Pan Long swung his blade, and the burly gatekeepers flew into a rage.
You could strike a man, but not his face. The signboard was the face of the Sun Residence. By cutting it down, Pan Long had trampled that face underfoot.
To the gatekeepers, this was not merely a brazen provocation. It forced them to act.
The rules of the Sun Residence were no ornament. If they failed to act now, even if they survived the aftermath, they would at least lose both hands. More likely, they would be beaten to death with clubs—just as they had beaten others to death.
Servants were like dogs. What use was a dog that could not guard the gate?
The Sun Family was no gathering of saints!
At the thought of their punishment, the hesitant stopped hesitating and the frightened forgot their fear. Eyes wide, breathing hard, they drew their weapons and rushed Pan Long together.
Pan Long answered with a flash of his blade.
The blade flashed white as snow. In its wake, blood sprayed through the air.
Before the blood struck the ground, he had passed through the gate.
A servant sweeping the courtyard saw him kill the guards and enter. Scared out of his wits, he shrieked, "Someone! Bandits! Bandits!"
His voice cracked with the terror of a man facing death.
But Pan Long walked past without so much as a glance.
Farther ahead, a dozen or so armed guards came charging over and attacked without hesitation.
Another ring of corpses fell to the ground.
Pan Long went straight on, crossing the courtyard and passing through the inner gate. An imposing old man approached him, surrounded by several guards who looked skilled in martial arts.
"Friend, how has our Sun Family offended you?" the old man asked with a