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

Night fell low over the alleyways of the capital, and the rain washed the bluestone slabs until they shone.

Zhou Yang's horse stopped at the end of the narrow alley, its hooves echoing on the damp bricks and tiles.

Ahead stood a house with gray tiles and low-hanging eaves, the moss hanging from the eaves revealing the marks of time.

He stepped off his riding crop and walked to the door. The door was half-open, and a faint candlelight shone through.

Qin Shuang stood at the door, dressed in a light silk robe, her eyes and brows like cold stars.

She nodded slightly, without saying anything more.

"This was left by my mother," Qin Shuang said softly, with a hint of sadness in her voice.

"Of the dowry from that marriage, there is still one place where the government confiscated it."

Zhou Yang glanced around; the courtyard was overgrown with withered weeds, and old wooden cloth covered the stone benches.

The old well in the corner still has an iron ring hanging from it, but the water has dried up.

Several red lanterns hung under the eaves, and the smell of lamp oil was particularly clear in the air after the rain.

"Let's go inside first," Qin Shuang said, gently stroking the carvings on the roof beams.

She led Zhou Yang into the main hall. The room was square, with exposed wooden beams and blue brocade on the floor, the edges of which were worn.

Several rattan chairs were placed against the wall, and dust floated in the lamplight.

She pointed to the side room against the wall: "This one is yours. The lock was old, so I've changed the key."

Zhou Yang pushed open the door and entered. The room was not large, but it contained a hard wooden bed with a tattered scripture on the headboard.

Outside the window, the sound of rain dripping from the alleyway could be heard.

Qin Shuang walked to the table and took out a jade pendant. The jade surface was engraved with the Qin family pattern and was as smooth as water.

She hung the pendant on her wrist, turned around, and handed it to Zhou Yang.

"This is half of a family heirloom," she said, her eyes gleaming in the lamplight.

"The other half is in the hands of an old friend in the capital, a man named Young Master Liu. Only when we find him can we be whole."

Zhou Yang took the jade pendant, feeling a slight coolness on his fingertips. The temperature seemed to remind him that the peace of the night was only temporary.

Qin Shuang explained softly, "This jade originally hung on my grandfather's chest, but it was forced to be hidden in this house during the war. Later, my mother melted it into a ring as a symbol of her dowry. Now it has been broken in two, and only you and I can put it back together."

Zhou Yang looked down and examined it carefully. There were fine lines on the jade surface, like marks carved by mountain springs.

As you get closer, you can hear a faint metallic clanging sound, like old armor tapping softly.

He hung the pendant around his neck and felt a slight chill. The chill didn't come from the weather, but rather from an invisible chain that seemed to be quietly rattling through his veins.

Qin Shuang stood by the window, pointing towards the street: "Tomorrow morning, we'll go to the government office at the East Gate first, report our identities, and then someone will take us to the Imperial Prison. There are special interrogators there who will record all our exchanges."

Zhou Yang nodded, silently noting: the Imperial Prison wasn't a prison, but rather the government's intelligence center. Once inside, he could use the lifespan system to gather intelligence and gain even greater leverage.

Qin Shuang then opened a hidden compartment in the corner of the wall, revealing a small wooden box. Inside the box was a bamboo scroll with the words "Qin Family Secret Passage" written on it. She handed the scroll to Zhou Yang.

"There's a secret passage leading to the north of the city, known only to a select few," she said, her eyes resolute.

"If the authorities come to investigate, you can take this route first."

Zhou Yang put away the bamboo slips and placed them in his robes. The wooden planks creaked softly after the rain, as if reminding him that time was of the essence.

The rain outside had stopped, and the night had become clear. From the distant city walls came the deep sound of drums, like city guards on patrol. The drumbeats were steady, striking the bricks and tiles, echoing through the alleyways.

Qin Shuang closed her eyes and softly hummed an ancient tune. The melody was short, yet carried a hint of sorrow. The corners of her lips turned up slightly, as if reminding herself that although this old house was dilapidated, it could still accommodate two hearts filled with desire.

