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

The sky was overcast, like a dirty rag covering the city of Anyang.

Qin Shuang's residence was simple: a small courtyard and a few houses with blue tiles. There were no flowers in the courtyard, only a few plum blossom stakes bearing sword marks. She was sitting under the eaves, carefully wiping her embroidered spring knife with a clean linen cloth. The blade reflected her cold, stern face.

The wind was cold, and it made the courtyard gate creak softly.

boom! boom! boom!

The heavy knocking pounded on the door, utterly unceremonious. The sound belonged not to the visitor, but to the messenger bringing death.

Qin Shuang stopped wiping the blade. She slowly raised her eyes, her gaze passing through the courtyard and landing on the wooden door. She didn't move or make a sound, just waited quietly.

The people outside seemed to be losing patience.

"Bang!"

With a loud crash, the courtyard gate was kicked open. Amidst flying sawdust, Commander Chen swaggered in, accompanied by four junior officers from the Imperial Guard. Today, he wore a flying fish robe woven from cloud brocade, his jade belt gleaming, and a confident smile on his face.

"Commander Qin, how have you been?" Commander Chen surveyed the simple courtyard, a hint of disdain playing on his lips. "You really know how to find a place like this. Hidden so well, if I hadn't been so observant, I would have thought you'd flown out of Anyang County."

Qin Shuang stood up and shoved the Embroidered Spring Blade back into its sheath with a crisp, clear sound, like ice shattering.

"What brings Commander Chen here?" Her voice was as cold as the weather.

"Don't rush." ​​Commander Chen waved his hand, walked slowly to the stone table, and sat down as if he were the master of the place. "Come, let's look at something good first."

He pulled a thin piece of paper from his pocket and tossed it onto the table. It wasn't Ming Dynasty paper; it was stiffer and had a smoother surface. It was a Western painting.

The drawing on the paper depicts a little girl, about seven or eight years old, with her hair in two buns and wearing a pretty dress. The girl's eyes are large, but filled with terror; tears hang on her eyelashes, threatening to fall. Behind her stands a blurry figure, a hand resting on her shoulder.

Qin Shuang's gaze fell on the painting, and the knuckles of her fingers gripping the scabbard instantly turned white.

"This must be the daughter of a distant relative of the Qin family, right? I remember her name is Ling'er, a very cute little girl." Commander Chen's voice carried the satisfaction of a cat catching a mouse. "She's in my residence now. My men will take good care of her."

Qin Shuang's chest heaved slightly, but quickly calmed down. She raised her head, staring intently at Commander Chen: "What exactly do you want?"

"Doesn't Commander Qin know what I'm thinking?" Commander Chen laughed, leaning forward and lowering his voice. "Anyang County can't accommodate you anymore. There are also people in the capital who are very 'concerned' about you. You're a smart man; you should know how to choose."

He paused, his tone softening, but that softness was more hurtful than a knife.

"Marry me."

"Now that you're part of the Chen family, all your past debts are wiped clean. Your little girl from the Qin family can grow up safely. You can continue being a centurion in the Embroidered Uniform Guard—no, I'll pull some strings for you, and getting promoted to a chiliarch isn't out of the question."

He leaned back in his chair, spread his hands, and looked as if he had arranged everything for you.

"You've lost this game. But if you listen to me, you still have a chance to turn things around."

Qin Shuang looked at him, her eyes like ice tempered by fire. "What if I don't?"

"No?" Chen Qianhu's smile vanished completely, replaced by a blatant threat. "Then the little girl in this painting will likely remain in my memory forever. Of course, you and your dog will soon be going down to join her."

His voice rose a few decibels, tinged with a boastful tone.

"You think you've climbed the social ladder by clinging to the King of Zhao? What a joke! What is the King of Zhao anyway! You can't even imagine who my backer is! My Chen family can crush you more easily than crushing an ant!"

He stood up, paced back and forth, and scanned the room with his eyes.

"Speaking of which, what about your dog? His name is Zhou Yang, right? That street thug, that little bastard. Where is he? Hiding in some corner gnawing on a bone? Make him come out and see me. I want to personally show him that a lowly creature like him dares to covet what doesn't belong to him?"

Commander Chen was practically spitting out words, reveling in the exhilarating feeling of being in complete control. He looked at Qin Shuang's increasingly pale face and felt a surge of satisfaction.

Just then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of an inconspicuous hidden door on the side wall, which was making a slight creaking sound.

The door opened.

A figure emerged from the darkness.

He wore a faded blue cotton long gown and ordinary cloth shoes. He walked slowly, his face even carrying a hint of sleepiness. If it weren't for the faint smell of blood on him and his inhuman eyes, he would have looked like an ordinary young man from next door.

It's Zhou Yang.

The moment he appeared, it was as if all the sounds in the courtyard had been paused.

The wind stopped.

The small flag bearers behind Commander Chen instinctively gripped the hilts of their swords, only to find their palms covered in cold sweat.

Zhou Yang didn't look at anyone; his gaze was fixed solely on Commander Chen. His eyes were calm, as calm as a bottomless pool of water. Looking into that pool, you always felt that something was slowly awakening beneath the surface.

Chen Qianhu's arrogant expression froze. His throat went dry, and he wanted to say a few more harsh words, but found his tongue stiff. He had seen all kinds of eyes—fierce, obsequious, fearful. But he had never seen anything like this.

It was a kind of indifference. It was as if he, Commander Chen, was not a person, but just a stone blocking the way, an eyesore of an insect.

That look sent a chill down his spine more than any threat or curse.

"You...you dog..." Commander Chen forced a strained smile, his voice hoarse, "Finally decided to crawl out of your hole?"

Zhou Yang remained silent. He simply walked over to the stone table, casually pulled out a chair, and sat down. His movements were very relaxed, as if he were back in his own home.

He picked up the Western painting on the table and glanced at the little girl in it.

Then, he raised his head and looked at Commander Chen.

"Three days later."

Zhou Yang spoke, his voice soft and calm.

"I've come to fetch the bride."

He used the exact same words and the exact same tone as Chen Qianhu.

Commander Chen was suddenly stunned, as if he had heard the funniest joke in the world, or as if a ghost had grabbed his neck. The muscles in his cheeks twitched, and his knuckles cracked.

He wanted to explode, to roar, to order his guards to chop Zhou Yang into mincemeat immediately.

But when he met Zhou Yang's eyes, all the words stuck in his throat. He felt his confidence, like a punctured balloon, deflating inch by inch. This little bastard he once saw was now like a silent mountain, pressing down on him, making it hard for him to breathe.

"Very...very well!" Commander Chen spat out the words through gritted teeth, then abruptly flicked his sleeve. "I'm waiting! I'm waiting for you to come and send me off to my funeral!"

He dared not linger any longer and turned to leave. His steps were unsteady, and he had completely lost the arrogance he had displayed upon arrival. The four small flags, as if granted a pardon, followed behind dejectedly, as if a ferocious beast were chasing them.

The kicked-open courtyard gate was left there, swaying in the cold wind with a clanging sound.

The courtyard returned to silence.

Qin Shuang remained standing, her gaze fixed on Zhou Yang. The man picked up the painting, held it between two fingers, and brought it to the candlelight.

The flames suddenly shot up, licking at the drawing paper. The little girl's terrified face twisted and curled in the flames, finally turning into a clump of black ash.

Zhou Yang released his grip, letting the ashes drift away.

After he finished doing all this, he looked up at Qin Shuang, his face still showing that lazy expression.

"It seems that Commander Chen's price has gone up again."