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

Death lies behind me, darkness lies ahead.

The only sound in the secret passage was his own heavy, rapid breathing. With each breath, a tearing pain shot through his chest. The residual force of Master Xuanji's palm strike had not yet dissipated, causing his internal organs to shift.

But Zhou Yang dared not stop.

He clutched the fragment of the dragon's spine, its sharp edges digging deeply into his palm. The blood was scalding hot, trickling down between his fingers and dripping onto the cold stone slab, spreading a small patch of dark red.

The smell of blood became his only sobering agent.

Footsteps sounded behind me.

No, that wasn't footsteps.

It was a thicker, more muffled friction sound, like someone walking through mud in soaking wet shoes. The sound was neither hurried nor slow, yet it felt like an invisible hand gripping his heart tightly.

That man in gray.

He caught up with us.

Zhou Yang gritted his teeth, his true energy struggling to circulate within his meridians. He dared not turn around, knowing what he would see: a pair of emotionless eyes and a knife moving with incredible speed.

The secret passage came to an end.

The view ahead suddenly opened up, but it wasn't the exit. It was an underground palace—a much larger underground space than he had imagined. The air was filled with a musty, stale smell, mixed with a faint, almost imperceptible stench of blood.

In the center of the underground palace, eight enormous stone pillars are arranged in an octagonal shape, supporting the thick rock layers overhead. Each pillar requires several people to encircle it, and is covered with blurred Buddhist scriptures, standing like silent giants in the dim light.

He didn't have time to look at it much.

The rubbing sound behind me stopped.

Zhou Yang's hair stood on end instantly. He didn't even need to turn around to feel the sharp killing intent, like a cold needle piercing his back.

He suddenly rolled to one side.

"laugh!"

A flash of light grazed his back, the strips of his clothing fluttering in the air. He could even feel the force of the blade, the wind stinging his skin.

He rolled to his feet, turned around, and finally saw the person clearly.

Gray shirt, gray trousers, gray headscarf. He looked as if he had just been pulled out of the dust, devoid of any life. The only color was the narrow-bladed longsword in his hand. The blade was long and narrow, gleaming with a cold, eerie light.

The man didn't look at him; his gaze was fixed on his chest. There, from the rolling motion, the outline of a piece of clothing was visible through the fabric.

"Give it to me."

The man spoke, his voice hoarse as if two pieces of sandpaper were rubbing together.

Zhou Yang grimaced, wincing in pain. "Want it? Come and get it yourself."

He knew he couldn't escape.

This man's speed and swordsmanship far surpassed those of Master Xuanji. A direct confrontation meant death, and so did his escape.

As he spoke, he shifted his feet, subtly turning his body and scanning his surroundings rapidly. He was searching for a way out, any possible escape route. There seemed to be a few more passages in the corners of the underground palace, but they were too far away; he wasn't sure he could run there.

The man didn't say another word.

He moved.

With a single step, his figure blurred instantly. The next moment, a flash of blade light appeared before Zhou Yang's eyes.

It is not a flower.

It is a net.

A vast, all-encompassing net of death, woven from the light of blades. Every strike was razor-sharp, sealing off all his escape routes. The wind howled through the air, stinging his cheeks.

Zhou Yang's pupils suddenly contracted.

He twisted his body desperately, crossing his arms in front of his chest to protect his vitals.

"Jingle bells!"

A series of rapid metallic clanging sounds rang out. Sparks flew everywhere. His arms went numb from the impact, and his tiger's mouth split open instantly, bleeding profusely.

He retreated seven or eight steps, each step leaving a deep footprint on the ground. The surging blood in his chest could no longer be suppressed, and he coughed up a mouthful of blood.

Wow, that was fast.

That's ruthless.

This is not an opponent he can currently contend with.

The man's first strike missed, but with a flick of his wrist, the blade's momentum changed again. The blade's light was no longer a sweeping, sweeping attack, but became sinister and cunning, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue, aiming straight for Zhou Yang's vital points.

Zhou Yang could only awkwardly dodge.

As he retreated, he glanced at the massive load-bearing stone pillars out of the corner of his eye. His mind was racing, burning through his remaining lifespan to consider all the possibilities.

Run? That's a dead end.

Fight? Like a mantis trying to stop a chariot.

Beg for mercy? The other person's expression told him that would only hasten his death.

His gaze fell on one of the stone pillars. At the base of that pillar were some fine cracks, as if it were old and could no longer bear the weight of the stone.

A crazy idea flashed through his mind.

He stopped fighting, suddenly lowered his body, and charged towards the stone pillar.