Zhou Yang stood on the door frame, listening to the drumbeats, his fingers unconsciously tapping on the wooden frame, the rhythm matching the drumbeats.

His eyes darted between the lights and shadows, his mind already calculating every step of tomorrow.

The lights gradually dimmed, and candle wax dripped onto the wooden table, leaving a ring of pale yellow dots.

Qin Shuang turned off the last lamp, leaving only the starlight outside the window in the room.

Zhou Yang sheathed the knife in his sleeve and gently tucked the bamboo slip under the bed. Then he lay down and closed his eyes.

Scenes flashed through his mind: Fang Tian's laughter, the gold notes from the money exchange, the hidden markings of the Heavenly Principle Sect. Each scene was a trace of a transaction. Tomorrow's imprisonment would be the starting point for his next equivalent transaction.

The candlelight went out completely, and the night wind blew in through the cracks in the dilapidated window, stirring up a few scraps of paper. Zhou Yang's breathing sounded exceptionally clear in the silence.

It was still dark.

A dim, gray light peeked through the cracks in the window paper, illuminating the room in a hazy glow. Zhou Yang had already opened his eyes and lay still for a while. He listened to the chirping of a few early-rising sparrows on the roof tiles. The chirping was delicate and light, a stark contrast to the silence of the previous night.

He sat up and put on the brand-new Jinyiwei school uniform. The blue fabric was rather stiff, making him feel like he was wearing armor, and his movements were somewhat stiff. He fastened his belt and then touched the short sword tucked in his sleeve. The cold touch of the hilt reassured him.

Qin Shuang knocked on the door from the outside, only once, neither too loud nor too soft.

Zhou Yang opened the door. She had also changed into her official robes, the flying fish robes gleaming with a dark luster in the morning light. The embroidered spring knife at her waist was longer and more exquisite than Zhou Yang's. Her face was expressionless; she simply handed him an oil paper package.

"Eat on the way."

Zhou Yang took the two still-warm meat buns. Without hesitation, he took a big bite. The dough was soft and fluffy, the meat filling savory and fragrant, mixed with the aroma of scallions. This was the most decent breakfast he had eaten since arriving in the capital.

The two walked out of the Qin family's former residence one after the other.

The streets were deserted in the early morning. The cobblestones, damp with the night's dew, gleamed. A cool breeze carried a slight earthy smell as they breathed it in. They didn't take a carriage; they walked the rest of the way. Zhou Yang ate quickly; after finishing a steamed bun, he felt his stomach warm up.

As he walked, he observed his surroundings. Most of the shops along the street were still closed, with only a few breakfast stalls lit up, emitting white steam. Occasionally, a few early risers, dressed in coarse cloth shorts, hurried past with their heads down. No one noticed the two menacing figures in their flying fish robes.

Zhou Yang thought this was fine. He didn't like being watched. Being stared at meant trouble. And in a place like the Imperial Prison, trouble meant death.

After walking for about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, the scenery ahead changed. A high wall rose abruptly from the ground, blocking the way. The wall was made of dark blue-green bricks and stones, and it was very high, with no end in sight. Dark green moss grew in the cracks between the bricks, and barbed wire was strung on top of the wall, with several rusty barbs hanging from it.

The faint, earthy smell in the air had vanished. In its place was a more complex aroma. There was the stench of rust, the rotten smell of moldy wood, and a faint, yet persistent, scent of blood.

Like a sponge soaked in blood, dried for countless years, but that smell has seeped into every fiber.

Zhou Yang stopped and looked up at the wall. It was like a giant beast lying on the ground, silent, cold, and devouring all sound and light that approached it.

Qin Shuang took out her waist token and tapped it on the small window of the guard post at the entrance.

A sleepy-eyed Imperial Guard peeked out, but upon seeing Qin Shuang, he immediately snapped awake. He pulled back, opened a heavy little door, and bowed as he ushered the two inside.

"Good morning, Qin Baihu."

The door slammed shut behind them with a dull thud, as if completely shutting out the outside world.

