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

gold.

That small piece of gold, at this moment, was like a red-hot branding iron in the mouth of the "Smiling Buddha".

It wasn't hot, it was ice. A chilling ice, with a metallic tang, yet it made his whole body feel hot. He greedily sucked on it, feeling the hard edges with his tongue, as if it weren't gold, but all the dignity, status, and happy days he had lost in his life.

Saliva dripped uncontrollably from his twisted mouth, mixed with a little blood, falling onto the cold stone ground and leaving a small, dark, wet stain.

Zhou Yang did not urge him.

He just sat there, his eyes calm, as if watching a play whose ending he already knew. He even had the leisure to tap the wooden table in front of him lightly with his knuckles.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Each strike felt like a blow to the heart of the "Smiling Buddha".

"Fu... Fushou Hall..."

Finally, the "Smiling Buddha" spat the gold out of his mouth, clutching it tightly in his hands as if it were a priceless treasure. He raised his head, his face full of wrinkles revealing a humble obsequiousness. His voice was hoarse, muffled by something in his mouth, and trembling with the shock of surviving a calamity.

"The pharmacy... is in the south of the city, at the entrance of Huai Shu Hutong."

"Locust Tree Alley in the South of the City." Zhou Yang picked up a short piece of charcoal from the table and wrote it down on a rough piece of straw paper. His handwriting was steady and without any ripples.

"Yes...yes." The Smiling Buddha nodded hastily, afraid that Zhou Yang wouldn't believe him. "That place is one of our bases in the capital. Major intelligence exchanges all take place there. The manager is called 'Qian Yishou,' a seasoned veteran who usually keeps a low profile."

Zhou Yang paused, then looked up at him.

This one glance made the "Smiling Buddha's" hair stand on end again.

"Is there...is there anything else?" Zhou Yang's voice was very soft, but it was like a small hammer, precisely striking his already fragile nerves.

Yes! Yes!

The "Smiling Buddha" almost knelt down. He placed the gold on his forehead, and the hot skin touching the cool gold made him shiver.

"The cult leader recently... issued a death order." He lowered his voice, leaning closer as if sharing a secret that could lead to his utter annihilation, "The code name... is 'Project Mending the Sky'."

"Mending the sky?" Zhou Yang raised an eyebrow slightly. This name didn't sound like a conspiracy of murder and arson, but rather like a project to repair a city wall.

"I don't know the specifics of what it's about!" The Smiling Buddha quickly explained, afraid that Zhou Yang would get impatient. "I only know that this plan is very important! Several of the sect leaders that the sect leader trusts most have gone to the capital. They are looking for... looking for a secret treasure in the imperial palace."

"What secret treasure?"

"This... I really don't know!" The Smiling Buddha was on the verge of tears. "I'm just a protector. Only those at the level of altar master or higher know such secrets! I've only heard them mention it once, something about... 'dragon bones' or something? I really don't know what it is!"

His eyes looked anxious, not like he was lying.

Zhou Yang put down his pen.

keel.

It's a dragon again. And there seems to be some faint connection between it and his broken dragon spine sword.

He looked at the completely broken fat man before him, but his calculations didn't stop. This man was still useful. A pawn nurtured with money is far more obedient than one intimidated by fear.

Zhou Yang carefully folded the straw paper and stuffed it into his pocket.

Then, he took out another small piece of gold from the money pouch at his waist. This piece was smaller than the previous one, about the size of a fingernail.

He flicked his finger.

The gold coin traced a small parabola and landed on the ground in front of the "Smiling Buddha" with a crisp sound.

"This is the deposit."

Zhou Yang stood up and looked down at him.

"This is our first collaboration regarding Fushoutang. If the information is valuable, there will be more opportunities for cooperation in the future." His voice was calm, as if he were discussing a business deal. "However, if you dare to lie to me..."

He didn't continue.

But the unspoken words were more chilling than any threat.

The "Smiling Buddha" practically crawled over on all fours, picked up the small piece of gold, blew off the dust, and then carefully placed it together with the previous piece, tucking it into his innermost pocket.

He looked up, his face plastered with a smile that looked more like a grimace than a cry.

"Sir! Don't worry! I, surnamed Niu, have never told a single truth in my life, but everything I say today comes from the bottom of my heart! From now on, if you tell me to go east, I will never go west!"

Zhou Yang ignored him.

He pushed open the heavy wooden door of the interrogation room and walked out.

