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

Zhou Yang held the confession.

The paper was thin, even somewhat rough. The writing on it, however, was forceful, the ink deep and pendant, as if it had been carved with a knife.

He walked into the lobby and found a table to sit down.

Qin Shuang followed him in and stood opposite him. She didn't speak, but just stared at the paper. Sunlight streamed in from outside, falling directly on the paper and illuminating the ugly handwriting clearly.

"Dr. Liu's skills are quite good." Zhou Yang tapped the paper with his fingertip. "This medicine is better than the clamps."

Li Baoqing's confession was very detailed. It detailed how he lost money at Chang Le Fang, how he harbored resentment, how he found a clerk from the Eastern Depot, and how he plotted to teach Qin Shuang a lesson. It clearly stated who found the connection, who gave the money, and who made the promise.

In the details, there's even a casual remark made by the stall owner.

"Those vixens from the Embroidered Uniform Guard, do they dare to act so arrogantly in the capital?"

The writing was crooked and messy, with watermarks in some places. It was written by Li Baoqing while crying after drinking that bowl of medicine.

Zhou Yang personally went to Doctor Liu to get that bowl of medicine.

Doctor Liu was a thin, frail old man who had spent his entire life dealing with herbs; his back was hunched over like a bow. When he saw Zhou Yang, he didn't ask any questions, but simply took out a small oil paper packet from a locked wooden box.

"Lord Zhou, this stuff is called 'Truth-Telling Powder.' There's no antidote." Doctor Liu's voice was hoarse. "After drinking it, for an hour, you'll answer any question you're asked, but you'll be delirious and unable to speak coherently. Afterward, you won't remember what you said."

"Are there any side effects?"

"Three days of diarrhea. Half a month of headaches. You'll be weak for a while." Doctor Liu paused, "But you won't die."

Zhou Yang smiled at that moment.

This is exactly the effect he wanted.

It's not death, but it's worse than death. Only then can someone like Li Baoqing remember what a lesson is.

When Zhou Yang returned to the imperial prison, Li Baoqing was still bruised and battered, cursing and swearing. He relied on his father being the Minister of War and thought no one could touch him.

Upon seeing Zhou Yang, he spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva.

"You little brat surnamed Zhou! Just you wait! If my dad doesn't skin you alive, I'm not a Li!"

Zhou Yang ignored him. He opened the oil paper package, which contained some grayish-brown powder that smelled musty and had a hint of rust. He poured the powder into a bowl of warm water and stirred it with a stick.

The water immediately turned murky, like a stagnant pool.

"Pry his mouth open," Zhou Yang said to the captain beside him.

Two captains, one on each side, pinned Li Baoqing to the ground. Another officer grabbed his chin and forcefully pried it open. Li Baoqing continued cursing as the bowl of muddy water was poured into his mouth.

He coughed violently and struggled, trying to vomit the water.

Useless.

The medication took effect very quickly.

Li Baoqing's cursing gradually subsided, and his eyes began to glaze over. He lay on the ground like a fish out of water, his mouth opening and closing, emitting meaningless "hoho" sounds.

Zhou Yang squatted down and stuffed the pen and paper into his hand.

"Write it down," Zhou Yang said softly. "Who told you to do it? Write it down, and I'll make you feel better."

Li Baoqing's eyes were unfocused. But the pen in his hand moved on its own.

At that moment, he was like a puppet on a string. The one controlling the strings was the medicine in the bowl.

He wrote slowly and laboriously. Sometimes, the pen tip would leave long streaks on the paper. But he kept writing, digging out, bit by bit, those sordid deals hidden deep in his heart.

After writing the last word, the pen in his hand fell to the ground with a "thud".

He was completely paralyzed.

Zhou Yang picked up the paper and blew on the still-dry ink. He looked at the confession as if it were a banknote. A banknote that could save his life.

Qin Shuang's voice interrupted his recollection.

"What are you planning to do?"

Zhou Yang folded the confession and put it in his pocket.

"What else can I do?" He stood up, straightened his flying fish suit, and said, "Deliver packages."

