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

The glow of the oil lamp was very faint.

The air in the room seemed to freeze.

It was past midnight, and all was quiet. Only the occasional night breeze swept by outside the window, making the windowpanes creak softly.

Zhou Yang changed into his night clothes. The all-black outfit, sewn with the tightest stitches, clung to his body like a second skin. The fabric was soft, but reinforced leather was sewn into the key areas. He moved his shoulders; there wasn't a single extra grinding sound from his joints.

Qin Shuang was also ready. She sat on the other side, carefully polishing a dagger no longer than a palm with a small piece of deerskin. The dagger was entirely black, with only the blade gleaming with a cold, eerie light under the lamplight. Her movements were slow and focused, as if she were polishing a work of art.

The air was filled with the smell of lamp oil and a faint rusty smell.

That's the smell of weapons.

Zhou Yang picked up two items from the table. One was a pair of gloves as thin as cicada wings, made of supple leather, with a layer of slightly rough glue on the palms and fingertips. He then examined the soft rope around his waist; the iron hook at the end of the rope was sharpened to an exceptionally sharp point.

Every tool is a matter of life and death.

Just then, a knock sounded on the door.

"Thump."

The sound was soft, yet it struck the silence like a heavy hammer blow.

Zhou Yang froze instantly. His hand was already on the hilt of the short knife on the table. Qin Shuang also raised her head, the dagger silently sliding back into her sleeve. Her eyes were sharp as ice, staring directly at the thin wooden door.

The person outside did not knock again.

Zhou Yang held his breath and listened intently. There was only an extremely faint, deliberately suppressed breathing sound.

He stood up, walked to the door, but instead of opening it, he looked out through the small peephole in the door panel.

The corridor was dimly lit, revealing only a blurry shadow. It was the innkeeper. He was hunched over, seemingly looking at the ground.

Zhou Yang's mind was filled with doubt.

He opened the door a crack.

The innkeeper stood outside the door, backlit, his unremarkable face half-lit and half-shadowed. He held a square object wrapped in oilcloth in his hand, not looking up at Zhou Yang, his voice low, as if squeezed from his throat.

"Sir, this is a small token of our appreciation for your stay at the inn."

Zhou Yang didn't answer. His gaze lingered on the shop owner. He had seen this man a few times before; he always huddled behind the counter, looking half-asleep. But now, the man stood firmly, his heels firmly planted on the ground, unlike an ordinary businessman.

"What is it?" Zhou Yang asked.

"Something for self-defense," the shopkeeper said, pushing the package forward further. "The capital isn't safe at night."

These words were like a needle, gently pricking Zhou Yang.

Peace? Is there any place in the world more turbulent than the capital?

Qin Shuang quietly walked behind Zhou Yang. She didn't say anything, but gestured to Zhou Yang with her eyes to take it.

Zhou Yang hesitated for a moment, but finally reached out and took the package. It was rather heavy; the oilcloth contained hard objects. He weighed it in his hand.

The boss didn't say another word. He nodded, as if completing some kind of handover, then turned and left. His footsteps were very light, almost inaudible, and he quickly disappeared at the end of the corridor.

Zhou Yang closed the door and bolted it.

He placed the package on the table and slowly unwrapped the oilcloth.

Inside were two items. Two dark brown leather armors, simple in design, resembling breastplates but larger, covering the chest and back. The edges of the armors were rough, with frayed edges, but the leather was exceptionally tough, appearing to be the hide of some kind of mythical beast.

What's even more special is the lining of the leather armor. It has a very peculiar feel to the touch; it's not cotton, nor silk or linen, but a smoother, cooler material.

"careful."

Qin Shuang's voice rang out. She had already put on the thin leather gloves, picked up one of the leather armor pieces, and brought it to her nose to sniff it lightly. Her movements were very professional, her fingers running over every seam and edge of the leather armor piece in turn.

Zhou Yang looked at her without speaking. This was Qin Shuang's area of ​​expertise. The Imperial Guards' vigilance against poisons and various traps was ingrained in their very bones.

After about the time it takes to drink a cup of tea, Qin Shuang finally raised her head.

"It's not poisonous," she said, her voice firm. "And there's no tempering powder involved. It's just plain leather armor."

Zhou Yang breathed a sigh of relief, but the wariness in his heart remained. Unprovoked kindness is often more unsettling than blatant malice.

"This leather is no ordinary material." He flicked the leather armor with his finger, producing a dull "thud" sound, indicating its exceptional resilience.

"Yes," Qin Shuang nodded, "it's made of buffalo hide soaked in tung oil and then repeatedly tanned, so it's resistant to ordinary swords and knives. This lining... is silk, which is waterproof and fireproof."

As she spoke, her fingers paused on a seam inside her leather nail. Her brow furrowed slightly.

"Something's not right here."

Zhou Yang immediately moved closer.

Qin Shuang carefully picked up the stitch with her fingernail. The thread was trimmed neatly, but it looked out of place compared to the rough stitches around it. She gently ran the thread across the rough stitch with the tip of her small dagger, and it broke, revealing a hidden layer.

Hidden in the interlayer was a folded piece of thin paper.

Qin Shuang took out the paper and carefully unfolded it.

It's not a letter.

It is a map.

