The sound of a pebble slicing through the air was the first thunderclap.
The three people in the courtyard all froze. The face of Wu Haihua, which had been on the verge of savoring victory, instantly turned from astonishment to grim fury. He looked toward the darkness beyond the courtyard wall, but there was nothing there except wild grass and the night wind.
The injured steward clutched his aching wrist and cursed, "Who is it? Get out here!"
The other steward had already drawn his blade and was poised to leap over the wall.
Ye Qingxuan lay hidden in the grass, his heart pounding like a drum. The moment he threw that pebble, he knew there was no turning back. If he continued hiding now, once the other side recovered their wits, he would be a turtle in a jar.
Fortune was sought amid danger. He had to risk it!
He did not throw another pebble. Instead, he untied something from his waist. It was a bronze alarm gong, the kind night patrol constables used to signal the time and raise an alarm. He held the gong in his left hand and the wooden mallet in his right. After taking a deep breath, he summoned every ounce of strength and struck down hard!
"Dang!!!"
The deafening boom tore through the dead silence of the mass graveyard.
This sound was utterly different from the pebble before. The pebble had been a hidden arrow, a sneak attack; the gong was a war drum, an official command, an open declaration of war!
"Dang! Dang! Dang! Dang!"
Ye Qingxuan gave them no chance to think. The wooden mallet in his hand fell like raindrops, pounding out a rapid, dense gongbeat with no rhythm at all, yet carrying a wild madness that cared for nothing.