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

The afterglow of the setting sun gilded the streets with a golden edge.

The plaque of Fushou Hall, with its three large gilded characters, stood out prominently in the twilight. The facade was a two-story wooden building that looked quite old, with a string of copper bells hanging under the carved window frames, tinkling in the wind.

Zhou Yang straightened his clothes; he was dressed in brand-new brocade, the most fashionable fabric in Anyang County. A perfectly measured hint of annoyance hung on his face, making him look like a spoiled young master.

Qin Shuang followed half a step behind him. She had changed into a neat black outfit, her hair tied up high with a wooden hairpin. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes, like those of a hawk, scanned her surroundings. Her right hand remained at her waist, where a poisoned dagger was concealed.

The two entered Fushou Hall one after the other.

A strong medicinal smell wafted over me. It was very complex, with the sweetness of ginseng, the spiciness of angelica, and some other strange, indescribable odors, all mixed together. If you smelled it for too long, it would make you dizzy.

The shop assistant was closing up shop and wiping down the medicine cabinet. When they saw them come in, the assistant paused, a smile spreading across his face.

"Esteemed guests, we are about to proceed with the door paneling."

Zhou Yang ignored him and walked straight inside. He looked around the pharmacy; the counter was very high, and behind it was an entire wall of medicine drawers, densely packed and neatly labeled. Everything was exactly as the defector cultist had described.

Seeing this, the waiter was somewhat embarrassed, but he had no choice but to follow.

Inside the room, a man who was calculating on an abacus looked up.

The man was about forty years old, with fair skin and a small goatee. He wore a clean silk shirt and a jade thumb ring on his finger. When he looked at Zhou Yang, a smile immediately appeared on his face, just the right amount, no more, no less, exactly three-tenths.

"Young master, what can I do for you?" The voice was steady.

"You're the shopkeeper?" Zhou Yang asked, his tone slightly arrogant.

"That's me, Qian Yishou." The man cupped his hands in greeting. "What do you need, sir?"

"My chest hurts," Zhou Yang said, then sat down at the octagonal table and crossed his legs. "Take my pulse."

Qian Yishou's smile remained unchanged, but his eyes swept over Zhou Yang. From his clothes to the ring on his finger, and then to Qin Shuang behind him with a menacing expression, he quickly made a decision.

"Young master is too kind." Qian Yishou walked over. "Our shop is a pharmacy; we only sell medicine, we don't treat patients."

"Enough with the nonsense." Zhou Yang slammed his hand on the table. "Just do the diagnosis. If you do a good job, you'll get your share of the profits."

Qin Shuang stood behind Zhou Yang like a statue, her gaze coldly fixed on Qian Yishou. It was a pure, undisguised pressure.

Qian Yishou's facial muscles twitched slightly. He was a smart man and knew that the person in front of him was not someone to be trifled with. He sat down opposite Zhou Yang and held up two fingers.

"Then... please, young master."

Zhou Yang put his wrist on hers.

Qian Yishou placed his fingertips on his cun-kou (a point on the back of his neck), closed his eyes, and pretended to feel his pulse.

Zhou Yang spoke, his voice not loud, but just loud enough for the other person to hear clearly.

"Shopkeeper, your business is doing quite well."

That's slang. It means, "Is there something shady going on with your business?"

Qian Yishou didn't even raise his eyelids, replying, "Small business, just trying to make a living. Unlike some of my underworld friends, who live on the edge, it's too risky."

He deflected the question again, implying that he only did legitimate business and had no knowledge of any underworld or legitimate business dealings.

Zhou Yang continued to probe.

"I've heard that in some places, you can not only cure people's illnesses, but also cure their root causes." This is slang for resolving problems and eliminating them completely.

Qian applied slight pressure with his fingers, as if he were carefully diagnosing the condition.

"Young master's pulse is normal, and his blood and qi are flowing smoothly, so there's nothing incurable. However, he does have some internal heat, which needs to be cleared."

He dodged it again. It means you're just looking for trouble.

Zhou Yang sneered inwardly. This Qian Yishou was indeed a cunning old fox. His words were utterly shrewd.

Just then, a waiter came over with a tea tray and respectfully placed it in front of Zhou Yang. It was the same waiter who had been at the door earlier.

"Young master, please have some tea."

The tea is top-quality pre-rain Longjing, with a delicate and elegant aroma.

Qin Shuang's gaze lingered for a moment on the waiter's hand as he served the tea. His wrist was trembling slightly, and fine beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. He set down the teacup rather quickly, the bottom of the cup making a soft thud against the table.

That's against the rules.

Qin Shuang's eyes narrowed instantly.

Just as the waiter turned around, bowed, and prepared to leave, Qin Shuang made her move.

Her movements were swift yet gentle. With a flick of her wrist, she seemingly casually brushed her sleeve. The freshly brewed cup of hot tea tipped over, and the scalding tea splashed all over the waiter's hand.

"Ouch!" The waiter let out a suppressed cry of pain, almost dropping the tea tray in his hands.

The tea spilled all over his hand, and it turned red instantly.

"Sorry," Qin Shuang said, her voice devoid of emotion. "My hand slipped."

The atmosphere in the entire inner hall froze instantly.

Qian Yishou stopped taking the pulse. He suddenly opened his eyes, looked at his assistant, and then at Qin Shuang, who had a calm expression.

For the first time, a sharp glint appeared in those eyes that had always held a hint of a smile, like a sword drawn from its sheath.

The shop assistant grimaced in pain, but dared not make a sound. He just kept his head down, his body trembling like a leaf.

Zhou Yang smiled. He slowly withdrew his hand and leaned back in his chair. His fingers tapped lightly on the table, tap, tap, tap.

Each sound felt like a blow to the heart.

He looked at Qian Yishou, whose face was growing darker, and slowly spoke.

"Shopkeeper, there's something wrong with this tea."

Qian Yishou's face darkened completely. The mask of pretense was torn off, leaving only a cold scrutiny.

"What do you mean by this, young master?"

"What do you mean?" Zhou Yang's smile widened. "I have a lot of quirks. One of them is that I never drink tea that someone else 'invites' me to."

He emphasized the pronunciation of the word "please".

"My bodyguard has a quirk. She can't stand seeing me suffer even the slightest injustice. Especially not from a cup of tea that's been spiked."

Qin Shuang took a half step forward at the opportune moment.

An invisible killing intent spread out.

The guy whose hand was burned suddenly collapsed to his knees, head bowed low, barely daring to breathe.

Qian Yishou stared at Zhou Yang, his eyes filled with surprise and suspicion. He hadn't expected this seemingly spoiled rich young master to be so perceptive. He was even more surprised that the female bodyguard behind him was so skilled, seeing through his moves in an instant.

He was silent.

Zhou Yang let him remain silent. He knew it was now his turn to make his move.

He took out a silver ingot weighing ten taels from his pocket and casually tossed it onto the table.

A crisp "clang" was heard.

The sound was particularly jarring in the quiet inner room.

Qian Yishou's eyes were involuntarily drawn to the silver ingot. Its silvery gleam was dazzling.

Zhou Yang tapped the silver ingot with his finger, leaned forward, and lowered his voice.

"Manager Qian, let's not beat around the bush."

"I'm not here for a medical appointment today."

"I'm here to buy medicine."

He spoke slowly and deliberately, his voice not loud, but carrying an undeniable power.

"I've heard that your esteemed pharmacy has some special medicines that aren't displayed on the counter. I wonder if my ten taels of silver would be enough for a 'greeting gift'?"