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

The night was as dark as ink, so thick it was impossible to see through.

The streets of Anyang resembled dead snakes, coiled in the darkness. Few watchmen dared to strike the gong at this hour; too many people had died in the city recently, bringing bad luck, and no one wanted to be unlucky at this critical juncture.

Zhou Yang walked ahead, his steps light. Each step he took landed perfectly in the shadows on the cobblestones, like a cat that hadn't quite woken up yet. Qin Shuang followed three steps behind him, her hand never leaving the hilt of her knife. She wasn't used to completely entrusting her back to someone else, even if that "someone else" had just escaped unscathed from a certain death trap.

The two walked through two alleys, bypassed an abandoned local temple, and finally stopped at the back door of an inconspicuous house.

This was a secret location for the Embroidered Uniform Guard in Anyang City, usually used as a storage area for miscellaneous items, and known only to a very few people. Zhou Yang reached out and knocked on the door frame three times in a very regular pattern—two long knocks and one short knock.

After a long while, the door creaked open a crack.

The person who opened the door was an old man with a hunched back. His cloudy eyes swept over the two of them, and he didn't say anything, but simply stepped aside to make way for them.

The room was dark, containing only a square table with a missing leg and two long benches. The air was filled with a musty smell and the rustling sound of rats gnawing on the wood.

Zhou Yang didn't mind, plopped down on the bench, and casually pulled out a piece of silver from his pocket, handing it to the old man who had just closed the door and come in: "Go, get some food, something hot. And a pot of wine, something strong."

The old man weighed the silver in his hand, a glint of shrewdness flashing in his originally cloudy eyes. Without a word, he turned and disappeared into the backyard.

"Can you still eat?"

Qin Shuang leaned against the door, holding the knife, and stared coldly at him. The smell of blood on her body hadn't even dissipated, yet this guy still had the mind to order food.

"Food is the foundation of life." Zhou Yang leaned against the wall, his neck tilted back slightly, relaxing the muscles that had been tense all night. "After a busy night, I need to recharge. Besides, this business has just opened; how can I have the energy to work if I don't eat my fill?"

Qin Shuang didn't reply, but her brows furrowed even more. She couldn't understand Zhou Yang. This guy was clearly just an exile from out of town, without even a proper foundation in martial arts, but when faced with life-or-death situations, his calmness and shrewdness were more seasoned than hers, a centurion who had served in the Embroidered Uniform Guard for ten years.

Just then, a sharp whooshing sound came from outside the window.

The sound was very soft, but it seemed particularly abrupt in the quiet night.

Qin Shuang's eyes sharpened, and her entire body tensed instantly, like a fully drawn bowstring. She gripped the hilt of her sword tightly with her right hand, her body slightly turned to the side, ready to draw her sword at any moment.

Zhou Yang remained leaning against the wall, not even blinking, but a slight upturn at the corner of his mouth revealed his signature, somewhat irritating smile.

"Don't be nervous, it's just a delivery person."

As soon as he finished speaking, there was a soft "thud".

An arrow pierced through the paper window and landed on the table. The fletching was still trembling slightly, and the arrowhead had no arrowhead, but was instead attached to a small bamboo tube.

Immediately afterward, a sharp bird cry rang out from outside, followed by a series of fluttering sounds. A jet-black falcon landed on the windowsill. It tilted its head and glanced into the room, its sharp eagle eyes seeming to scrutinize something, before flapping its wings and disappearing into the vast night.

Qin Shuang's gaze swept back and forth between Xin Jun and Zhou Yang before finally settling on the bamboo tube.

"The one in charge?" she asked.

"Quite efficient." Zhou Yang sat up straight and reached out to pull out the bamboo tube.

He deftly twisted the cap open, pouring out a wax pill. The pill was only the size of a thumb, dark red in color, and emitted a faint medicinal smell. Without hesitation, he crushed the wax pill, unfolding what lay inside.

That wasn't paper, but a roll of silk as thin as a cicada's wing.

Qin Shuang took a few steps closer and looked at it in the dim moonlight. She saw that the silk was covered with dense writing, the characters were so small that they were almost invisible without careful examination. Moreover, it was not made with ordinary ink, but with a special potion that could only be seen under specific light.

Zhou Yang spread the silk out on the table, even pressing down the edges with his fingers, as if he were looking at a menu for a dinner party.

"Is this what you wanted?" Qin Shuang asked, her tone somewhat doubtful. What could such a small piece of cloth, no bigger than the palm of her hand, be worth?

