If I, a death row inmate, am not to become a demon, am I to become a member of the Imperial Guard?

Zhou Yang sat cross-legged on the crossbeam of the bell tower.

The wind blew in through the carved wooden window lattices, carrying the scents of incense and the vegetation from the foot of the mountain. His view was excellent, encompassing the entire front courtyard of Wanfo Temple.

The square was bustling with people. Devout men and women held incense sticks, their faces filled with piety. The smoke from the incense gathered into a white river, rising slowly. Everything was as peaceful and solemn as ever.

The guards of the Prince of Zhao's residence were scattered in twos and threes among the crowd. Their hands were on the hilts of their swords, and they scanned their surroundings warily. They thought they were hunters.

Zhou Yang's gaze swept past them, landing on a few inconspicuous worshippers in the crowd. Those people had their heads bowed, their expressions numb, and their steps unsteady. They were assassins controlled by drugs.

The fish have been put into the net.

He looked away, adjusted his breathing, and waited for the needle to fall.

Time passed by, one breath at a time.

In the center of the square, an old man selling incense and candles was haggling with a customer. The next moment, the bamboo basket at his feet suddenly burst open.

boom!

A loud bang, not the explosion of gunpowder, but more like some kind of powerful force instantly splitting the bamboo. Thick, grayish-black smoke billowed out, carrying a pungent, acrid smell.

The smoke spread rapidly, enveloping an open area of ​​several dozen feet in radius. Those nearby were choked by the smoke, coughing violently and their eyes watering. A brief commotion ensued.

Then, the first scream rang out.

In the crowd, a worshipper who had been bowing his head in prayer suddenly pulled a short knife from his sleeve and plunged it into the neck of the person next to him. Blood gushed out.

Panic spread like a plague.

More figures emerged from the smoke. They were hidden assassins. At this moment, they were like mad dogs broken free of their shackles, wielding sharp blades and indiscriminately hacking at everything that moved around them.

A woman holding a child was slashed to the ground before she could even react. The baby in her arms cried out in terror, only to be killed a second later.

Screams, cries, and the muffled thuds of weapons piercing flesh intertwined to create a symphony of hell.

The guards of Prince Zhao's residence were all stunned. They hadn't expected the chaos to erupt from within, and that it would target both friend and foe. By the time they reacted and drew their swords to charge at the assassins, the chaos was completely out of control.

Zhou Yang's gaze remained unchanged, fixed firmly on one direction.

At the moment the riot broke out in the square, the two vermilion wooden doors of the Arhat Hall were smashed open.

"Amitabha!"

A loud shout, like a thunderclap from a clear sky, rang out. More than thirty burly martial monks charged out. They were all bald, shirtless, revealing their bulging muscles. They wielded staffs that reached their eyebrows, exuding a murderous aura.

Leading the group was none other than Liaoyin, the head of the Arhat Hall.

"This is a sacred Buddhist site; how dare you run wild here!"

With a roar, Liao Yin brought his iron rod down with the force of wind and thunder. A assassin who was wielding a knife was smashed into a bloody pulp, knife and all.

The other monks quickly joined the battle. Their staff skills were superb, their teamwork seamless; three to five monks could form a small formation, tightly entangled with the assassins. The chaos in the plaza finally showed signs of being suppressed.

But Zhou Yang knew that this was just a facade.

His gaze moved, passing through the fiercely fighting crowd, and he saw the person he was truly looking for.

Under the cover of chaos and dust, an old Taoist priest with white hair and beard, leading four martial arts practitioners dressed in identical uniforms, was moving silently toward the back mountain. They were taking a cunning route, avoiding the center of the battle between the monks and the assassins.

That old Taoist priest was none other than the Xuanji Zhenren, a master of the Tianli Sect.

They were going to the Demon-Suppressing Tower.

Zhou Yang's lips curled into a slight smile. The fish was finally about to enter the deepest whirlpool.

He no longer hesitated.

Zhou Yang stood up and walked to the enormous bronze bell. The bell weighed a thousand pounds and was covered with scriptures. He stretched out his hand and placed his palm on the cold surface of the bell.

Right now.

He channeled his inner strength and pushed hard.

"when--!"

A long, deep bell tolled, echoing throughout the entire Wanfo Temple. The sound seemed almost tangible, momentarily silencing the screams of battle emanating from the square.

This is a signal.

Outside the temple, on the official road.

Qin Shuang rode a jet-black warhorse, clad in a flying fish robe, with an embroidered spring knife at her waist. Behind her stood fifty elite guards, each clad in armor, silent as iron.

They were like a pack of lurking wolves, patiently waiting.

The sound of the bell penetrated the mountain gate and reached everyone's ears.

Qin Shuang's eyes sharpened instantly. She yanked the reins sharply, and the warhorse let out a long neigh.

