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 like a black cloth soaked in water, pressing down heavily.

The back door of the old blacksmith shop in the west of the city was hidden between two stacks of firewood. The paint on the door panel had peeled off, revealing the grayish-white wood underneath. Zhou Yang tapped the door knocker three times with his fingertips, paused, and then tapped it twice more.

The door opened a crack.

Qin Shuang's face was half-lit and half-shadowed in the dim light of the oil lamp. She wasn't wearing her signature flying fish outfit, but had changed into a dark blue, narrow-sleeved, fitted dress. Her hair was tied in a simple ponytail, with a few stray strands hanging down beside her ears and sticking to her neck with sweat.

"You've made quite a commotion." She stepped aside to let Zhou Yang in, her voice low. The embers in the stove behind her were still burning, and the distinctive smell of coal smoke mixed with the rusty odor of a blacksmith's shop filled the small backyard.

Zhou Yang slipped inside and bolted the door shut. He pulled out a package wrapped in three layers of oilcloth from his pocket and slapped it onto the workbench piled with anvils and unfinished objects.

"The goods are here."

The tarpaulin was untied, revealing two things.

A leather ledger with worn-out edges. A stack of letters stamped with vermilion wax.

Qin Shuang picked up the ledger with her fingertips and turned to a page in the middle. In the firelight, her brows gradually furrowed. The page was densely filled with dates, names, amounts of silver, and several annotations circled in red pen. The handwriting was messy, yet carried a fierce air; it was the slender gold script that Fang Tiansheng used to frequently employ.

"As expected, it's a smuggling route operated by the Heavenly Principle Sect." Qin Shuang pointed to one of the lines: "The brother-in-law of the Prefect of Anyang picks up the goods from the dock on the fifth of each month. The goods are transported by canal, directly to the capital."

Zhou Yang leaned against the wooden frame piled with iron filings, took a swig from his water pouch, and drank from it. The cool water washed away the heat from his night's journey.

"It's not just smuggling." He wiped his mouth. "Look at those letters, examine the sealing wax."

Qin Shuang picked up the top one. The sealing wax was shaped like a soaring eagle, with a writhing snake in its beak. In the dim light, the snake appeared to be crawling.

"A battle between an eagle and a snake." Qin Shuang's pupils contracted slightly. "This is a secret letter between the Heavenly Principle Sect's 'Hall of Punishment' and 'Dark Helm.' Both sides are investigating the same matter."

"Investigate what?"

"Investigate which side the Prefect of Anyang is on." Qin Shuang placed the letter on the table. "The Criminal Investigation Department supports the Prefect's cooperation with a high-ranking official in the capital, while the Dark Rudder believes the Prefect is unreliable and wants to switch sides."

Zhou Yang laughed. He laughed, revealing his canine teeth, but his eyes were devoid of any warmth.

"That's perfect." He picked up the ledger, patted the cover, and said, "Sell this to Commander Chen. Let him think he has irrefutable evidence that the prefect has embezzled the grain transport funds. Send those letters to the Wang family. Let them think they've uncovered a conspiracy by the prefect to collude with a cult and plot treason."

Qin Shuang looked up at him. The light from the oil lamp danced in her eyes.

"You want them to fight like dogs?"

"No," Zhou Yang corrected, "I want them to think that the other side is attacking them. When Commander Chen gets the account book, he'll think the prefect is targeting him and will strike first. When the Wang family gets the letter, they'll think the prefect is blocking their path to advancement and will eliminate them as soon as possible. The prefect will be caught in the middle, suffering from both sides, and will have no choice but to retreat to his residence."

The backyard fell silent. In the distance, the night watchman's clapper sounded three times. It was already past midnight.

Qin Shuang pondered for a moment, then took out a blank sheet of official document paper from her bosom. The paper was printed with a dark pattern, and the corner was stamped with the seal of the Southern Garrison Command.

"The carrier pigeon route still works," she whispered. "I'll forge an urgent grain requisition document and smuggle this letter into the case file. It will be sent to the capital, passing through the post station controlled by the Wang family on the official road."

"How can we ensure the Wang family gets it?" Zhou Yang asked.