"This is good stuff." Zhou Yang squinted, his gaze quickly sweeping over the densely packed small characters. "Although the old fox, Supervisor, isn't a very good person, he's still reliable. This is our 'work plan' for the next few days."

As he looked, he lightly tapped a certain name with his finger.

"South of the city, Wang's Tea House. It looks like a place that sells tea, but in reality, it's the largest den of iniquity for the Heavenly Principle Sect in Anyang City, used to contact smugglers from all over the country. The two underground floors hide 30,000 catties of smuggled salt, as well as twenty assassins."

Qin Shuang's pupils contracted slightly. She had lived in Anyang City for three years and had never heard of such things before.

Zhou Yang's finger continued to move, landing on another name.

"East Market, Huichuntang. That old doctor who always smiles and gives away medicine for free is actually an expert in disposing of corpses for the Heavenly Principle Sect. Anyone who knows a secret they shouldn't know will die of illness inexplicably and end up as fertilizer for the flowers buried in the backyard of his pharmacy."

Qin Shuang's face turned somewhat pale. Although she knew the Heavenly Principle Sect had infiltrated deeply, she hadn't expected it to have reached this level. Some of these places she had even visited countless times.

"And this..." Zhou Yang's finger stopped on the name of a seemingly ordinary house, and he sneered, "Hiding here is the accountant of the Heavenly Principle Sect in Anyang City. If we can pry him out, we'll have enough money for drinks for the rest of our lives."

He looked up and handed the silk to Qin Shuang: "Here you go."

Qin Shuang took the silk, feeling its weight despite its lightness. She carefully examined the markings; each location was followed by detailed personnel assignments, codes, and even the time of shift changes.

This is not just simple intelligence; it is an underground map of Anyang City, a battle plan to eradicate the Heavenly Principle Sect.

"This thing..." Qin Shuang's voice was a little hoarse, "How could the Supervisor know so much about it?"

"Because he's the Supervisor." Zhou Yang picked up the teapot on the table, shook it, and found it was empty. He couldn't help but purse his lips in disappointment. "There are no secrets in this world, only cases where the money hasn't been paid enough. That old fox Supervisor has been manipulating things in the court for so many years, his spies have long since spread to other people's beds. The Heavenly Principle Sect thinks they're in the shadows, but in the Supervisor's eyes, they're just a bunch of naked clowns."

Qin Shuang fell silent. She looked at Zhou Yang, her gaze becoming complex.

She had always thought of herself as the one wielding the knife in the open, and Zhou Yang as nothing more than a tool in her hand. But now it seemed that this tool knew better than she did how to walk in the shadows.

"You expected this all along?" she asked.

"It wasn't exactly anticipated; it was just part of the deal." Zhou Yang stretched, his joints cracking. "I did him a favor, and he gave me a little something as a deposit. It's fair. These days, business is all about honesty and fair dealing."

He spoke of it casually, as if this priceless intelligence was nothing more than two scallions he casually bought at the market.

Qin Shuang carefully put the silk away and placed it close to her body. She looked up at Zhou Yang's young yet somewhat mature face and suddenly asked, "Zhou Yang, what exactly do you want?"

She's been holding this question in for a long time.

From a smooth-talking, money-grubbing thug to a behind-the-scenes manipulator who can make deals with the supervisor and orchestrate events with ease, Zhou Yang's transformation was too rapid for her to comprehend.

Zhou Yang was stunned for a moment, then grinned.

What do I want?

He stood up, dusted off his clothes, walked to the window, and pushed open the dilapidated window.

A cold wind blew in, making his clothes flutter.

The night outside remained deep, and the streets stretched endlessly into the distance. But a rare light shone in Zhou Yang's eyes—a yearning for the future and a disdain for the present.

"I want to live longer, and live better." He turned his head to look at Qin Shuang, a half-smile playing on his lips. "This world is too chaotic, and life is too cheap. I don't want to be walking down the street one day and be casually crushed to death by some big shot. So, I have to climb up, climb to the highest place, and make those who want to crush me think twice about their own worth."

He pointed to the intelligence report in Qin Shuang's arms.

"These are the steps. We'll climb them stepping over these corpses, one step at a time, steadily."

Qin Shuang stared at him blankly.

She suddenly realized that she might have really misjudged this man before. He wasn't greedy for money; he was afraid of death. That deep-seated fear of death forced him to calculate every step and to squeeze every last drop of opportunity out of him.

This sounds tragic, but in some ways it is far more real than those who claim to have died for a greater cause.

"Why hasn't that old man who bought the wine come back yet?" Zhou Yang broke the silence, his brows furrowing. "Could he have run off with the money?"

