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

The morning mist hadn't yet dissipated, but the black market in the north of the city was already ablaze with lights. Zhou Yang stood at the alley entrance, clutching a worn wooden box. Inside wasn't a knife, nor medicine, but a piece of paper. It read: "The remaining secret recipe of the Liu family, tonight at seven o'clock, old warehouse on East Street."

He slipped a piece of paper into a vendor's sleeve. The vendor looked up, a flicker of surprise in his eyes, but Zhou Yang's faint smile dispelled it.

"Spread the word," Zhou Yang said in a low voice, "let Zhao Kun hear it too."

Zhao Kun was an intelligence officer for the Eastern Depot. He was greedy and often looked for opportunities to buy and sell on the black market. He would appear as long as there was profit to be made.

The news spread like wildfire through the black market. A few drunkards whispered among themselves, "I heard the Liu family has a medicine that's priceless." Meanwhile, an old man in faded clothes shook his head, "If that's true, Zhao Kun will definitely steal it."

Zhou Yang stood in the shadows, observing the movement of the crowd. Zhao Kun's men lingered at the bar entrance, their eyes sharp as knives.

At the same time, Zhou Yang opened the locked hidden box, inside which was an anonymous letter. The letter paper was as thin as a kite, and the handwriting was neat. The letter read: "The Earthly Fiend Sect is gathering a group to rebel ten miles away. Tonight at eight o'clock, at the North City Ancestral Hall."

He slipped the letter into the Eastern Depot's mail slot. The guard outside didn't even glance at it, and the letter immediately disappeared into a hidden compartment filled with rolled-up papers.

Night fell, and the lamplight illuminated the damp street. Zhou Yang changed into gray embroidered shoes, a sharp dagger concealed in his sleeve. He entered the old warehouse, its door ajar, filled with dust and broken boxes.

"Who's going first for tonight's deal?" he whispered in the empty warehouse.

Soon, Zhao Kun's carriage roared in. The lanterns on the carriage swayed, illuminating Zhao Kun's face—two scars that looked like knife marks.

Zhao Kun dismounted, his brow furrowed: "Is the Liu family's secret recipe really that good?"

Zhou Yang pointed to the box: "Here."

Zhao Kun reached for the box, but was stopped by several assassins dressed in black who suddenly rushed in from behind the warehouse door. The flash of blades and the clanging of chains echoed through the warehouse.

Zhao Kun took a few steps back, a look of terror flashing in his eyes.

"Don't move," one of the assassins hissed. "Orders from above: don't sell the medicine."

Zhao Kun dared not move, his brows furrowed like green vines.

At that moment, the sound of drums came from the distant ancestral hall, their rhythm rapid. The alarm bells in the north city also rang, their sound rolling and powerful.

The messenger from the Eastern Depot had just arrived at the ancestral hall when he saw a group of Earthly Fiend Sect disciples setting up an array. The messenger frowned and whispered, "Reporting to headquarters, something's wrong!"

Upon receiving the signal, the sentries on the city wall hurriedly ran towards the ancestral hall.

Back in the warehouse, Zhao Kun's hands were trembling. Zhou Yang handed him the wooden box: "Take this and exchange it for some silver."

Zhao Kun stared at the box and finally nodded.

"This time, you're not paying for medicine, you're paying for your eyes," Zhou Yang said calmly.

A hint of restraint flashed in Zhao Kun's eyes before he turned and left.

The night wind swept across the roof tiles of the old warehouse, stirring up dust. Zhou Yang stood at the door, watching Zhao Kun's carriage drive away.

In the distant ancestral hall, voices clamored and lights flickered. Eastern Depot cavalry charged in, their blades flashing, reflecting the crimson of blood.

Qin Shuang appeared on the city wall, holding a silver whip. She looked down at the chaos below, her brows furrowed.

"This plan is too risky," she whispered to her adjutant beside her.

The adjutant replied, "If we fail, it will inevitably implicate us."

Zhou Yang stepped out from behind, his robes fluttering in the wind.

"Fortune favors the bold," he laughed. "Someone's paying the bill, that's perfect."

Qin Shuang turned around, a glint in her eyes. She didn't answer immediately, but instead let the whip tap the ground lightly, making a crisp sound.

"In that case, I'll observe from the sidelines," she said. "Don't blame me if anything goes wrong."

Zhou Yang nodded: "You and I will each hold one card."

As night deepened, the city lights shone like stars.

Several disciples of the Earthly Fiends Sect were beheaded by the Eastern Depot in front of the ancestral hall, their blood gleaming red under the lamplight.

Zhao Kun's carriage stopped outside the city. The coachman dismounted and brought out a wooden box. Inside the box were several gold knives, their hilts inlaid with rubies.

Zhao Kun handed the knife to Zhou Yang: "I'll remember this debt."

Zhou Yang took the knife, gently stroked the blade, and felt a chill creep along his fingertips.

"See you later," he said casually.

