"Save me, Father!"
He saw the vermilion gates of the Zhao residence, saw the elite household guards stationed before them.
The will Zhao Xingwu had nearly lost was injected with fresh blood.
He shouted desperately for help, scrambled down from the carriage, and sent his legs spinning like wind-fire wheels.
This stretch of road was neither long nor short.
Three streets.
In total, three groups of constables and two groups of martial artists had tried to intercept them. After dozens fell, no one else dared stand in their way.
All they could see was a man with a sword following unhurriedly behind the carriage.
He clearly was not moving quickly.
Yet they could never shake him off.
"Even if you call me Father, it will be useless."
A voice from behind seemed to sound beside his ear, its words carrying a chilling cold.
Amid his frantic flight, Zhao Xingwu glanced back.
He saw the second steward, Zhao Yulin, had just run up behind him when half a blood-dripping sword tip emerged from his chest where his heart lay.
Through Zhao Yulin's trembling, stiff shoulders, he could see a monkey-like face and the icy cold shining from its bloodshot eyes.
"Ah..."
His soul nearly flew from his body in terror.
His home lay so close before his eyes, yet so impossibly far away.
A mere seven or eight zhang felt like a bottomless heavenly abyss.
"Thud..."
Zhao Xingwu made the wisest decision of his life.
Only this could spare him from death.
His running feet froze in place. A wet patch spread beneath his crotch as he abruptly turned, threw himself face-down on the ground, and wailed, "I know I was wrong. From now on, I will never target the Lu family of Hall of Returning Spring again. I do not