The light outside was much brighter than inside, causing him to squint unconsciously.

There was a person standing in the corridor.

Qin Shuang leaned against the wall, still wearing her tight-fitting outfit that accentuated her slender and sharp features. She was holding a narrow knife in her arms. Hearing the door open, she looked up.

Her eyes were calm, like a deep pool of water, revealing no emotion.

Zhou Yang stepped forward and stood in front of her.

He still carried the faint smell of blood and sweat from the interrogation room, but his expression was relaxed. He even smiled, revealing two rows of white teeth.

"Lord Centurion," he said, "I would like to go to Fushou Hall to get some medicine."

Qin Shuang looked at him, not asking about the results of the interrogation, nor about the fate of the "Smiling Buddha." She seemed to know everything.

She simply looked at Zhou Yang quietly for a few seconds, then nodded.

"I'll stay with you."

She paused, moved the arm holding the knife slightly, and added a sentence.

"However, behind Fushou Hall are the people of the Eastern Palace."

The smile on Zhou Yang's face gradually faded.

The light in the corridor seemed to dim at that moment. The ease and comfort in his eyes disappeared, replaced by a cold, predatory look.

The Eastern Palace.

Prince.

This net was bigger and deeper than he had imagined.

The Heavenly Principle Sect, the Imperial Palace's secret treasures, the Eastern Palace... When these things are mixed together, what's brewed isn't a pot of soup, but a whirlpool that can drag everyone in.

"Okay," Zhou Yang said again, his voice devoid of any emotion. "Then we should definitely go and take a look."

He took the first step and walked out of the corridor.

Qin Shuang watched his straight back, and the fingers holding the sword tightened slightly. The cold touch on the hilt gave her a strange sense of security.

The two walked out of the dark passage of the imperial prison, one after the other, and stepped into the sunlight of the capital.

The sky is very blue, and the clouds are very white.

But there was already a smell of storm in the air.

The sunlight was a bit too bright.

Zhou Yang squinted, adjusting to the long-absent light after emerging from the imperial prison. The air lacked the cloying, rusty smell of metal, and the musty odor of sweat and fermented straw. Only the sweltering afternoon breeze of the capital carried the aromas of street food.

Everything seemed somewhat unreal.

"Fushou Hall, the Eastern Palace's secret agent."

Qin Shuang's voice was right beside him. She didn't look at Zhou Yang; her gaze was fixed on the "Longevity" banner hanging on the street corner in the distance. That was the direction of Fushou Hall. Her voice was unreadable, as if she were stating something utterly ordinary.

A single word carries immense weight.

The Eastern Palace.

The moment those two words landed, the sense of unreality vanished instantly. Zhou Yang felt as if he had returned to the depths of the imperial prison, surrounded by cold stone walls and lingering shadows.

He smiled, but this time the smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Lord Centurion, too many people will attract too much attention," Zhou Yang said, his voice slightly distorted by the wind. "We're going to get medicine, not to attack the city. Too many people will lead to too much chatter. I don't want the Crown Prince's henchmen to smell the medicine beforehand."

Qin Shuang finally turned to look at him. Her eyes were bright, like two blocks of ice tempered by fire, capable of piercing into one's heart. She was scrutinizing, assessing.

"You only want Zhang the Madman?" she asked.

"Yes, as long as it's him." Zhou Yang nodded. "A madman who's obedient and doesn't make a sound. He's a good tool."

He used the word "tool." In his eyes, apart from Qin Shuang, who could create value for him, most others were just tools. Zhang Fengzi was a very useful hammer; if he was told to smash a door, he would never ask what was behind it.

Qin Shuang's lips pressed into a straight line. She didn't speak, but simply hugged the embroidered spring knife in her hand even tighter. The cloud patterns on the scabbard gleamed coldly in the sunlight.

"Fine," she uttered a single word. "I don't care what method you use. I just want the result."

"The results will not disappoint you," Zhou Yang assured him.

He turned and walked back into the enormous shadow. Qin Shuang stood there, watching his figure disappear into the darkness, like a drop of water merging into the ocean. She stood there for a while before turning and walking in another direction. She had her own things to do.

Inside the imperial prison, the light dimmed again.

Zhou Yang headed straight for the innermost cell block. Those imprisoned here were either highly skilled in martial arts or vicious and unyielding. The smell in the air was even stronger than outside.

