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

"Don't move," Zhou Yang whispered, pressing down on the wounded assassin's neck. The bloodstains shone a dark red in the lamplight.

The blade flickered slightly, its edge not touching the skin. The assassin's brow twitched, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

"Speak!" Zhou Yang's eyes were fixed, and a chill seeped from his fingertips, like ice shards hitting glass.

"I...I don't understand..." The assassin's voice trembled, and fear flickered in his eyes.

"Don't play dumb." Zhou Yang sheathed the knife, his fingers lightly stroking his neck. The blade tip grazed the wound, the blood being suppressed.

"We are disciples of the Xuan Yin Henchman." The assassin finally looked up and uttered the words without missing a single one.

"The leader's name is 'Ghost Hand,' and he ordered us to intercept and kill General Qin and take the 'thing' on you."

"Things?" Qin Shuang's voice came from the shadows, cold as a blade. She stepped out of the shadows, the pale moonlight shining on her silver armor.

The assassin looked up in horror and exclaimed, "Is this a martial art left behind by Fang Tian?"

Qin Shuang frowned slightly, but said nothing. She reached out and grabbed the assassin's throat, and a spray of blood spurted out.

"You dare touch my men?" Qin Shuang said in a low voice, her voice carrying a cold laugh.

The blade sliced ​​across the assassin's throat, blood splattering onto the ground. Qin Shuang's hand remained cold as she swung her broadsword, severing the head. The head rolled to the ground, striking the rocks with a dull thud.

Zhou Yang took a step back and examined the fallen corpses. Each body bore the same black markings—two crossed scorpions tattooed on their left arms near the shoulder. The markings were like branding marks, deeply embedded in the skin.

He bent down, gently lifted his sleeve, and his fingers touched a cold piece of iron. The iron was flat, with an ancient seal character engraved in the center: "玄" (Xuan). The edges of the iron were mottled, as if it had been buried in the ground for many years.

Qin Shuang stood not far away, taking a deep breath. Her eyebrows were slightly raised, and her eyes shone.

"Mysterious Yin Helm." She spoke, her voice devoid of emotion, yet revealing a hint of contempt.

"The Heavenly Principle Sect has branches in various places, specializing in discipline, assassination, and intelligence."

"Who exactly is 'Ghost Hand'?" Zhou Yang asked in a low voice.

Qin Shuang shook her head. "The sect doesn't reveal its names to outsiders. All we know is that 'Ghost Hand' is the highest commander of the Xuan Yin Division, and he's ruthless."

She tucked the metal sheet into her bosom, then turned to look around. A night breeze rustled the grass. The distant mountains cast faint shadows in the moonlight.

"We need to leave quickly," Qin Shuang said, her voice slightly urgent. Her saddle was already fastened, and the horse neighed softly.

Zhou Yang nodded and raised his hand to wipe away the bloodstains on the back of his hand. The bloodstains appeared dark red under the light, like a thin stream.

He ran his fingers along the scorpion's markings, feeling the coolness on his skin. The scorpion's sharp shape seemed to be a reminder of death.

"This piece of iron might lead to more clues," Zhou Yang muttered to himself.

Qin Shuang turned around, a solemn look flashing in her eyes. She gently stroked the horse's back, her voice soft yet firm: "Don't let their undercurrents drag us into this again."

The two stepped onto the carriage, the wheels crunching over the stones with a crisp sound. The stench of blood dissipated on the wind, leaving only the silence of the night.

In the distance, a faint, deep drumbeat could be heard. The drumbeat seemed to be a reminder that the spiral of the Heavenly Principle Sect was not yet complete.

Zhou Yang gazed ahead, silently calculating in his mind. What did the black scorpion pattern signify? The secret hidden within the Xuan-character iron plaque? He knew the road ahead was even more treacherous.

Qin Shuang placed her hand on the wheel and chuckled softly, "Once we figure out what's going on, the 'Ghost Hand' will naturally reveal its true colors."

