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

Morning light peeked through the cracks in the window and fell on the pages of the account book. The mark had faded, like a dried scab.

Zhou Yang sat at the table, his fingers dipped in tea, drawing circles on the surface. The circles grew smaller and smaller. Qin Shuang sat opposite him, staring at the account book, her eyes red. She hadn't slept all night. The candle beside her burned out, leaving only a thin wax dripping onto the copper plate.

Zhou Yang stopped typing. The water stains from his fingertips spread across the table. He reached out and opened the ledger. The pages rustled. The entry for "Qin Family Aftermath" lay there, the ink already grayed.

Burn it. Or use it.

Zhou Yang closed his eyes. His consciousness sank into his mind. The number flashed. Remaining lifespan: 362 years. He set aside 20 years. Burning.

A surge of heat shot up my spine to the top of my head, like someone had forced me to drink a jug of strong liquor. My throat was dry. The darkness before my eyes cracked open. The ink on the ledger came alive. The blurry fingerprints, the corrections, the faint annotations—all became clear.

The pages spun in his mind. Time reversed. The sound of rain from ten years ago surfaced. The accountant's hands trembled. The brush tip hovered in mid-air, ink dripping and spreading into a black flower. The accountant's surname was Qian, and his given name was Sihai. This discovery was useless. Qian Sihai had been buried in the mass grave in the west of the city for five years.

However, the ledger was handled by more than one person.

Zhou Yang gained an additional ten years of lifespan. His deductive abilities deepened. His vision stung, as if needles were pricking him. He saw a third hand. The hand pressed against the edge of the ledger, its knuckles thick, its left little finger missing half. A blue scorpion was tattooed on the back of the hand, its tail raised high.

This hand belongs to Zhao Kun.

Nicknamed Scorpion Hand. His current identity is the head of the Execution Hall of the Azure Dragon Society. Zhou Yang "saw" him sitting on a mahogany chair, twirling two iron walnuts in his hands. The walnuts clinked together, making a clicking sound. That was a scene from three days ago.

Further deductions are made. Life expectancy is reduced by another fifteen years.

The scene shifts. Five years ago. A rainy night. A dock. Zhao Kun, leading twelve men dressed in black, their machetes dulled, intercepts a small boat. Several burlap sacks roll out of the cabin, their openings revealing opium inside. Members of the Earthly Fiend Sect leap from the cabin. Blades flash. Blood splatters on the deck, turning a pale pink from the rain.

In that battle, the Earthly Fiends Sect lost seven brothers. Their goods were lost. Their territory was seized.

A feud between the two gangs was born. In the past three years, three firefights have occurred in the south of the city: once in a gambling den, once in a brothel, and once in a teahouse. Forty-six people have died. The blood debt has grown ever thicker.

Zhou Yang suddenly opened his eyes. His pupils contracted. His vision was blurry, as if veiled. The side effects of the deduction were kicking in. He raised his hand and rubbed his temples. His knuckles pressed firmly against his forehead.

Qin Shuang kept watching him. She didn't say a word. She saw that Zhou Yang's face had turned three shades paler, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. Just now, his eyes were closed, and his breathing had become extremely shallow, as if he were dead. Now he was alive again, and his eyes were even colder than before.

"Found it?"

Qin Shuang's voice was a little hoarse. She had shouted too much last night, and her throat was cracked. It was a wound left from when she smashed the teapot and cursed the high-ranking members of the Embroidered Uniform Guard into the void.

Zhou Yang nodded. He picked up the teapot on the table and took a sip from the spout. The water was cold and bitter. He swallowed it to moisten his throat.

"The person who handled the case is still alive."

He turned the ledger around and pushed it in front of Qin Shuang. His fingertip touched the mark of the alteration. His nails scratched the paper.

"Zhao Kun. Scorpion Hand. Head of the Execution Hall of the Azure Dragon Society."

Qin Shuang's pupils contracted. She recognized the name. It was mentioned in the files of the Embroidered Uniform Guard. The Green Dragon Society was one of the largest underground gangs in the capital, controlling twelve gambling dens and eight brothels in the west of the city. Zhao Kun was their weapon, specializing in dealing with traitors and outsiders.

"He was just a errand boy back then," Zhou Yang said, moving his finger away and tapping it three times on the table. "Now he's a hall master."

Qin Shuang raised her head. Her eyes were still red, but the madness within them had been suppressed and frozen.

"Kill him outright?"

Zhou Yang shook his head. He drew a line on the table with his tea-stained finger. The water stains were grayish and left marks on the wood grain.

"He's the leader. He's always surrounded by twenty assassins. He lives at the Azure Dragon Society's headquarters, which is surrounded by walls three zhang high, and he keeps six wolfhounds."

Qin Shuang pursed her lips tightly, drawing a straight line. She knew that forcing her way in would be suicide.

Zhou Yang drew another line, intersecting the first one, forming a cross.

"The Earthly Fiends Sect," he said. "They also want to kill Zhao Kun and reclaim the territory they swallowed up."

Qin Shuang's expression changed. She stared at the two intersecting water lines, her fingertips lightly tapping the table. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Borrow a knife?"

Zhou Yang's lips twitched slightly. It wasn't a smile; it looked more like he was assessing the value of a piece of goods.