The man in gray frowned.

He thought Zhou Yang was going to hide behind a pillar and put up a stubborn resistance.

He lightly touched the ground with his toes, increasing his speed even further. The blade flashed, chasing Zhou Yang's back, determined to pin him to the stone pillar.

Zhou Yang felt a deadly chill emanating from behind him.

He knew he only had one chance.

He lunged at the stone pillar and whirled around. He didn't use his hands to block the deadly blade. He made a move that even the gray-clad man hadn't expected.

He took out a thin gold leaf from his pocket.

The gold leaf grew longer in the wind, transforming into a figure exactly like him, which stood in front of him.

"boom!"

The blade struck the golden foil figure with deadly force. The figure let out a scream, transforming into a shower of golden light and vanishing into thin air. The substitute death gold foil was his most prized life-saving item, each sheet worth a fortune.

It's now!

The instant the gold foil blocked the attack for him, Zhou Yang poured all his power and all his remaining true essence into his right palm without reservation.

He slammed his palm heavily onto the load-bearing stone pillar in front of him.

"drink!"

He roared, his voice hoarse.

He recklessly squeezed every last bit of energy out of his body. The true essence in his dantian surged like a floodgate opening, rushing into his arm and then slamming into the stone pillar.

"Click..."

A faint, teeth-grinding cracking sound rang out.

The original cracks at the base of the stone pillar spread rapidly like a spider web.

The man in gray, having landed a successful blow, was about to give chase when he saw Zhou Yang's movements and heard the shattering sound. His expression changed drastically.

"madman!"

He cursed and immediately understood what Zhou Yang wanted to do.

But it was too late.

"Snap snap snap—"

The cracking sound grew louder and louder. The massive stone pillar that had supported the underground palace for hundreds of years had finally reached its limit.

"BOOM!!!"

A deafening roar.

The stone pillar is broken.

The entire underground palace, and even the entire Demon-Suppressing Tower, began to shake violently. Zhou Yang stumbled and almost fell. Above him, huge rocks and soil rained down like raindrops.

The man in gray had a livid face.

He ignored Zhou Yang and immediately drew his sword, holding it above his head to protect himself. Countless pebbles pelted his blade, making muffled thuds and forcing him to stagger backward.

Zhou Yang ignored the chaos behind him.

The moment the tower began to collapse, the path he had envisioned in his mind became clear.

Instead of running back through the secret passage he had come from, he rushed towards the other side of the underground palace. There, in a corner of the wall, was an inconspicuous ventilation shaft. It was left over from the construction of the underground palace; it was small and covered with cobwebs.

This was the only way to survive that he had deduced after spending a year of his life.

"Boom!"

The top of the Demon-Suppressing Tower had completely collapsed, and massive boulders crashed down with destructive force, shattering the entire underground palace. The body of Master Xuanji, along with the secret manuals he treasured, was instantly buried.

Dust filled the air, obscuring all vision.

Zhou Yang covered his mouth and nose, running frantically through the choking dust. A huge rock grazed his scalp, the force of the wind it generated nearly knocking him over.

He rushed to the ventilation shaft.

The opening was too small; it was only big enough for a child to crawl through.

He did not hesitate at all.

He stuffed the dragon spine fragment into his mouth, biting it down hard with his teeth. Then, he grabbed the edge of the hole with both hands, used his arms to force his upper body inside.

The rocks rubbed against his back, burning with pain.

Ignoring everything else, he kicked and thrashed his legs on the ground, like a fish out of water, desperately trying to burrow deeper.

The underground palace behind them was being completely swallowed up.

He could feel the breath of death right behind his heels.

Finally, his entire body was inside the ventilation duct. He dared not stop, crawling forward on all fours in the narrow, dark passage. Behind him were deafening roars and scorching smoke, and ahead lay unknown darkness.

I don't know how long I climbed.

When a cool breeze carrying the fresh scent of grass and trees blew onto his face, he knew he had succeeded.

He struggled forward and rolled out from the other end of the ventilation duct.

He lay on the ground, gasping for breath, like a drowning man reborn. His body, face, and mouth were covered in mud and blood. He was still biting down hard on the fragment of the dragon's spine, the edge digging painfully into his gums.

The night was deep, and the moon was obscured by clouds.

He recognized the place. It was the back mountain of Wanfo Temple, a desolate forest.

He survived.

Zhou Yang struggled to sit up, spat out the fragment in his mouth, and wiped the mud off his face. He looked down at the blood-stained fragment in his palm and grinned.

His smile was ugly, a mixture of blood and mud.

But he was smiling happily.