A hand-drawn map of the capital. It's incredibly detailed, clearly marking the layout of neighborhoods, government offices, and the residences of princes and nobles. But it's not an ordinary map. Several places are circled with vermilion ink, and small characters are written beside them.

"West City, Pingxi Pawnshop." Zhou Yang spotted their target for the night at a glance; it was marked with a heavy circle.

The other circled locations are "Renhe Pawnshop", "Tongyuan Exchange Shop", and "Chengxi Military Training Ground". Without exception, these places all have intricate connections with the Eastern Depot or the Heavenly Principle Sect.

Zhou Yang's pupils suddenly contracted.

This map is a map of the distribution of power!

Who exactly is that drowsy innkeeper? Why would he give me this?

Zhou Yang's mind raced. Was it someone from within the Embroidered Uniform Guard? Or another unseen force? Did they know they were going to infiltrate the Pingxi Pawnshop at night, and were using this method to transmit information?

This test is far too deep.

"Put it away." Qin Shuang folded the map again, stuffed it back into the compartment, and used her dagger to pick at the stitches, roughly restoring it to its original state. "Whoever he is, he means no harm."

This is a judgment. A judgment based on the evidence before them, the most reasonable judgment. If the boss really wanted to harm them, this piece of paper could be replaced with poison powder. This leather armor could also be replaced with a cursed evil object.

He didn't do that.

Zhou Yang picked up his own leather armor and put it on over his night clothes. The armor was a bit heavy, and it felt cool against his chest and back. But this coolness kept him incredibly alert.

He didn't intend to delve into the innkeeper's identity.

Tonight, there is only one goal. Time is of the essence, and any unforeseen plans could lead to complete failure.

That boss is like one of the countless mysteries in this capital city. By the time he figures it all out, he might already be someone else's victim. What he needs to do is survive, live until the day he can unravel all the mysteries.

"I'm gone."

Zhou Yang's voice was low and deep.

He walked to the window instead of going through the front door. He opened the window and peeked out. The inn's backyard was narrow, piled with miscellaneous items, leaning against the high courtyard wall.

The wind blew in through the window, carrying the sour smell of garbage from the back alley and the dampness of the soil.

Qin Shuang didn't speak, but simply followed. Like a nimble cat, she landed silently, crouching slightly, ready to set off.

Zhou Yang flipped out of the window and landed lightly in the shadows at the base of the wall. He looked up and extended his hand to Qin Shuang.

Qin Shuang jumped down and landed in his arms. They looked at each other, but there was no hint of romance, only the unspoken understanding of hunters.

They hugged the base of the wall and slipped into the shadows of the backyard wall. Zhou Yang looked up at the top of the wall, swung the iron hook of the soft rope up, and hooked it onto the eaves. He tested the strength; it was very stable.

He grabbed the rope and quickly climbed up. He lay on the wall and glanced rapidly at the street outside.

No one is empty.

The watchman's clapper sounded from afar, one after another, carrying far in the silent night.

He made a gesture to the ground.

Qin Shuang also climbed up using the rope. Her agility was even greater than Zhou Yang had imagined, and she made almost no sound.

The two jumped off the courtyard wall together, landing on the bluestone path outside. They immediately bent down and disappeared into the deepest darkness at the alley entrance.

There was no moon tonight, only a few scattered stars, and the light was so dim that you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. This was the best cover for them.

Zhou Yang determined the direction and made a gesture towards the west of the city.

The two walked swiftly along the shadows of the building, one in front of the other, like two ghosts.

Their footsteps were light, as if gliding across the ground. The cobblestone path beneath their feet was a little slippery, damp with the scent of last night's rain. There was an old, musty smell in the air, like the musty odor emanating from an old house, mixed with the sweet, cloying fragrance of night-blooming jasmine drifting in from somewhere.

Their shadows stretched and shortened in the dark corners of the walls. Every turn, every pause, was carefully calculated. They avoided all the main roads that might be frequented by night watchmen, choosing instead to advance through the dense, intricate web of alleyways.

This is another side of Beijing.

By day, this place is a bustling marketplace. By night, only the scurrying of rats and the whistling of the wind through the tattered window paper remain.

Zhou Yang's senses were amplified to the extreme. He could hear the steady, powerful beating of his heart and feel the subtle changes in the wind as it brushed past his ears. His eyes had adjusted to the darkness, and he could distinguish between the stone slabs and puddles beneath his feet.

Qin Shuang followed closely behind him, her breathing so steady it was almost imperceptible. Zhou Yang didn't even need to turn around to feel her presence. It was a silent trust, an absolute understanding that allowed one to entrust their back to the other.

About an incense stick later, a tall silhouette appeared in front of them.

We've arrived at Pingxi Pawnshop.

It was a three-story building, standing out among the surrounding houses. High walls of blue bricks, topped with a row of tiles like the teeth of a giant beast. The main entrance consisted of two heavy, black lacquered wooden doors, each with a large, worn-out brass lock.

The entire pawnshop, like a sleeping iron beast, lay quietly in the darkness.

Zhou Yang and Qin Shuang stopped in the shadows across the street.

The wind stopped.

A deathly silence filled the air. They stood in the darkness, like two swords waiting to be drawn. The target was right before them, but the real killing was only just beginning.