand guard there.
From afar, Wan Jinxian watched the guards, yawning in their direction.
The guards didn’t see Wan Jinxian, but the virus-laden yawn drifted over to them.
Soon, the two guards began to yawn in succession, feeling drowsy.
Home Cultivators took their duties seriously; drowsiness was unacceptable while on watch.
They struggled against their drowsiness, first tearing up, then sniffling, and eventually drooling from the corner of their mouths. Finally succumbing to exhaustion, they lay down by the roadside and fell asleep one after the other.
Wan Jinxian led Han Juncheng into the main house, pointing at the annex to the east. "Mister Han, the House Spirit we’re looking for is inside that building. Please be extremely cautious when you go in. I’ll wait for you here."
Han Juncheng had no desire to speak with Wan Jinxian, finding conversation with such a lowly person quite displeasing.
There was only one thing he needed to confirm: that the name of this House Spirit was Zhao Xiaowan.
Upon entering the annex, a chilling aura washed over him.
Han Juncheng smelled the scent of a Lost Soul in the air and, without considering the layout or situation of the house, directly followed the scent to the second floor.
Wan Jinxian frowned slightly; Han Juncheng’s method of doing things was rather brash.
He Jiaqing had also remarked that while Han Juncheng’s cultivation level was high, he lacked experience.
Wan Jinxian felt that a Sixth Layer Home Cultivator ought to have experienced more.
He had indeed experienced significant events; his father’s arrest, for example, had deeply wounded him.
But that had nothing to do with combat experience. His cultivation had been built up by his House Spirit. It was his luck to have found a House Spirit so devoted to him, but now that spirit could no longer enhance his cultivation level.
This was why Han Juncheng had agreed to this task; he was eager for a new House Spirit.
He had also heard of Zhao Xiaowan’s renown. In his eyes, a woman of such legendary status, a renowned female general, was barely a fitting match for him.
As for how to deal with the previous House Spirit, he hadn’t decided yet. He could keep it as a Servant, or use it as bait for Zhao Xiaowan.
Han Juncheng was more inclined to the second option, feeling that Zhao Xiaowan deserved such a reward.
The second floor of the annex wasn’t small; it had seven rooms. Han Juncheng passed by each door. After two rounds, he stopped in front of a door at the end of the corridor.
He gently pushed open the door and saw that there were no other furnishings inside, just a weapon rack.
On the weapon rack, there was only one long spear; nothing else.
The long spear was twelve feet long with a spearhead of seven and seven-tenths inches, exactly as described in the novels.
The only difference was that this long spear lacked a red tassel.
Han Juncheng sensed a formidable aura emanating from this Long Spear.
Han Juncheng stood in front of the Long Spear and called out, "Zhao Xiaowan!"
After waiting for over a minute, the Long Spear showed no sign of resistance.
Calling out a House Spirit’s name to its face and seeing no resistance meant that the spirit accepted the Home Cultivator; this process was called the House Spirit acknowledging its master.
Seeing no resistance from the House Spirit, Han Juncheng felt little surprise; in his view, neither his cultivation level nor his status gave Zhao Xiaowan any option but to accept him.
He reached out to take the Long Spear from the rack, a smile of satisfaction on his face.
In the midst of his thoughts, Han Juncheng realized that his hand had not touched the Long Spear.
Because his hand had fallen to the ground.
The Long Spear had remained on the weapon rack, or so it had seemed to him.
Yet, his hand had been cleanly severed, as if cut by a sharp weapon.
Only now did Han Juncheng feel the excruciating pain in his wrist.
He clutched his arm, turned to leave, but suddenly stumbled and fell to the ground.
His left leg, from the knee down, lay on the floor.
More bloodstains marked the Long Spear.
Han Juncheng let out a mournful howl, and the Long Spear trembled slightly.
As he lay on the ground wailing, Han Juncheng thought he saw a fleeting shadow.
Another leg was gone, his right leg this time; it was missing from the thigh down.
Han Juncheng was in so much pain he nearly passed out. The only thing left intact on his torso was his left hand.
In his ear, a woman’s voice said softly, "Crawl!"
The voice was gentle yet carried an irresistible force.
With his only remaining hand, Han Juncheng desperately crawled out of the room, across the corridor, down the stairs.
Just as he was about to reach the door, the Long Spear suddenly appeared and pierced through his shoulder, nailing him to the ground.
This was making an example of him for all to see.
On the battlefield, this was a common method to intimidate the enemy.
Han Juncheng was well-suited for such a display, as his cries were certainly loud enough.
"Save me, save me..." Han Juncheng cried, his vision blurred by tears. Looking towards the door at Wan Jinxian, he seemed to see his own father.
"Dad, save me, Dad, it hurts, save me...
"Get someone to find my House Spirit, Dad, she can definitely save me.
"Dad, pull this spear out, Dad, it really hurts..."
Wan Jinxian turned to leave. If he didn’t go now, he might not be able to get away. "Child," he said, "you’ve mistaken me for someone else. In your next life, try not to be so reckless."