Qin Shuang rolled her eyes at him, which instantly dissipated the heavy atmosphere.

"If you starve to death, I'll keep this intelligence for myself."

"No way, everyone who sees it gets a share, everyone who sees it gets a share." Zhou Yang chuckled and sat back down on the bench. "We're partners, we share the good times and the bad. I'd feel bad taking any money from this ledger if you weren't included."

The two bickered, as if the tense atmosphere from before had never existed.

But Qin Shuang knew the significance of this piece of silk intelligence.

It means war.

A full-scale war erupted between the Embroidered Uniform Guard and the Heavenly Principle Sect in Anyang City. Zhou Yang was the one who ignited the flames of war.

"When will we make our move?" Qin Shuang asked, her tone returning to its usual coldness.

"No rush." ​​Zhou Yang waved his hand. "Sharpening the axe won't delay the work of chopping wood. Let's conserve our energy tonight and fill our stomachs. Tomorrow morning, we'll go to Wang's Teahouse for a cup of tea."

He paused, a cold glint flashing in his eyes.

"If we're going to do it, we should do it well. Isn't that Commander Chen always causing us trouble? This time, let's give him a big gift and show him what it means to 'lift a rock only to drop it on your own foot'."

Qin Shuang did not refute. In that instant, she subconsciously chose to follow Zhou Yang's arrangement.

Perhaps it was the shock brought by that intelligence report, or perhaps it was the inexplicable credibility of Zhou Yang.

Footsteps finally came from outside the door, and the old man walked in carrying a greasy food box in one hand and a pot of wine in the other.

"Sir, here's your roast chicken and fine wine." The old man placed the food on the table, and the rich aroma instantly filled the entire room.

Zhou Yang didn't stand on ceremony. He tore off a chicken leg and handed it to Qin Shuang, then poured himself a bowl of wine.

"Come on, Commander Qin, let's drink this bowl to our upcoming riches and glory."

Qin Shuang looked at the oily chicken leg, then at the murky wine in the bowl, and finally at Zhou Yang's face, which appeared somewhat blurry in the dim light.

She took the chicken leg, but instead of eating it, she took a sip of water from her waist pouch.

"I don't drink alcohol."

Zhou Yang didn't care. He tilted his head back and took a swig. The spicy liquor rolled down his throat, making him cough, but the fiery feeling made it feel incredibly real.

"It's good not to drink; it keeps you sober."

He put down his wine bowl, grabbed the roast chicken, and began to tear it apart with gusto, his eating manners extremely unsightly, like a starving ghost reincarnated.

But in Qin Shuang's eyes, this way of eating was much more pleasing to the eye than those important figures who ate elegantly in restaurants.

Because this is how a living person eats.

It's the look of someone desperately struggling to survive.

The flickering lights inside cast long shadows of the two people, intertwining them so that they were indistinguishable from one another.

Outside the window, the falcon that had flown away had long since disappeared into the darkness, as if it had never existed. Only that thin silk cloth remained, quietly pressed against Qin Shuang's chest, carrying the cold will of the supervisor, waiting to turn Anyang City upside down.

Zhou Yang swallowed the last bite of chicken, wiped the grease from the corner of his mouth, and his eyes suddenly became clear.

"Qin Shuang".

"Um?"

"If a fight really breaks out tomorrow, remember to stay away from me."

Qin Shuang was taken aback: "Why?"

Zhou Yang chuckled, reached into his pocket and pulled out a copper coin, which he deftly flipped between his fingers.

"Because I'm the kind of person who...steals kills. If I don't get a kill, I feel bad, and if I happen to steal your thunder in the process, that would be so embarrassing."

Qin Shuang rolled her eyes and ignored him.

But her grip on the knife loosened slightly without her realizing it.

This guy, although he keeps saying he wants more money and more benefits, seems to be thinking... he's not going to push things too far.

Perhaps that's why he's still alive today.

Those who are not ruthless enough will not live long; those who are too ruthless will be abandoned by everyone.

Zhou Yang was perfectly positioned in the middle.

The night wind grew colder, but the smell of alcohol in the room made him feel warm all over. Zhou Yang leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and his mind raced, calculating every detail of tomorrow.

Wangji Teahouse.

Chen Qianhu.

Tianlijiao.

These clues wove a web in his mind.

"This time," he muttered to himself, "I not only have to survive, but I also have to teach these idiots a lesson: some money can't be saved; and some people can't be messed with."

He touched the fragment of the bronze dragon bone on his chest, feeling the faint warmth emanating from it.

This is his trump card, and also his lifeline.

"The first deposit has been received."

"Next, it's time to collect the interest."