"A messenger." Qin Shuang picked up a red-hot charcoal from the stove, waved it in the air, and the embers glowed a dark red. "Arrange for an unfamiliar captain to disguise himself as an ordinary courier. After leaving Anyang County, he'll 'accidentally' die at Shili Slope. Bandits will rob the road, scattering official documents everywhere. The Wang family's spies among the couriers will naturally come to 'help' clean up the mess."

Zhou Yang nodded. He was familiar with Shili Slope; the mountain path was narrow and flanked by dense forests, making it the perfect place for this kind of low-capital business.

"What about Commander Chen?" Qin Shuang asked.

Zhou Yang pulled a dirty cloth bag from under the desk. The bag was loosened, revealing several pages of copied account books. The paper was rough, the ink was fresh, clearly a copy he had hastily made that evening, and it still exuded a faint smell of ink.

"A drunkard's purse." Zhou Yang weighed the cloth bag in his hand. "A gambler who just came out of Chunfeng Tower, lost all his money, and is vomiting uncontrollably in the alley. I'm borrowing his bag."

Qin Shuang raised an eyebrow: "You're going to deliver it yourself?"

"No need." Zhou Yang stuffed the copied pages into his money pouch, then pulled out half a moldy hard biscuit and stuffed it in as well. "There's a dilapidated earth god temple diagonally opposite Chen Qianhu's residence. Three beggars squat in the temple year-round, and the old blind man who leads it is the most cunning. Tomorrow morning, this bag will 'just happen' to roll to their feet."

"The beggar is illiterate."

"A beggar may not be literate, but he recognizes silver." Zhou Yang tied the purse tightly, the dirty knot leaving red marks on his fingertips. "At Commander Chen's residence, a side gate is opened every morning at dawn to empty the chamber pots. Zhang the Cripple, who does this, owes the gambling den five taels of silver, and the interest has ballooned to ten taels. If a beggar finds a purse with 'treasure' inside, selling it to Zhang the Cripple for a few copper coins to buy steamed buns is perfectly reasonable."

Qin Shuang looked at him, then suddenly reached out and removed a withered leaf stuck to his shoulder. The leaf had fallen from a willow tree near the teahouse, and its edges were already yellowed.

"You've calculated things very meticulously."

"Pay extra for services, no credit." Zhou Yang grabbed her wrist, palm to palm, feeling her pulse beat faster than usual. "Once this deal is done, Commander Chen will think the Prefect is going to get him, the Prefect will think Commander Chen is going to rebel, and the Wang family will think both sides are doomed, rushing to the capital to file a complaint. Only then will the waters of Anyang Prefecture truly be murky."

Qin Shuang did not pull her hand away. With her other hand, she carefully folded the letter bearing the eagle and snake seal into the document compartment. Her movements were swift and steady, her fingertips making a soft clicking sound as she twisted the bamboo tube.

"We have news about the whereabouts of the Dragon Spine fragments," she suddenly said.

Zhou Yang's eyes narrowed.

Where?

"The secret chamber of the Prefect's residence." Qin Shuang raised her eyes, her pupils gleaming surprisingly bright in the darkness. "The last page of the account book is written in coded language. Every month on the fifteenth, the Prefect would personally go to the secret chamber to check it. That fragment was a birthday gift he prepared to send to a certain Grand Secretary in the capital, hoping to exchange it for the position of Provincial Treasurer."

Zhou Yang released her hand and turned to look at the small window on the high wall of the blacksmith's shop. It was still dark outside, and the distant sounds of dogs barking and the creaking of early morning vegetable farmers pushing their carts could be faintly heard.

"Fifteen..." he murmured, "Seven more days."

"Within seven days, this pool must be so murky that the bottom cannot be seen." Qin Shuang rolled the forged official document into a thin tube and stuffed it into a hollow bamboo tube. The surface of the bamboo tube was engraved with the Ministry of War's mark. "Otherwise, we won't be able to enter the prefectural governor's mansion. The secret room is heavily guarded, and there are also experts from the Heavenly Principle Sect on duty in shifts."

