Chapter 228: Recognizing the Master

Han Juncheng sat beneath the eaves, a flat-faced man wearing black-rimmed glasses, silently watching the fortune-teller before him.

The fortune-teller bowed with a humble smile: "Mr. Han, I've already explained everything to you—would tonight be a suitable time to act?"

Han Juncheng sneered: "When my father was still the Border Warden, I wouldn't even have deigned to look at someone like you."

The fortune-teller nodded rapidly: "Thank you, Young Master Han, for granting me this honor—you're showing face to the Master."

Han Juncheng grunted: "Master? Who's your master? He Jiaqing?"

"You have no idea what my father's status was—back then, even a merchant's son like He Jiaqing couldn't easily have secured a single meeting with me."

The fortune-teller kept smiling.

Han Juncheng was indeed arrogant, but it had nothing to do with aloofness.

"You're only telling me now that you're acting tonight?" Han Juncheng was deeply displeased.

The fortune-teller explained: "The situation was urgent—the Master had originally planned to wait for a better opportunity…"

"Enough with the excuses," Han Juncheng snapped, cutting him off. "Go prepare everything you need. We move at midnight."

"I hate that place, Tiemenbao—a bunch of paupers who can't scrape together a single coin, never seen the world, and still don't know how to behave. After it's done, have He Jiaqing find a chance to wipe them out. I can't stand the sight of them."

As a Zhai Xiu, Han Juncheng had once been to Tiemenbao.

At the time, he claimed to be a third-layer Zhai Xiu, but in truth he already had sixth-layer cultivation.

He managed to hide it at first, but less than half a month later, over some trivial matter, he beat an old vegetable vendor.

He went all out—the old woman was left critically injured.

Seeing the technique he used, Zhou Anju knew Han Juncheng had surpassed the fifth layer; that very night, he expelled him from the fortress.

Han Juncheng still harbored resentment—he had always wanted to destroy Tiemenbao.

After setting the time, the fortune-teller went to prepare; Han Juncheng consulted his Zhai Ling.

He had a Zhai Ling, but could he still go and recognize another tonight?

Yes.

Provided he gained the Zhai Ling's consent.

Han Juncheng's Zhai Ling was a woman; no one knew what she saw in him, but she obeyed him utterly—whatever he said, she would agree.

"Jun Cheng, be extremely careful—Tiemenbao has many experts," she said, meaning Zhai Lings.

Han Juncheng sneered: "What difference do experts make? Zhai Lings are merely servants to Zhai Xius."

The Zhai Ling fell silent.

Han Juncheng sat beneath the eaves, his expression cold as he stared at the sky.

…

The fortune-teller entered Tiemenbao—and surprisingly, his business thrived there.

Zhai Xius were superstitious, deeply obsessed with fortune-telling, character divination, and palm reading.

The fortune-teller walked through the fortress, consulting over thirty households in a single day.

Those who consulted him all said he was accurate—but once they returned home, satisfied, they all felt drowsy.

Drowsy? They slept. Zhai Xius were remarkably carefree about this.

But this sleep was deep—so deep they didn't wake until deep into the night.

This was the method of a seventh-layer Bing Xiu—the fortune-teller was Wan Jinxian.

He had given each Zhai Xiu who consulted him a bout of excessive sleepiness—only once, and they'd recover fully the next morning.

In truth, Wan Jinxian could have inflicted far worse illnesses—he could even have brought a plague to Tiemenbao.

But making it completely undetectable was not easy.

His cultivation was high, his techniques powerful—but Zhai Xius were not easily killed; once they returned to their homes, they recovered swiftly. If one Zhai Xiu fell ill, the others would immediately tighten their guard.

Wan Jinxian was cautious—he never did anything unnecessary at a critical moment.

Sleeping wasn't considered an illness among Zhai Xius; even if they slept too long, most wouldn't care—they'd even think they'd gained something.

After dark, Tiemenbao shut its gates, falling into silence.

Wan Jinxian used a magic treasure to bring Han Juncheng directly from outside the fortress into its heart, guiding him along a predetermined path to the fortress master's residence.

Along the way, they passed many Zhai Xius' homes—but none detected them, for every Zhai Xiu on that route was asleep.

The main residence was a forbidden zone; following Li Banfeng's orders, no one was allowed within a hundred meters, and two Zhai Xius were stationed there as guards.

Wan Jinxian watched the guards from afar and yawned.

The guards didn't see Wan Jinxian—but the yawn carried a virus that drifted to them.

Soon, the two guards began yawning—they grew sleepy.

Zhai Xius had strong responsibility; they couldn't afford to doze while on watch.

They struggled against drowsiness—first tears, then runny noses, then drool trickling from their mouths—until they could no longer resist and collapsed onto the roadside, falling asleep one after the other.

Wan Jinxian led Han Juncheng into the main residence, pointing to the eastern annex: "Mr. Han, the Zhai Ling we seek is inside that building. Enter carefully—I'll wait here for you."

Han Juncheng didn't want to speak to Wan Jinxian; talking to such a lowborn man made him physically ill.

The only thing he needed to confirm was one fact: the Zhai Ling's name was Zhao Xiao Wan.

Entering the annex, a chilling aura rushed toward him.