"Let's do it!"

Two simple words, yet they carried an unquestionable command. She took the lead, spurring her horse toward the gate of Wanfo Temple. Fifty Imperial Guards, divided into two teams, filed in single file, their movements perfectly synchronized, without a single unnecessary sound.

When they stormed into the front yard square, they were met with a scene of hell.

The assassins were still rampaging, and the monks were fighting desperately to suppress them. The guards from the Prince Zhao's mansion were also among them, but they were too few in number and had to protect their own men while dealing with the assassins, so they were already overwhelmed.

"By imperial decree, arrest the traitor!"

Qin Shuang's icy voice, forced out with her inner strength, clearly resonated in every corner.

"All of King Zhao's loyal followers, surrender now! Anyone who dares to resist will be killed without exception!"

Before she finished speaking, the Imperial Guards behind her had already moved.

They ignored the members of the Heavenly Principle Sect and even the martial monks. Their only target was the guards of the Prince Zhao's mansion and the irrational assassins.

Fifty Imperial Guards, like fifty sharp daggers, plunged fiercely into the chaotic battle. They formed a formidable defensive line, instantly blocking all exits.

Upon seeing this commotion, a guard captain from Prince Zhao's residence paled and shouted, "We are from the Prince's residence! What are you Imperial Guards trying to do? You are aiding and abetting evil!"

Qin Shuang looked at him coldly and urged her horse forward.

"Aiding and abetting evil?" she said indifferently. "The evidence is irrefutable that you perpetrated a massacre at Wanfo Temple. Still dare to deny it? Seize them!"

The guards behind her immediately pounced on her.

The guards of Prince Zhao's residence were extremely unwilling, but they dared not actually fight the Embroidered Uniform Guard. They were the court's henchmen, but the Embroidered Uniform Guard were the emperor's sword. There was a world of difference between them.

Those drug-controlled assassins were completely incapable of discerning right from wrong. They only saw people in official robes rushing towards them and launched suicidal attacks.

The result can be imagined.

The Imperial Guards acted ruthlessly and efficiently. Their embroidered spring blades drew deathly arcs in the sunlight. Their formation was as solid as a mountain, their coordinated attacks giving the assassins almost no chance to get close.

Those assassins driven mad by drugs were like clay chickens and earthen dogs in front of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

In less than the time it takes to brew a cup of tea, the assassins in the square were all slaughtered. The guards of the Prince of Zhao's mansion were also all disarmed, kneeling on the ground, unable to move.

Qin Shuang dismounted and walked to a still-breathing assassin, then knelt down. Her voice was devoid of any emotion.

"Tell me, who sent you?"

The assassin's eyes were bloodshot, and he was uttering unintelligible roars, as if he was still trying to struggle.

A captain of the Imperial Guard stepped forward and struck the man hard on the back of the neck with the hilt of his sword. The assassin's body went limp, and he passed out completely.

"Commander, the body searches have been conducted," the captain reported, bowing. "They all carry insignia indicating they are Zhao King's personal guards. And this..."

He handed me a small porcelain bottle.

Qin Shuang took the bottle, uncorked it, and smelled it. A knowing look flashed across her face.

"It really was a seven-day maniac. The drugs triggered it, and once he went mad from killing, his mind was completely destroyed, leaving no way to prove his innocence." She stood up and looked around at the mess. "However, with the evidence and the perpetrators caught red-handed, King Zhao will have no way to clear his name this time, no matter what."

The first act of the chaotic battle ended with an overwhelming victory for the Imperial Guards.

The person who started all of this has long since disappeared.

……

The Demon-Suppressing Pagoda is located on the cliff edge behind Wanfo Temple. It is a seven-story, octagonal black stone pagoda that is shrouded in a cold mist all year round.

Master Xuanji, accompanied by four trusted confidants, traversed forests and corridors, and soon arrived at the foot of the tower.

The tower gate was tightly closed, and the talismans on it had long since turned yellow.

"Open the door," Master Xuanji said in a hoarse voice.

A subordinate stepped forward, forming a hand seal, and a gentle, yin-like internal force slowly flowed into the tower door. The talismans on the door spontaneously combusted without fire. The heavy stone door creaked open inwards.

A stench, long sealed away and mixed with the smell of blood and mildew, wafted out from inside the tower.

Just as they were about to step into the tower.

A dark figure, like a falcon spreading its wings, swooped down silently from the woods above the cliff. The person landed without a sound, their figure flashing in the shadows of the tower's corner before completely disappearing into the darkness.

Zhou Yang raised his head, looked at Xuanji Zhenren's back, and licked his slightly chapped lips.

The fish are in the net; now it's time to count the catch. He straightened his collar, which seemed to have been attached to it like a ghost.