Zhou Yang picked up the money bag containing the account pages and tossed it in his palm. The bag made a rustling sound as the papers rubbed together.

"Then let the fire burn even brighter."

He pushed open the back door of the blacksmith's shop. A morning breeze rushed in, carrying the chill of dew, causing the oil lamp flame to flicker. A faint light of dawn appeared on the horizon; the long night was drawing to a close, and the bluish-gray light was gradually swallowing the darkness.

"Let's split up." Zhou Yang glanced back at Qin Shuang. "You deliver the carrier pigeon, I'll deliver the mailbag. We'll meet at our usual spot at noon."

Qin Shuang nodded, tucked the bamboo tube into her sleeve, and resumed her icy demeanor. She turned and walked towards the blacksmith's front yard, where several carrier pigeons were kept to deliver urgent military intelligence.

Zhou Yang slipped out the back door, walked quickly along the wall for a few steps, and disappeared into the misty alleyway. He clutched the dirty money bag in his hand as if he held the lifeline of everyone in Anyang County in his hands.

To whom should we sell it?

Sell ​​it to the person who loves you the most.

Sell ​​it to the person who thinks they've grasped a lifeline, but actually has grasped a noose. Sell it to the person who would risk everything, even their life, for these few scraps of paper.

The mist dampened his eyelashes. Zhou Yang squinted, quickening his pace, his boots making a slight, sticky sound as they stepped over the still-dampened night dew on the bluestone slabs. His money pouch swayed at his waist like a thunderbolt about to explode.

Chapter 207 [The Mad Dog Unleashed] (Anyang Muddy Waters Closed Loop - Accumulation Phase)

At the entrance of Chen Qianhu’s mansion, the rain had washed the blue tiles until they were dark.

A beggar, carrying a tattered robe, quietly handed over a velvet bag.

"Master, our benefactor is entrusted to us."

Chen Qianhu raised an eyebrow slightly and gently stroked the opening of the bag with his fingers.

The bag contained banknotes interspersed with a black ledger, on which his name and a huge sum of money were clearly written.

"Whose trick is this...?"

He looked up; the lights in the hall flickered, and his shadow paced on the wall.

A cold light flickered in my heart, like a lamp that had been lit.

He slammed the bag onto the table, the sound of the banknotes shattering breaking the silence.

"Dirty secrets about the Heavenly Principle Sect?"

In that instant, Fang Tian's smile flashed through his mind.

It is no longer a threat, but an opportunity.

He dislikes weakness and does not tolerate bloodshed.

Commander Chen lit the candles and summoned three trusted confidants.

"Get the key to the vault first."

"Kill those guards first, don't let anyone escape."

"Bury the evidence, so that no one outside can smell it."

The trusted men agreed in hushed tones, the blades on their shoulders reflecting the firelight.

They quickly weaved through the dark alleys, heading towards the city's largest pawnshop.

Outside the pawnshop, the night wind whipped up dust.

The old gatekeeper looked up, his eyes filled with vigilance.

Chen Qianhu's men were already tapping lightly on the wooden board behind the door, the sound low and rhythmic.

"Tonight," Commander Chen murmured softly.

"Hold everyone in the palm of your hand."

At the same time, a secret letter from the Anyang Prefectural Governor's Office was delivered to the Wang family.

The letter paper was thinner than the old cloth, and the ink was not yet completely dry.

The letter recorded the clandestine dealings between the Heavenly Principle Sect and several other forces.

The old man from the Wang family rolled up the letter and put it in his sleeve.

He looked up at the high walls of the prefectural governor's mansion, his eyes gleaming with an iron light.

"Prefect," he whispered to the servant in the side chamber.

"This time, I'm going to corner Commander Chen."

He sent men to gather the prefect's confidants and set up a secret network.

In the darkness, the sound of horses' hooves echoed along the city walls.

In a teahouse in the north of the city, Zhou Yang sat in a corner by the window.

He held a cup of tea in his hand, the surface of the tea rippled with golden light.

The streetlights in front of him stretched his shadow long and thin.

He looked in the direction of Commander Chen's residence, a slight smile playing on his lips.

"Interesting," he said in a low voice, as if talking to himself.