The sound of horses' hooves faded into the distance, and the night grew ever darker. Starlight peeked through the broken clouds, like drops of blood.

Zhou Yang sheathed the knife in his sleeve and clenched his fist. The lingering warmth of the blood still danced on his fingertips. He silently resolved: no matter how much life he had to sacrifice, he would play this game to its end.

The car slowly drove out of the valley and disappeared into the mist.

The wind in the wilderness carried an earthy smell as it swept across the newly turned muddy ground.

Zhou Yang shook the mud off his hands and rubbed his toes on the grass, smoothing out the last traces. He had casually tossed the corpses of those unfortunate members of the Heavenly Principle Cult into the trap pit that the hunters had dug earlier. The pit was originally used to hunt wild boars, but now it contained the corpses of five adult men, yet it didn't seem crowded.

"This place has good feng shui, with mountains behind and water in front."

Zhou Yang clapped his hands, took out a clean cloth from his pocket, and slowly wiped the sand between his fingers. "Burying them here is not a bad thing."

Qin Shuang stood beside the carriage, reins in hand, her gaze sweeping over the disturbed ground, a slight brow furrowing. She didn't speak, but gently tugged at the reins, signaling the somewhat agitated chestnut horse to calm down. She was already quite used to Zhou Yang's habit of casually burying corpses and then offering his feng shui commentary.

"Let's go."

Zhou Yang casually stuffed the cloth into his sleeve and mounted the black horse he had snatched from the Heavenly Principle Cult members. It was a spirited steed, broad-backed and steady on its feet. He pulled on the reins, and the horse snorted, exhaling a puff of white breath.

The wheels creaked and groaned as they rolled over the gravel road. The setting sun cast long shadows of the two men, stretching all the way to the entrance of the valley behind them. A faint smell of blood lingered there, but it dissipated with a gust of wind.

Over the next three days, the official road became flat and wide.

The roadside trees were replaced by neat rows of willows, and there was a post station every five li and a pavilion every ten li. The number of caravans gradually increased, mostly those carrying escort agency flags or traveling merchants transporting goods by mules and horses.

Zhou Yang sat on his horse, his body swaying slightly with the rise and fall of the horse's back. He hadn't said much in the past three days, spending most of his time resting with his eyes closed, or rather—doing accounting.

That ambush was very successful.

Aside from the few iron plaques whose purpose was still unclear, the hard currency alone—silver—was over three hundred taels. Not to mention the jade thumb rings and gold hairpins of good quality. For someone who valued money above all else, these three days were like traveling on a mountain of gold, and naturally, he was in a very good mood.

"What's that up ahead?"

Qin Shuang's voice interrupted Zhou Yang's thoughts.

He opened his eyes and looked in the direction Qin Shuang was pointing. On the distant horizon, a faint gray-black line appeared. As the carriage moved forward, the line gradually thickened and rose, like an endless mountain range stretching across the sky and earth.

That's a wall.

A wall so high it was suffocating.

Zhou Yang reined in his horse and squinted as he examined the legendary behemoth.

This is the capital city.

The book describes the capital as "a fortified city with high walls and deep moats, a fortified fortress," and this description is indeed accurate. The city walls were at least seven or eight zhang high, constructed entirely of massive, bluish-gray stone blocks, with molten iron poured into the gaps, standing there solidly as if carved from a single piece of stone. At intervals along the walls, there were protruding horse-faced structures, each manned by heavily armored archers, their dark arrow slits like eyes, coldly watching the ants below.

The setting sun hung above the arrow tower of the city wall, its afterglow casting a cold, hard iron sheen on the gray-black bricks. There was none of the delicate charm of Anyang County, nor the desolation of a border town; only a suffocating heaviness. It was a pure, oppressive force built upon power and violence.

Zhou Yang felt as if a stone was pressing on his chest, and his breathing became heavier without him realizing it.

"What a high wall."

Zhou Yang muttered something under his breath, not as an exclamation, but as a statement.

