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

It was very quiet in the woods.

Sunlight filtered through the dense foliage, dappling the decaying leaves with golden light. The air was thick with the dampness of earth and vegetation. Zhou Yang leaned against an old elm tree, his eyes closed, his breathing steady, as if taking a nap.

He is not.

Only he knew that his mind was sinking into the soil beneath his feet. Every falling leaf, every wriggling insect, transformed into subtle vibrations, traveling through the earth to his senses. This was the "Earth Listening Technique" he had gained by burning less than three days of his lifespan. The range was small, but the effect was very solid.

Qin Shuang sat opposite him, wiping the embroidered spring knife. Her movements were slow and methodical. She didn't speak, only occasionally glancing at Zhou Yang. This man always gave her a strange feeling; despite being in dire straits, he was calmer than anyone else.

A bird's chirp suddenly rang out from the woods.

It was very short, like being choked.

Qin Shuang paused in wiping the knife.

Zhou Yang didn't even blink.

A moment later, a second bird call rang out, the same tune. It was as if it were responding.

Qin Shuang's gaze sharpened, and she gripped the hilt of the knife tightly.

The moment the third bird call faded, Zhou Yang opened his eyes. His eyes were wide open, unnervingly clear, showing no trace of sleepiness.

"Here I am," he said softly.

"How many people?" Qin Shuang asked, already standing up.

"They're not soldiers." Zhou Yang didn't answer her question. Instead, he stood up, brushed the grass off his clothes, and said, "Head west, quickly."

He took Qin Shuang's hand and plunged deeper into the woods without hesitation. His footsteps were light and silent, like a cat darting through the shadows.

Qin Shuang was being pulled along, her heart filled with suspicion and uncertainty. If they weren't government soldiers, could they be... the Zhenwu Guard?

Just as the two men hid in a thicket, the sound of hooves came from the edge of the woods. It wasn't a chaotic clatter, but a steady, rhythmic "clack, clack, clack"—five horses had stopped where they had just been resting.

Five men in black jumped off the horse.

They were dressed in matching tight-fitting outfits, with a ferocious beast's head embroidered in silver thread on their chests. The swords at their waists were longer than the standard embroidered spring knives, with hilts wrapped in black sharkskin. No one spoke, but the unspoken understanding they shared was more chilling than a thousand troops.

The leader was a man with a hooked nose, a long face, and sharp, piercing eyes. Unlike the others, he didn't search around but went straight to the elm tree where Zhou Yang had leaned.

He dismounted swiftly and decisively.

Then, he did something that made Qin Shuang gasp for breath.

The man with the hooked nose knelt on one knee, his body bowed low. He stretched out two fingers, picked up a small clump of soil from the ground, brought it to his nose, and gently sniffed it.

Like a lone wolf trying to identify scents.

A moment later, he lowered his hand, stood up, and looked in the direction Zhou Yang and Qin Shuang had fled.

"Two people, heading west." His voice was hoarse and emotionless. "A man and a woman. The man moved lightly, and the woman smelled of blood. They were walking very fast."

Without hesitation, the four men behind him immediately separated, with two staying behind to guard the area, while the remaining three formed a fan shape and pressed forward silently. Their steps, postures, and even the rise and fall of their bodies were identical, as if they had been carved from the same mold.

They are like hunting dogs.

Qin Shuang's heart sank. For the first time, she felt the terror of the Zhenwu Guard so acutely. This wasn't a martial arts sect, nor were they imperial soldiers. This was a group of monsters whose sole purpose was to hunt down and kill.

Zhou Yang led her through the winding woods, maintaining a subtle distance from the three men at all times. He didn't turn around, yet he could clearly "see" their movements.

"The Zhenwu Guard's pursuit is in three steps," Zhou Yang's voice rang in Qin Shuang's ears, as calm as if he were describing the weather. "The first step is the 'Tracing Compass.' Before they set out, their men will take something tainted with our scent and use it to determine a location on a specially made compass. This way, no matter how far we escape, they can know our approximate direction."

"So, they always manage to find us?" Qin Shuang's voice was a little hoarse.

"That's right," Zhou Yang replied. "The second step is the 'Blood Owl Guard.' These are the people we see here. They are experts in tracking and assassination. They understand animal language, can detect soil, and are skilled in various tracking techniques. Once they've got their eye on you, it's like being a wild beast smeared with blood—you can't escape."

He listened intently for a moment, then added, "These five are just the vanguard. There's definitely a large force behind them. They'll keep taking turns, wearing us down."

Qin Shuang's face paled even more. She had known the Zhenwu Guard was strong, but she hadn't expected them to be this strong. This wasn't an escape at all; it was a hunt destined to have a victor.

"And what's the third step?" she couldn't help but ask.

Zhou Yang paused for a moment and glanced at the sky.

"The third and final step," he said softly, "is the 'net.' They will drive us into a place they've chosen. It could be a swamp, a canyon, or a ghost town. Then, they'll tighten the net."

He turned his head and looked at Qin Shuang, his eyes showing no fear, only a cold calm.

"Ordinary people, or even average experts, cannot survive more than three days after being targeted by the 'Blood Owl Guards.' Within three days, they will either be killed due to exhaustion or be driven into the 'Heavenly Net,' facing certain death."

A breeze stirred in the woods.

The leaves rustled in the wind, making a soft "shush" sound, like countless people whispering.

Zhou Yang stopped and pulled Qin Shuang behind a rock. He closed his eyes and sensed again.

The three Blood Owl Guards had changed formation. One was in the middle, and the other two were slightly behind, forming a triangular shape. They maintained their speed, continuing their pursuit at a leisurely pace. They were very patient, as if they knew their prey had no chance of escape.

Zhou Yang opened his eyes.

"We have to do something," he said.

"What are you doing?" Qin Shuang asked. Her palms were sweaty, but her hand holding the knife was very steady.

"We can't keep running like this." Zhou Yang's lips curled into a faint smile. "Hounds are powerful, but they have weaknesses. They rely too much on their sense of smell and intuition."

He took something out of his pocket—the black iron token he had obtained from Commander Chen.

"It's time to put our seed money to use." Zhou Yang weighed the token in his hand, looked at Qin Shuang, and said, "Dare to play something big with me?"

Qin Shuang looked at him, at this man who was still calculating "business" even in dire straits. She suddenly smiled. The smile was like a crack in the surface of a frozen lake, carrying a resolute and eerie quality.

"My life is now half yours," she replied. "You tell me what to do, and I'll do it."

"Okay." Zhou Yang stuffed the token into her hand. "Take this and run north. Run three miles, find a mountain stream, and throw the token in. Then immediately turn back. I'll be waiting for you here."

Qin Shuang was taken aback: "What about you?"

"Me?" Zhou Yang smiled, a hint of amusement flashing in his eyes. "I'll leave them a 'mark'."

After saying that, without waiting for Qin Shuang to ask any more questions, he moved swiftly, like a falling leaf, and silently flew off in another direction.

Qin Shuang gripped the cold token, staring at the direction Zhou Yang had disappeared in, standing there for a moment. Without hesitation, she turned and charged north.

The wind picked up.

It carried a faint, almost imperceptible smell of blood.