Pan Long returned to his room, still fuming.
Who wouldn't be angry after being mistaken for a bandit out of the blue?
Besides, Northerners had always hated bandits!
Resources were scarce in the Northlands, and many necessities came from the Central Plains by merchant caravan. When bandits robbed those caravans, they struck at the Northlands' lifeline. The conflict of interests was plain as day: one side had to die for the other to live.
Northern culture also honored military service and scorned taking to the hills as an outlaw. Northern men sought glory on horseback; becoming a bandit was, in their eyes, a disgrace.
Bandits lived with their tongues on the knife's edge, but soldiers risked their lives in battle too. If both were dangerous, why not join the army?
Even Northern children liked playing soldiers and bandits. Everyone eagerly took the soldiers' side, while whoever lost the draw and had to play a bandit would be thoroughly unhappy.
Pan Long had lived in the Northlands for over a decade and had naturally absorbed its culture. He would not call himself a paragon of virtue, but he considered thievery and banditry shameful. Taking to the hills to waylay travelers and raid homes was downright disgraceful to him.
Being taken for a bandit by the captain and the others left him deeply insulted. Had he not been easygoing—by Northern standards, at least—it would have been no surprise if he had drawn his blade then and there.
He sat for a while, growing angrier the more he thought about it. At last, he could not help saying, "I can't stay in this damned place!"
The words startled him. Then, all at once, he felt much better.
"That's right! Why should I put up with these snobs and stay with them? I'm leaving!"