Crows perched on the eaves of the teahouse, their cawing breaking the stillness of the night.

Zhou Yang's gaze passed through the window, capturing the flickering of every light.

He knew that every move Chen Qianhu made was like placing a piece on his own chessboard.

As long as he continues down this path, there will inevitably be bloodshed and financial ruin.

Moments later, Chen Qianhu's men rushed into the pawnshop.

The door lock was forcibly pried open, and the wooden door creaked.

The lamp was taken away, and darkness instantly swallowed up the light in the room.

The old gatekeeper raised his short knife, the blade slicing through the air.

But a thrown steel ball struck the old man's wrist directly, and the knife fell to the ground.

The old man cried out in pain and collapsed onto the broken tiles.

Chen Qianhu's confidant drew his short sword, and with a flash of light, two guards died.

Their blood congealed instantly in the lamplight, like ink spots on paper.

Meanwhile, the Wang family lit several oil lamps outside the prefectural governor's mansion.

The lights illuminated the flags on the city wall, which fluttered in the wind.

The prefect's confidant rushed out from the secret passage, carrying a short knife.

They laid an ambush at the city gate, preparing to launch a surprise attack when Commander Chen's troops passed by.

The night wind whipped up dust, carrying away the stench of blood and the glow of fire.

Everyone in the city is struggling in the undercurrents.

Back at the teahouse, Zhou Yang remained calm and composed.

He took a small sip of tea, the tea soup gliding across his tongue with a slightly bitter taste.

He fiddled with the money pouch in his hand, feeling its heavy weight.

"Money is life," he murmured to himself.

On the distant city wall, one of the Wang family's torches suddenly went out.

The brief darkness allowed Commander Chen's troops to pause for a moment.

Commander Chen frowned slightly and immediately alerted his men.

His eyes gleamed in the light, like the pupils of a hunting dog.

"Turn on the lights," he shouted impatiently.

The men quickly lit candles, and the flames spread again inside the pawnshop.

By this time, the prefect's confidants had already assembled outside the city gate.

The backs of their knives gleamed coldly under the lamplight.

The old man of the Wang family whispered to the servant beside him, "I will make my move after they leave the city gate."

The night grew darker, and raindrops tapped out a delicate rhythm on the roof tiles.

Every drop of rain felt like it was tapping on everyone's heart.

Chen Qianhu stood at the entrance of the pawnshop, staring at the lights in the distance.

He suddenly realized that this was not just a simple matter of fighting for the vault.

This is a game of power, life and death, and betrayal.

"What they want is the profits I've gained."

He raised his hand, signaling his men to continue the search.

The men ransacked the vault, the clanging of wooden crates echoing in the silence.

Gold and silver jewelry shimmered under the lights, like stars falling from the sky.

Just then, the distant city gate was suddenly breached by the sound of crossbows.

The prefect's confidants fired several sharp arrows, aiming directly at Commander Chen's troops.

A look of surprise flashed in Chen Qianhu's eyes, but he quickly regained his composure.

He raised the short sword in his hand and pointed it in the direction from which the arrow had come.

"Withdraw the troops," he commanded in a low voice, his voice drowning out the sound of the rain.

The troops immediately withdrew and retreated to the pawnshop.

The old man of the Wang family put away his bowstring at the city gate and nodded gently.

"Going with the flow," he muttered to himself.

The rain was still falling in the night.

The city lights flickered on and off, like blood flowing.

Zhou Yang's teacup reflected a faint halo under the lamplight.

He turned his gaze to the distant city wall, a chill flashing in his eyes.

"The real show has only just begun," he chuckled softly, his voice echoing gently in the teahouse.

The wooden doors of the teahouse creaked in the wind, like a secret signal.

At this moment, Anyang is a turbulent place, with undercurrents surging beneath the surface.

Everyone is striving for their own interests.

However, the distance between the pieces is constantly decreasing.

Zhou Yang gently moved the money pouch in front of him, then turned and left the teahouse.

He stepped out the door, raindrops pattering on his hair, the chill seeping into his bones.

The streetlights illuminated his lonely figure.

He didn't turn around, but he was already calculating the consequences of his next move.