"The city wall of the capital is 15 feet high and 50 feet wide at the top, wide enough for four horses to ride abreast." Qin Shuang rode up to his side, his voice flat and emotionless. "It was built by conscripting 300,000 laborers during the reign of Emperor Taizu and took seven years to complete. The wall was constructed by mixing glutinous rice juice with lime, making it impervious to swords and spears, as well as water and fire."

Zhou Yang twitched the corner of his mouth, a hint of amusement flashing in his eyes: "Judging from your tone, it sounds like you're here to inspect your own backyard."

Qin Shuang didn't respond, but gently squeezed the horse's belly. The chestnut horse winced in pain and sped up: "We're in the city."

The two of them, one in front of the other, joined the flow of people entering the city along the official road.

Two miles from the city gate, the carriage slowed down. The official road was crowded with all kinds of vehicles: mule carts carrying coal, oxcarts loaded with grain and fodder, and exquisite horse-drawn carriages with beaded curtains. Most of the drivers were shirtless, cracking their whips in the air and shouting for people to make way in their various regional accents.

Zhou Yang pulled on the reins, guiding the horse through the gaps in the traffic. He keenly noticed that the atmosphere in the capital was indeed different.

In Anyang County, the soldiers guarding the city gates mostly wore their hats askew, leaned against the walls to bask in the sun, or gathered together to gamble, and would try to extort a few copper coins from passing caravans. But the garrison here exuded a chilling aura.

Two rows of soldiers in dark red flying fish robes stood at the city gate, their standard long swords at their waists, hands on the hilts, their postures ramrod straight. Their gazes weren't that of people being looked at, but rather like those of suspects being scrutinized. Every citizen entering the city was subjected to rigorous inspection. Travel permits, household registration, even their personal belongings were thoroughly searched.

"stop!"

A burly captain with a menacing face stopped a donkey cart, holding a tinderbox and pointing to the neatly stacked sacks on the cart. "What's in there? Open it and see!"

The driver, an honest and simple farmer, turned pale with fright and trembling as he untied the knot in the sack: "Sir, it's...it's radishes I grew myself. I was planning to sell them in town for a good price."

The captain didn't stand on ceremony. He reached into the sack, pulled out a radish, looked at it, and then casually tossed it back onto the cart, waving his hand: "Go on in, don't block the way."

The farmer felt as if he had been granted a pardon, and quickly drove his donkey cart into the city gate without daring to look back.

Zhou Yang observed this scene, his fingers lightly stroking the hilt of the sword at his waist. The rules of the capital city seem truly strict. If he continued to act as carefree as he did outside, he'd likely be in for a lot of trouble.

It was their turn.

Zhou Yang dismounted and walked to the checkpoint, holding the reins. The captain sized him up, his gaze lingering for a moment on the embroidered spring knife at his waist, before frowning slightly: "Where did you come from? Where's your travel permit?"

"Reporting to Your Excellency," Zhou Yang said with a simple and honest smile, taking out the official document that Qin Shuang had prepared in advance from his pocket and handing it over, "He is from Anyang County, on official business returning to the capital to report on his duties."

The captain took the official document, carefully examined the seal on it, and then looked up at Qin Shuang, who was riding on horseback. Qin Shuang's face was cold and stern, and she held the Embroidered Uniform Guard's waist token in her hand. She didn't say anything, but just gave the captain a cold glance.

The captain's expression changed immediately upon seeing the waist tag. Although he didn't recognize Qin Shuang, the Jinyiwei (Imperial Guard) had a strict hierarchy, and the quality and design of that waist tag were definitely not something an ordinary low-ranking captain could afford to offend.

"Turns out they're family."

The captain's attitude immediately softened. He handed the official document back to Zhou Yang with both hands, and said with a smile, "I didn't know this sir had arrived. I apologize for any offense. Turn left after entering the city and you'll find the Thousand Household Office. I hope you've had a long journey."