Zhao Kun said nothing more and turned to step into the night.

On the city wall, Qin Shuang's whip cracked again, crisp as raindrops.

Zhou Yang turned and left, stepping into the alleyway of the black market. Raindrops began to fall, mingling with the smell of blood and damp earth.

He looked up at the pale moonlight and chuckled to himself: This game of chess has just begun.

He put the wooden box into his sleeve and strolled toward the mountain path north of the city.

The pine branches on both sides of the mountain path swayed in the wind, making a low creaking sound.

Zhou Yang's steps were neither hurried nor slow, and his breathing was even.

He knew that the next move was already in his opponent's hands.

But this time, he held a knife in his hand and recited his own rules.

Raindrops fell on his shoulders, the coolness seeping into his clothes, but they did not extinguish the fire in his heart.

He quickened his pace, his figure shifting between the lights and shadows.

At the end of the night lies a road leading to an even greater world.

The mountain road north of the city is very quiet.

Only the sound of the wind.

Zhou Yang's footsteps pattered softly on the stone slabs. The rain had washed the stones clean, reflecting the hazy sky. He stopped at an abandoned mountain god shrine.

The door of the ancestral hall was crooked to one side, and the statue inside was half-fallen, its face covered in dust, making it impossible to discern its emotions.

This is where the transaction takes place.

He stepped inside, the smell of dust mixed with dampness hitting him. Zhou Yang sniffed; the smell reminded him of underground tombs. He liked this feeling.

He stood beside the collapsed statue and waited for about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn.

There were footsteps outside.

More than one person.

The sounds were heavy and chaotic. Three men entered. They were all dressed in black, close-fitting outfits, with the character "煞" (sha, meaning "kill" or "demon") embroidered on their chests. The man in the lead had a scar on his face, running from his eyebrow to his chin. He carried a broadsword with several nicks on the blade.

The other two were a tall, thin man carrying two short axes and a short, stout man with an iron dart hanging from his waist.

The three of them turned cold when they saw Zhou Yang.

Scarface slammed the knife in his hand to the ground with a dull thud.

"Where is it?" he asked, his voice rough, like sandpaper rubbing.

Zhou Yang didn't speak. He simply took the wooden box out of his sleeve. The box was very ordinary, the kind you could just buy anywhere on the street.

The tall, thin man behind Scarface glanced at the wooden box, then at Zhou Yang. He pursed his lips.

"Just you alone?" the tall, thin man said. "Master Zhao sent you here; you've got some nerve."

Zhou Yang tossed the wooden box over.

Scarface reached out and took it, then opened it and glanced inside. There were three ginseng roots inside, with long, dark-colored rootlets. He couldn't tell if they were good or bad, but they smelled medicinal.

"That's it?" Scarface closed the lid. "Master Zhao's things aren't so easy to take."

"The transaction is settled," Zhou Yang said calmly. "Or, you can leave your things behind, and leave your lives behind as well."

His words were like a stone thrown into a calm, icy surface.

The short, stout man laughed. He patted the iron clapper at his waist, making a clanging sound. "Kid, who are you talking to? Do you know who we are?"

"The dogs of the Earthly Fiends Sect," Zhou Yang said.

The tall, thin man's face instantly darkened. He twirled his two hand axes between his fingers. "You're asking for it!"

Before he finished speaking, his men moved.

Like a mantis pouncing on its prey, he swung his double axes, aiming for Zhou Yang's neck. The axes sliced ​​through the air, accompanied by a whistling sound.

too fast.

Ordinary people simply cannot react in time.

But Zhou Yang is no ordinary person.

He stood still. Just as the axe was about to touch his skin, he suddenly tilted his head. The sharp axe blade grazed almost his neck.

The icy wind from the axe gave him goosebumps.

At the same time, Zhou Yang moved his hand.

His waist knife was already drawn at some point. It was short and narrow, like a venomous snake.

A flash of light.

It's too fast to see clearly.

The tall, thin man froze. He remained in his forward-charging stance. The two axes hung suspended in mid-air. He looked down and saw a thin red line on his chest.

The red line quickly expanded.

Blood gushed out.

He opened his mouth, as if to say something, but only made a "hoarse" sound. Then, he fell straight down. His eyes were wide open, and he died with disbelief in his eyes.

It only took him two breaths from the moment he rushed over to the moment he collapsed.

All of this happened too fast.

Neither the short, fat man nor the scarred man reacted.

They looked at the corpse on the ground, then at the knife in their hands.

This is no ordinary underworld tactic. This is the art of killing. Pure and efficient.

The scar on Scarface's face twitched. He gripped the knife tighter, his eyes turning fierce.

"You...are a member of the Embroidered Uniform Guard?"

Zhou Yang didn't answer. He wiped the blood off the knife with his other hand. The blood droplets rolled on the blade before being flicked to the ground.

"Next one," he said.