Han Juncheng smelled the scent of the dead in the air; without considering the layout or condition of the building, he followed the scent straight to the second floor.

Wan Jinxian frowned slightly—Han Juncheng's methods were reckless.

He Jiaqing had also said Han Juncheng had high cultivation but little experience.

Wan Jinxian thought a sixth-layer Zhai Xiu should have experienced some things.

He had indeed experienced things—like his father's arrest, which had hurt him deeply.

But that had nothing to do with combat experience. His cultivation had grown solely through his Zhai Ling. Finding a Zhai Ling devoted to him was pure luck—but now, that Zhai Ling could no longer raise his cultivation further.

This was why Han Juncheng agreed to this mission—he desperately wanted a new Zhai Ling.

He had heard of Zhao Xiao Wan's name; in his eyes, a legendary general, a heroic woman, was barely worthy of his status.

As for what to do with his previous Zhai Ling, he hadn't decided—perhaps keep her as a servant, or offer her as bait to Zhao Xiao Wan.

Han Juncheng favored the second option—he believed Zhao Xiao Wan deserved such a gift.

For a Zhai Ling with power and status, offering a gift would surely win her loyalty—then he could command her to do anything.

The annex was large; the second floor had seven rooms. Han Juncheng passed each door, walked back and forth twice, then stopped before a door at the end of the corridor.

He gently pushed open the door—inside, there were no other furnishings, only a weapon rack.

On the rack sat only one long spear; nothing else.

The spear was twelve feet long, its tip seven inches and seven cun—exactly as described in novels.

The only difference: the spear had no red tassel.

Could a spear without a red tassel be Zhao Xiao Wan?

Had he made a mistake?

No mistake.

Han Juncheng sensed the spear's overwhelming might.

This was the aura of the Flying General!

Han Juncheng stood before the spear and called out: "Zhao Xiao Wan!"

He waited over a minute—the spear showed no resistance.

To call out a Zhai Ling's name and receive no resistance meant the Zhai Ling accepted the Zhai Xiu—this process was called "Zhai Ling Recognizing Master."

Seeing no resistance, Han Juncheng felt no great joy—he believed his cultivation and status made it impossible for Zhao Xiao Wan to refuse him.

He reached out to take the spear from the rack, a satisfied smile on his face.

From the moment he grasped this spear, he was certain his fate would return to its proper path.

He had always believed heaven had been unjust to him—why had it taken away everything he deserved?

With this spear in hand, as he walked out of the annex, the first thing he'd kill was that Bing Xiu.

He despised Wan Jinxian—a servant shouldn't dare wear that smug, all-knowing expression!

After killing the Bing Xiu, he'd kill the fortress master—he believed he could then rightfully seize control of Tiemenbao.

From Tiemenbao, he'd accumulate wealth, then return to Lüshuicheng.

In Lüshuicheng, he'd crush every major family, then return to Waizhou.

Once back in Waizhou, he must kill He Jiaqing—his years of pointing fingers and sneering at him had pushed him beyond endurance.

At that time, all who looked down on him, all who claimed he was guilty, would die!

Han Juncheng would make every man who had ever offended him kneel and beg, force them to repent for every sin they'd committed, make them…

As his thoughts raced, Han Juncheng realized his hand had not touched the spear.

The reason: his hand had fallen to the ground.

The spear had remained motionless on the rack—at least, that's what he'd seen.

Yet his hand had been cleanly severed, as if cut by a sharp blade.

A drop of blood slid from the spear's tip—could it be…?

But just now, the spear hadn't moved—was she simply too fast…?

She hadn't recognized him?

He had spoken her name—why hadn't she recognized him?

Only now did Han Juncheng feel the searing pain in his wrist.

He clutched his arm, turned to flee—but stumbled and collapsed onto the floor.

His left leg, from the knee down, remained on the ground.

More blood stained the spear.

Han Juncheng screamed in agony, the spear trembling slightly.

The writhing Han Juncheng seemed to catch a flicker of shadow.

He lost another leg—his right leg was gone, vanished from the thigh root downward.

Han Juncheng was near unconscious from pain; on his torso, the only intact part left was his left hand.

A woman's voice came to his ear: "Crawl."

The voice was soft, yet carried an irresistible authority.

With his one remaining hand, Han Juncheng crawled desperately out of the room, across the corridor, down the stairs.

As he was about to reach the door, the spear suddenly appeared, piercing through his shoulder and pinning him to the ground.

This is public display.

On the battlefield, this was a common method to intimidate enemy troops.

Han Juncheng was especially suited for public display, because he screamed loudly enough.

"Save me, save me…" Han Juncheng wept, his vision blurred, staring at Wan Jinxian at the door—he seemed to see his father.

"Father, save me, Father, it hurts, save me…"

"Father, send someone to find my estate spirit—she must be able to save me."

"Father, pull out this spear—Father, I'm in so much pain…"

"Child, you've mistaken me for someone else. Next life, don't be so reckless."

Wan Jinxian turned and walked away; if he stayed any longer, he might not escape.

PS: Han Juncheng remained pinned at the door, which terrified Banfeng.

The problem is, the estate spirit is both deaf and blind, utterly unable to hear—what good solution could Banfeng possibly think of?

(End of Chapter)