The courtyard was large and spacious. The ground was paved with stone slabs, the cracks filled with damp moss. Several rows of cells stretched horizontally, their depths shrouded in darkness, their end invisible. The smell in the air was stronger than outside, as if all the decay and bloodshed had been compressed into this enclosed space.

There were already quite a few people in the courtyard.

They were all dressed in the uniforms of the Imperial Guards, gathered in twos and threes. Some leaned against the wall, slowly polishing their steel knives, the blades gleaming coldly in the dim light. Others squatted on the ground, sharpening oddly shaped daggers on a whetstone. Still others simply sat on the steps, eyes closed, as if feigning sleep.

Seeing Qin Shuang enter, they stood up, but their movements were not entirely synchronized. Some lazily cupped their hands in a gesture of greeting, while others merely raised their eyelids as a formality.

Then, their gazes all fell on Zhou Yang behind Qin Shuang.

Those gazes were of all kinds.

Curiosity, scrutiny, disdain, contempt.

A captain who was wiping his knife stopped. His gaze slowly shifted from the gleaming blade to Zhou Yang's face. There was no emotion in his eyes, like a butcher looking at a piece of meat on a chopping board, figuring out where to cut.

On the other side, the captains who had been rolling dice also fell silent. One of them spat on the ground, the sound not loud, but exceptionally clear in the quiet courtyard. He glanced sideways at Zhou Yang, a hint of undisguised hostility playing on his lips.

No one spoke.

But this silence was more oppressive than any vicious language. It was an invisible wall, isolating Zhou Yang. On the other side of the wall was a pack of wolves accustomed to killing and cruelty. And he was a strange dog who had suddenly wandered into the wolf pack.

Zhou Yang remained unfazed. He could feel their gazes piercing him like needles. But he simply stood ramrod straight, his eyes calmly sweeping over them. He was memorizing their faces, their eyes, their positions.

In this place, any piece of information could determine whether you survive or be silently turned into a corpse.

Qin Shuang seemed completely unconcerned about the scene. She led Zhou Yang straight across the courtyard and toward the innermost hall.

The doors to the lobby were wide open, offering a clear view of the interior.

The room was simply furnished with only a few tables and chairs. A burly man stood with his back to the door in front of a wooden torture rack. He was dressed in the official robes of a centurion, but his chest was open, revealing a large patch of chest hair and a hideous scar.

In front of him hung a mangled, bloody body.

The man's features were no longer discernible; he was merely a tattered sack. He held a pair of iron pliers and was slowly and methodically pulling the man's fingernails off. With each pull, the man's body twitched, and a muffled hoarse sound, like a broken bellows, emanated from his throat.

The man didn't turn his head, his voice rough and hoarse, like sandpaper rubbing against wood.

"Commander Qin, what brings you here?"

Qin Shuang walked up behind him and said in a calm tone, "Wang Mang, I've come to see someone off."

The man called Wang Mang then turned around. He had distinctive features; his face, covered in thick, fleshy hair, was adorned with a bushy beard that almost obscured half of his face. His eyes were bright, with a ferocious, beast-like glint.

Upon seeing Qin Shuang, he grinned, revealing two rows of yellow teeth: "A rare guest indeed."

Then, his gaze passed over Qin Shuang and landed on Zhou Yang. A hint of undisguised contempt flashed in his frighteningly bright eyes, as if he were looking at some random country bumpkin.

He looked Zhou Yang up and down, his gaze finally settling on Zhou Yang's brand-new official robes.

"A newcomer?"

Qin Shuang ignored his attitude, took out a scroll from her bosom, and handed it over.

"Transfer order from the Northern Garrison Command. Zhou Yang, effective today, will be under your command."

Wang Mang took the document, casually spread it out, and glanced at it. His fingers were thick, and there were dark red stains under his fingernails.

"Zhou Yang?" he muttered, then looked up to examine Zhou Yang more closely. "Never heard of him. Where is he from?"

Zhou Yang looked at him, his mind racing. This Wang Mang held the same official rank as Qin Shuang, but judging from Qin Shuang's attitude, he didn't seem to respect him. He had deep roots here; he was a local tyrant. His contempt for him was partly directed at the newcomer, and partly, probably also at Qin Shuang.