The short, fat man was completely enraged. He roared, pulled the iron balls from his waist, and with a swing of his arms, sent the two iron balls hurtling towards Zhou Yang's face and chest like cannonballs.

Zhou Yang advanced instead of retreating.

He shifted his feet, twisting his body unpredictably, to dodge the iron gall bladder that was hurtling towards his face. He deflected the other one with his scabbard.

A crisp "clang" rang out.

The iron rod flew out and hit a pillar in the ancestral hall, embedding a small piece of it.

In that instant, Zhou Yang had already rushed in front of the short, fat man.

The short, fat man was startled by his speed and retreated repeatedly. He tried to change his move, but it was too late.

Zhou Yang's knife pierced his stomach.

It's not a vital spot, but it hurts a lot.

The short, fat man screamed, dropped his weapon, and gripped the blade tightly with both hands. He tried to pull the knife out, but it seemed to be ingrained in him.

Zhou Yang loosened the knife handle and slammed his knee into the man's chin.

"Click."

The short, fat man's screams abruptly ceased. His jaw was shattered, and he fell backward, crashing into half of the statue. The clay statue smashed to pieces on the ground.

Now, only Scarface remains.

Scarface stood motionless, staring at the two corpses on the ground, his hands trembling.

He knew he had messed with the wrong person.

This deal was a trap from beginning to end.

"You...who exactly are you..." Scarface's voice was filled with fear.

"He's here to collect debts," Zhou Yang said, pulling the knife out of the short, fat man's stomach.

He walked step by step toward the scarred man.

Scarface's breathing grew heavier and heavier. He finally couldn't hold on any longer. He suddenly turned around and ran out of the ancestral hall without a second thought.

He wanted to escape.

Zhou Yang watched his retreating figure without any expression.

He raised the knife in his hand, aiming it at Scarface's back. Then, his arm jerked.

The knife transformed into a streak of white light.

"puff."

The sound was very soft.

Scarface stopped running. He stood frozen at the entrance of the ancestral hall, like a wooden stake. After a few seconds, he slowly knelt down, then lay face down in the mud.

A knife hilt was visible behind his back.

Zhou Yang slowly walked over and pulled the knife back.

The ancestral hall returned to silence.

Only the rain is still falling.

Zhou Yang wasn't out of breath, and his heartbeat was steady. The new technique had made his physical abilities exceptionally good. The fight he had just fought was as easy as taking a walk for him.

He crouched down and began searching the body.

He pulled an oiled paper package from Scarface's body. Inside was a large stack of silver notes—a full five thousand taels.

There was also a black iron plaque with the words "Earthly Fiend" engraved on it and a number on the back.

Both the tall, thin man and the short, fat man had identical iron plaques and some loose silver coins on them.

Zhou Yang carefully put away the silver notes and the iron plaque.

As he stood up, a familiar voice echoed in his mind.

[Slaying the villain (a protector of the Earthly Fiend Sect) will reward you with two years of lifespan.]

[Lifespan granted: 2 years.]

Current remaining life expectancy: 13 years and 8 months.

Zhou Yang's lips curled up slightly.

This is what he wanted.

money.

I'm still alive.

He glanced at the three corpses on the ground and decided to dispose of them. Leaving them here would only lead to them being discovered sooner or later, causing unnecessary trouble.

Behind the ancestral hall is a small courtyard overgrown with weeds.

Zhou Yang dragged the three corpses to the backyard, found a corner, and started digging holes with a knife. He worked quickly, and soon he had dug three shallow holes.

Throw the body in, then cover it with soil.

After doing all this, he rewrapped the three ginseng roots in the wooden box with oil paper and placed them close to his body.

This is more important than money.

The wind blew in through the broken window, carrying the smells of blood and earth.

Zhou Yang walked out of the ancestral hall and looked back once.

There's nothing special about this place. It will soon be forgotten.

He started walking and continued up the mountain.

Zhao Kun must know that something happened to his people.

What will the naturally suspicious incense master do next? Will he continue to send people, or will he come forward himself?

Zhou Yang felt it was the latter.

Because only he himself can feel at ease.

Yeah.

That way I won't have to search for them one by one.

The rain gradually stopped, a crack appeared in the clouds, and moonlight shone down onto the wet mountain path.

Zhou Yang's shadow was stretched very long.

He walked to the top of the mountain, where there was a wide-open flat area. In the very center stood a brightly lit mansion.

That is the headquarters of the Earthly Fiends Sect.

Two large lanterns hung at the entrance, still bearing the same "煞" (evil/inauspicious) character.

Several guards stood at the gate, yawning listlessly.

They didn't know that their death was tonight.

Zhou Yang found a secluded spot to rest, leaned against a large tree, and closed his eyes.

He is waiting.

Waiting for the perfect moment.

When everyone has gone to sleep.

Tonight, he will settle this score himself. Not only for Qin Shuang, but also for himself.

In this cannibalistic world, kindness is the most useless thing.

Only the knife and life are truly real.