Zhang the Madman squatted at the door of his cell, holding a tattered rag in his hand, slowly and meticulously wiping a rusty iron lock. He was so focused on his work that it was as if it weren't a lock, but some rare treasure.

The guards and prisoners around him deliberately kept their distance. One person accidentally took two steps closer, and when Zhang the Madman glanced at him, he was so frightened that he almost fell to the ground.

No one knows what Zhang the Madman has been through, nor how strong he truly is. But everyone knows that this man is not to be trifled with. He is a living taboo in the Imperial Prison.

"You're crazy," Zhou Yang shouted.

Zhang Fengzi stopped wiping. He looked up, and a glimmer of light appeared in his cloudy eyes. He looked at Zhou Yang like a hunting dog awaiting its master's command.

"Get some tools ready." Zhou Yang leaned against the wall, his tone casual. "Not weapons. Go get a few sacks, fill them with lime. Also find a few durable torches, soak them in tung oil."

Zhang Fengzi didn't ask why, nor did he hesitate for the slightest.

He stood up, stuffed the rag he was carrying into his waistband, nodded, and turned to leave. His footsteps were silent, like a cat's, or perhaps a ghost's. A new jailer carrying a lunchbox passed by. Seeing Zhang the Madman approaching, he abruptly stopped, his iron bowl crashing to the ground with a clatter. The porridge spilled everywhere. The man didn't even dare to pick it up, and scrambled away.

Zhang Fengzi walked past him without looking to the side.

The seasoned veterans had already lined up against the wall, making way for him. They kept their heads down, even their breathing was soft, as if they were avoiding a puddle of dirty water that no one dared to step into.

This is Zhang the Madman. A silent figure, yet capable of instilling fear in people to the bone.

Zhou Yang watched him disappear around the corner of the corridor and nodded in satisfaction.

Tools should be handy and, more importantly, obedient.

He didn't rush to leave, but instead turned and walked towards another cell.

The "Smiling Buddha" is still locked inside.

The former leader of the Heavenly Principles Sect now huddled like a lump of mud in a corner of a pile of straw. His wounds had been treated, but the fear that seeped into his bones was more tormenting than any injury.

He heard footsteps, his body trembled violently, he buried his head deeper, and made meaningless sobs.

"Buddha, how have you been?" Zhou Yang's voice was gentle and smiling, as if he were greeting an old friend.

But to the "Smiling Buddha," this sound was no less than a deadly curse.

"Master Yang...Master Yang..." he managed to squeeze out a few words, his voice hoarse like a broken gong, "I...I've told you everything...please..."

"I know you've told me everything." Zhou Yang squatted down, his gaze level with the trembling head. "So, I'm here to make one last deal with you."

"trade……?"

"Yes, a deal." Zhou Yang's tone remained gentle. "Tell me a secret I know but you haven't told me. I promise you'll get a good night's sleep until tonight."

The Smiling Buddha froze. He seemed to be weighing his options. Peaceful sleep—that word was more tempting to him than any gold or silver treasure.

Zhou Yang wasn't in a hurry; he just waited patiently. He knew that for someone whose mind had already collapsed, the last bit of a secret couldn't be kept.

"The backyard..." After a long silence, the "Smiling Buddha's" voice rang out again, carrying a resigned emptiness, "In the backyard of Fushou Hall, there is a room... that is always locked with a heavy padlock..."

Zhou Yang narrowed his eyes slightly.

"That's no ordinary pharmacy." The Smiling Buddha's voice trailed off, as if speaking to himself. "That's...that's a secret vault belonging to the Crown Prince in the capital. Inside...there's more than just medicine inside..."

What else was there? He didn't say it aloud. Because Zhou Yang had already stood up.

"Thank you, Master." Zhou Yang patted the dust off his hands, as if he had touched something dirty. "May you have sweet dreams every night."

He turned and left without ever looking back.

Behind him, the "Smiling Buddha" seemed to have all his strength drained away, collapsing completely. Perhaps tonight, he could finally get a good night's sleep.

Zhou Yang walked out of the imperial prison.

The sky outside was beginning to darken, the setting sun painting the horizon a deep red. In the distance, the "Longevity" banner of the Fushou Hall swayed gently in the evening breeze.

To get the medicine.

He now not only has the prescription, but also knows exactly which cabinet the medicine is hidden in and which room is off-limits.

He stood there, looking at the pharmacy, his eyes calm. Like a divine physician who had prepared all the medicinal herbs, waiting only for a prescription to brew a panacea.

Or, it's poison.