"We're adding fuel to the fire," he said, pointing to the ledger. "This ledger proves that Zhao Kun was the mastermind behind the interception of that shipment from the Earthly Fiends Sect. He used the Qin family's money to bribe the dock guards. This is irrefutable evidence."

Qin Shuang picked up the account book. Her fingers traced the entry. The rough paper scratched her fingertips.

"Would the Earthly Fiends Sect believe that?"

"They don't need a letter." Zhou Yang picked up the teapot and poured himself another glass of cold water. "They just need an excuse. An excuse to legitimately remove the head of the Qinglong Society's Punishment Hall. This ledger is that excuse."

Qin Shuang put down the account book. She stood up and walked to the window, her back to Zhou Yang. The morning light fell on her shoulders, making the cloud patterns on her flying fish robe gleam. She opened the window. A cold wind rushed in, ruffling her hair.

How should I deliver it?

Zhou Yang twirled the teacup in his hand. The porcelain cup was rough, with a chip on the rim. He stared at the chip.

"We need a middleman. To 'sell' the ledger to the Earthly Fiends Sect. To let them 'discover' this secret."

"who?"

"Liu Sanzhen," Zhou Yang uttered three words, "an outsider for the Earthly Fiend Sect, specializing in brokering gambling debts. He owes three hundred taels of silver to a casino under the Azure Dragon Society, and with compound interest, it's already ballooned to eight hundred taels. If he doesn't pay it off this month, Zhao Kun will personally chop off his hand."

Qin Shuang turned around. A cold wind howled behind her. She leaned against the window frame, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Is he trustworthy?"

"He's greedy," Zhou Yang said, setting down his teacup, which clattered against the table. "He's also afraid of death. We'll give him money, give him the account book, and send him to the Earthly Fiend Sect to collect his reward. The sect leader will reward him with a thousand taels of silver for that account book, and will even spare his life."

Qin Shuang walked back to the table. She picked up the ledger, her fingers clenching it tightly. The pages crumpled in her hand.

"What will the Earthly Fiends Sect do once they get their hands on the ledger?"

"They'll launch their attack within three days." Zhou Yang tapped his finger on the table. "Zhao Kun is doomed. The Green Dragon Gang will lose face and retaliate. The two gangs will fight to the death. The Beijing underworld will be thrown into chaos."

"And what about us?"

Zhou Yang raised his head, looking into Qin Shuang's eyes. The bloodshot in her eyes hadn't faded, but a light had already appeared—the light of revenge.

"We took advantage of the chaos to extract what Zhao Kun knew from him," Zhou Yang said. "Back then, he was just a gofer. Who sent him to handle that money? Who turned the Qin family's money into a weapon to kill them? This connection is more important than Zhao Kun's life."

Qin Shuang placed the account book on the table. She reached into her bosom and pulled out a handkerchief. It was white silk, with a withered plum blossom embroidered on the corner. It was her sister's keepsake. She used it to wipe her hands, wiping very slowly, as if she were wiping an invisible knife.

"I'm going to investigate Liu Sanzhen's background today," she said. "I'll find out where he frequents, who he drinks with, and when he's most desperate."

The word "desperation" came out of her mouth with a stiff accent. She didn't understand the meaning of the word, but Zhou Yang had mentioned it, and she remembered it. It meant despair. When people are in despair, they are the easiest to bribe.

Zhou Yang stood up. He walked to the bedside and pulled a bundle from under the bed. Inside the bundle was the batch of silver he had brought from the Pingxi pawnshop the night before. He unbuttoned it, revealing the gleaming silver inside.

He picked up a fifty-tael silver ingot and tossed it in the air. The silver felt heavy in his palm.

"That's enough to buy Liu Sanzhen's life," he said, "and enough to buy his mouth to speak the truth."

Qin Shuang tucked the handkerchief back into her bosom. She walked to the door and grasped the latch. The wooden latch made a scraping sound in her hand.

Zhou Yang.

She didn't turn around.

"If this succeeds, I'll owe you my life."

Zhou Yang put the silver back into his bundle. He then fastened the buttons again.

"You owed it long ago," he said, "back in Anyang County."

Qin Shuang opened the door. Morning light streamed in, casting a long shadow over her. She stepped outside. Footsteps echoed in the corridor, gradually fading into the distance before disappearing at the top of the stairs.

Zhou Yang sat back down at the table. He picked up the ledger and ran his fingers over the pages. The smell of blood from ten years ago still lingered, though it was gone. Only the stench of ink and a musty, aged odor remained.

He closed the ledger. The papers slammed together with a dull thud.

The tea on the table had completely dried up. The two intersecting lines of water were now just faint traces, like two dead worms.

Zhou Yang stared at the mark for a while. Then he reached out and wiped it away with his sleeve.

The wooden tabletop was cleaned up. There was nothing there.

Outside the window, the hustle and bustle of the capital city gradually rose. Cries of vendors, the sounds of carriages and horses, and the distant call of the night watchman's gong. A new day had begun. The chessboard of the underworld had been set up. The pieces were about to move.

He stood up, picked up the bundle, and slung it over his shoulder. The bundle was heavy. It contained the money to buy his life.

He blew out the long-burnt candle on the table. A wisp of smoke rose from the wick, and it dissipated.

Then, he pushed open the door and went out.