Chapter 121: Bound

Evil Spirit Mine.

"A foolish young master, surrounded by people looking for handouts? And three big shots lurking about—isn't this getting complicated?" Fan Bei thought to himself while looking at the Sword System interface.

Clearly, this fellow was the host chosen by the Sword System, and the sword had already sent a binding request.

"The target is foolish and wealthy. Shall we proceed with binding?"

He pondered for a moment and sent an "affirmative" response.

...

On the lawn of a villa, the fatty lay in the sun, continuing to make the sword grow and shrink.

"Oh sword, my sword, can you stretch all the way to the sky?"

"I can, but I require energy," the sword confirmed.

"Energy? What is that?"

"It is the Core of Spirit."

"Oh, that stuff? My mother has so much of it in the warehouse that there’s hardly any room left," the fatty said dismissively.

"For every meter you want me to grow, you need to provide that many."

"How is that calculated exactly?"

"One meter for one unit."

Hearing this, the fatty grew excited. "I heard them say the sky is very, very high—thousands of kilometers up. Does that mean I need millions of them?"

"Wait, you aren't actually stupid, are you?" the sword asked in surprise.

"I’ve always been clever. Whatever people say, I remember it the first time," the fatty said proudly.

"Fools never admit they are fools," the sword retorted with disdain.

"Just you wait, I’ll go get those fruits for you to eat right now." With that, the fatty rolled off the lawn, tucked the sword into his chest, and ran toward a cluster of circular buildings in the distance.

After several turns, he arrived at the buildings, which turned out to be a warehouse district.

As soon as he approached, two burly men blocked his path.

"Young Master, Madam has ordered that if you come here again, we are to break your legs," one of them warned.

"What? That’s impossible! I’m going in!" The fatty immediately threw himself onto the ground and began to roll around.

His fat, greasy face was instantly covered in grass clippings and dust.

The two men, helpless, reached for their walkie-talkies to report to their supervisor.

Before long, a frail old man arrived leaning on a cane. He trembled so much with every step that one had to wonder how he managed to hold such an important position as warehouse supervisor.

Seeing the fatty rolling on the ground, he immediately swung his cane.

"I told you to stop coming here to steal things every day! Even with the Hou family's vast fortune, you’ll squander it all!"

"Third Granduncle, I was wrong! I won't do it again, please spare me!" The fatty scrambled away, rolling and crawling toward the exit.

"It’s going to be the death of me. Big Brother, from your place in the afterlife, can’t you bless us with a competent heir?" the old man sighed helplessly as he watched the fatty roll away.

The two burly guards exchanged looks of contempt. No matter how large the Hou family business was or how many elders supported it, with a good-for-nothing heir like this, it would fall apart sooner or later.

Perhaps this was retribution. The previous president had been headstrong, ignoring the opposition of others and violating ethics to marry his own cousin, Hou Jinhua, only to produce a dim-witted son. He himself had then mysteriously disappeared during a long journey.

They weren't ancients; everyone knew that close-kin marriage often led to dull-witted offspring. While geniuses were occasionally born, the odds were slim.

The fatty slunk away from the warehouse district and returned to his lawn.

This was the core area of the Nanling Chamber of Commerce. While he appeared to be without bodyguards, he was being watched at every moment. In the distance, two workers trimming the grass were, in fact, guards.

"Oh sword, my sword, it seems I can't let you pierce the sky. My mom is something else—making someone as old as Third Granduncle a warehouse supervisor," he grumbled.

The sword replied, "Once you become the president, won't you be able to dispose of those things as you please?"

"President? I don't want that. It's too tiring; you have to read so many documents every day." A glimmer of light flashed in the fatty's eyes.

Hearing this, the sword tempted him: "That’s simple. As long as you become strong, you won't need to read documents yourself. Just find some weak scholars to do the work for you."

"But Mom says if I don't do things myself, others will fool me," the fatty said, looking troubled.

"Fool, as long as you show your strength, who would dare fool you? In troubled times, whoever has the guns is the king. How many of those warlords are educated? Yet they are still kings."

"That's true, but I'm useless. I’ve had no talent for cultivation since I was a child," the fatty said, picking up a blade of grass and chewing on it.

"As long as you agree to bind with me, I will turn you from a good-for-nothing into a genius."

"Bind?" The fatty’s gaze turned cold. He looked at the sword and shook his head repeatedly. "No, no, my mom said never to let anyone tie your hands and feet. It’s too dangerous. I won't bind with you."

He thought to himself, *Finally, the wolf shows its teeth. Some people clearly can't wait to turn me into a puppet, and this sword is the medium they intend to use to control me.*

"That is not for you to decide!" The sword had grown impatient. Efficiency was its priority—a task set by its creator. Only by earning more spiritual power could the system continue to develop.

Without warning, to the fatty's shock, the sword plunged into his chest to force the binding.

What a joke. Did a system need a host's permission to bind? If the host were powerful, perhaps it couldn't, but this fatty certainly wasn't.

"Dammit, what are you?" The fatty’s face turned pale with panic. He shouted to the people around him, "Help! Someone come here! The sword that Zhao Boyue gave me is evil!"

Before he could finish, over a dozen people emerged simultaneously, including two who had been hiding beneath the turf.

They had let him play with the sword earlier because he seemed happy, but now a catastrophe had occurred. The sword had actually burrowed into the young master's chest!

*He brought this on himself!* Many of the guards thought. They had often tried to stop strange items from reaching him, only to be berated and fired; eventually, they stopped interfering unless the gift came from an outsider.

Who would have thought this would happen today?

However, some people's eyes lit up with joy.

Half an hour later, the fatty was carried into the president's office by four men and laid on the sofa.

"What is going on?" Hou Jinhua panicked, rushing out from behind her desk.

"Mom, I'm done for! That villain Zhao Boyue wanted to beg for mercy for his son, so he gave me this sword. I was just playing with it when it suddenly tried to assassinate me! It’s burrowed into my chest and is digging toward my heart. I’m finished! I won't survive until tomorrow!" The fatty wailed, tears and snot streaming down his face.

"Impossible. Zhao Boyue wouldn't dare. His family has always been loyal." Hou Jinhua hesitated. The boy had falsely accused many elders in the organization before to cause them trouble, and it always turned out the boy was in the wrong.

"No, he did it! I knew his family was rotten! His son, Zhao Sheng, stole Xiao Mei from me—he’s been wanting to usurp power for a long time!" the fatty insisted, gesturing wildly.

"You say it’s assassinating you, but you seem to have more energy now than before!" Hou Jinhua placed her hand on him, sensed his condition, and sighed with relief. "No curse, no poison. There is absolutely nothing wrong with you!"