Zhou Yang took the official document, casually pulled out a piece of silver from his sleeve, and discreetly slipped it into the captain's hand, saying in a low voice, "Sir, you've had a hard time. Have some tea. The rules in the capital are strict, so I'll have to ask for your help."

The captain weighed the item in his hand, his smile widening, even taking on a hint of obsequiousness: "Of course, of course. This brother is a sensible man. Once we're in the city, as long as we don't break those strict rules, we can walk around like madmen and nobody will bother us."

Zhou Yang smiled and nodded, then led his horse into the city gate.

As soon as you enter the city gate, a wave of noise washes over you.

The wide streets were wide enough to accommodate eight horse-drawn carriages side by side, lined with shops on both sides, their flags fluttering in the breeze. Sellers of steamed buns, cosmetics, blacksmiths, fortune tellers—all sorts of people gathered here. The air was thick with a complex stench of cooking oil, cosmetics, and horse manure.

The level of prosperity here is something that the poor and remote Anyang County simply cannot compare to.

Zhou Yang took a deep breath of the money-scented air and felt a surge of comfort in his lungs. He found a sheltered spot against a wall, reined in his horse, and pulled out the three heavy money pouches from his pocket.

The weight of money on my chest felt substantial throughout the journey, reassuring yet exhausting. In this capital city, to live comfortably, money alone isn't enough; you also need to know how to spend it.

He looked around and his gaze settled on the entrance of a money exchange with a sign that read "Tongbao Bank".

"Commander," Zhou Yang turned around and said to Qin Shuang, who was looking around, "You should go report to the Thousand-Household Office first. I'll go and deal with this little bit of loose silver I have."

Qin Shuang glanced back at the money exchange's sign and nodded slightly: "Don't go too far. Come find me at the 'Yuelai Inn' in the west of the city tonight. It's run by our people."

"Alright."

Zhou Yang agreed and led the horse straight to the money exchange.

Upon entering, a faint scent of sandalwood wafted towards me. Behind the counter, a shopkeeper wearing a melon-shaped hat was busily working on his abacus. Seeing a customer enter, the shopkeeper quickly put down his abacus and greeted him with a beaming smile: "Sir, are you here to deposit silver or exchange tickets?"

"Exchange tickets."

Zhou Yang sat down on the stool in front of the counter with an air of authority, slammed the three money bags onto the counter, and with a "clatter," the sound of silver hitting the wooden table was crisp and pleasant.

The shopkeeper's eyes lit up. He skillfully untied the money pouch, glanced at the silver inside, and then worked even faster. He weighed it in his hand, picked up a steelyard, and said with a smile, "Sir, these three pouches of silver are of good quality, pure silver, weighing a total of three hundred and twenty taels. After deducting the loss, I'll give you three hundred and ten taels in Tongbao silver notes. What do you think?"

"Okay," Zhou Yang replied readily.

Before long, a stack of brand-new silver notes was handed to Zhou Yang. The notes were beautifully printed, stamped with a large vermilion seal, and had a faint scent of ink.

Zhou Yang tucked the silver notes into his pocket, feeling much lighter. He walked out of the money exchange and stood on the bustling street, looking at the prosperous scene before him, a slow smile curving his lips.

This capital city has tall buildings, thick walls, many people, and lots of money.

Of course, there are also many pitfalls.

He raised his head, his gaze piercing through the crowded throng, landing on the distant palace shrouded in twilight. It was the center of power, and also the greatest den of iniquity in the land.

Zhou Yang patted his now noticeably shrunken sleeve and muttered to himself:

"The capital, here I come."

He mounted the horse, squeezed its flanks with his legs, and the black horse neighed, carrying him into the bustling world, disappearing in an instant.

At the street corner, a peddler carrying a load on a shoulder pole seemed to glance unintentionally in the direction Zhou Yang had disappeared. His cloudy eyes darted around, then he nonchalantly shook his rattle drum, his cries of "Selling—candied hawthorns—"