"The Eastern Depot..."

"We're going to the Eastern Depot." Zhou Yang smiled, the smile barely widening. "Since they want to play games, I'll play along. We need to set clear rules, otherwise they'll think the Embroidered Uniform Guard is a pushover."

"That's too risky." Qin Shuang frowned. "You're provoking them. They'll use every means to deal with you."

"They've already exhausted their resources," Zhou Yang said dismissively. "What harm is there in doing one more?"

He looked at Qin Shuang.

His delicate face was full of worry.

"Don't worry," Zhou Yang said. "I'm not going to risk my life. I'm going to settle accounts. Once the accounts are settled, they'll know how to repay what they owe me."

He walked out of the lobby, the sunlight blinding him.

The streets outside were bustling, filled with the sounds of vendors hawking their wares and the clatter of carriages. But the moment he appeared, all the surrounding noise seemed to subside. Pedestrians, seeing his flying fish robe, instinctively made their way around him.

Zhou Yang didn't care. He walked through the crowd, his pace neither hurried nor slow.

He didn't take the main road, but instead turned into a series of quiet alleys. The moss on the corners of the walls, the clothes drying under the eaves, the smell of cooking oil in the air—these things felt very real to him.

After walking for about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, a gloomy mansion appeared before them.

There was no plaque, only two enormous stone lions crouching on either side of the gate. The lions' mouths were wide open, as if they wanted to devour everything. The walls were covered with ivy, its dark green leaves sending a chill down one's spine.

Four imperial guards stood at the entrance. They weren't wearing flying fish robes, but rather blue robes with Miao swords at their waists. Their eyes, sharp as knives, swept over us, carrying a bloodthirsty glint.

This is the Eastern Depot.

Upon seeing Zhou Yang approach, the four guards simultaneously drew half of their swords.

"stop!"

The leader shouted in a deep voice, "This is a restricted area of ​​the Eastern Depot; unauthorized personnel are not permitted to enter!"

Zhou Yang seemed not to hear.

He walked until he was only three steps away from the gate before stopping.

The four guards drew their swords completely, the tips all pointing at him. A murderous aura instantly filled the air. The temperature in the air seemed to drop several degrees.

Zhou Yang looked around.

He glanced at the cold-faced guards, and his lips twitched.

He slowly pulled the confession from his pocket. Then, he took a broken sword from his waist.

It was an ordinary iron sword, which he broke in a restaurant in Chang Le Fang. The broken edge was still quite sharp.

In front of everyone, he used the tip of his broken sword to nail the confession, which was covered in writing, to the vermilion gate of the Eastern Depot with a "thud".

The paper was thin; the sword tip pierced through it and then deeply penetrated the door panel.

The entire process was completed without a single pause.

After doing all this, Zhou Yang let go.

The broken sword was stuck in the door. Below it were Li Baoqing's signature and seal. The evidence was in black and white, right under the watchful eyes of the Eastern Depot.

"Go back and tell your boss." Zhou Yang's voice wasn't loud, but it clearly reached everyone's ears. "I've noted this debt. I'll settle the interest with him slowly."

After he finished speaking, he turned and left.

His back was to the four drawn swords. His back was to the cannibalistic Eastern Depot.

He didn't turn back, not even a step.

His back, in the light and shadow at the alley entrance, appeared so thin, yet so upright. Like a thorn stuck in flesh, whether it could be pulled out or not, the pain came first.

The four guards were stunned.

They'd never seen anyone like this before. They walked into the East Depot's gate as if it were their own backyard. They left a message, left something behind, and just left. Their demeanor wasn't one of provocation, but rather...posting a notice.

The leader of the guards was ashen-faced. He stared at the broken sword and confession on the door, his knuckles turning white from the force he exerted.

"Take him down!"

He roared and pounced like a cheetah.

But Zhou Yang had already walked into the alley corner.

The figure flashed and disappeared.

All that remained was that cold sentence and the broken sword stuck in the door, gleaming coldly in the sunlight.

That broken sword was like a bloody gash cut into the face of the Eastern Depot.