Before Zhou Yang could speak, Qin Shuang answered for him: "He's a captain, transferred from elsewhere."

"Oh," Wang Mang drawled.

He casually rolled up the document into a ball and stuffed it into his pocket. He walked to a table, picked up a rough porcelain bowl, and gulped down a large mouthful of water. The water dripped down his beard and onto his clothes.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looked at Zhou Yang, and a smile appeared on his lips.

The smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Okay. I'm short-handed here."

He took a step forward and moved closer to Zhou Yang. A strong smell of sweat and blood hit him.

"Since he's Qin Baihu's man, then he's mine."

He stretched out his large, fan-like hand and patted Zhou Yang's shoulder heavily. The force was great, like a hammer hitting him.

Zhou Yang swayed slightly, but his face remained expressionless.

Wang Mang stared into his eyes and said, word by word:

"Don't worry, I always take good care of my own people."

He emphasized the words "take good care of".

The threat in his eyes was undisguised.

Zhou Yang looked at him, and after a few seconds, the corners of his mouth twitched slightly upwards. It was a very faint smile, neither obsequious nor fearful, like the standard expression of a true businessman facing a difficult client.

"Then thank you very much, Commander Wang."

He answered. His voice was soft and calm.

The murderous glint in Wang Mang's eyes seemed to intensify. He withdrew his hand, laughed loudly, and the sound echoed in the hall, sounding somewhat jarring.

"Interesting lad." He turned to Qin Shuang and said, "I've received the man. If you're free, Centurion, go ahead and do your work. I have a lot of things to do here."

Qin Shuang nodded, seemingly with no intention of saying anything more. She glanced at Zhou Yang one last time, her gaze still cold and devoid of emotion, but she still whispered:

"Here, talk less and observe more."

After saying that, she turned around and walked out of the lobby without hesitation.

In the main hall, only Zhou Yang, Wang Mang, and the prisoner who was about to die on the rack remained.

Wang Mang turned his gaze back to Zhou Yang, and the smile on his face disappeared.

"What can you do?" he asked gruffly.

Zhou Yang thought for a moment and replied, "I've killed people. I know a little kung fu."

Wang Mang snorted and walked back to the instruments of torture. He glanced at the dying prisoner, seemingly finding it somewhat boring. He slammed the iron tongs into the plate beside him with a loud clang.

"Kung Fu?" He scoffed. "Kung Fu is worthless here."

He turned around and gestured with his chin toward the yard.

"See those people outside? Every one of them has at least ten lives on their hands. If you're good at kung fu, you can survive. If you're not, you die, and that's it."

He pointed to his head.

"This is more effective than fists."

Zhou Yang looked at him quietly without saying a word.

Wang Mang walked to the wall and took down a leather whip hanging there. The whip was old, the tip was frayed and soaked with dark brown bloodstains.

He walked up to Zhou Yang and threw the whip at him.

"Take it."

Zhou Yang reached out and caught it. The whip was heavy in his hand, with a slippery, greasy feel.

"Go," Wang Mang said, pointing to a large wooden tub in the corner. "Wash it clean. Then go to the backyard and chop up the woodshed. We'll need it for interrogating people tonight."

Zhou Yang held the leather whip, which still seemed to have traces of sticky blood and the warmth of another person on it.

He knew this was a show of force.

But it was also the beginning of a transaction. What he gave up was "face," and what he gained was the possibility of integrating into this place.

He didn't say anything, he just nodded.

"Yes."

He took the leather whip and silently walked towards the water bucket in the corner.

Behind him, Wang Mang's gaze was like a knife, etched into his back. In the courtyard, the eyes of the Imperial Guards once again focused on him, filled with a mocking anticipation of a good show.

Zhou Yang could sense it.

But he doesn't care.

He threw the whip into the cold, dirty water, splashing water that soaked his trouser legs. He rolled up his sleeves and began to wash it.

The water here is very cold, like ice.