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

Zhou Yang finished speaking.

The street corner was deathly silent.

The wind has stopped.

The mask vendor stood still. The shadowy figure behind him remained motionless. The two men, like clay figures, blended into the somber background.

The surrounding residents had all fled. Only a few bold individuals remained, peeking out from a distance.

Qin Shuang stood behind Zhou Yang, her hand on the hilt of her knife. Her face was a little pale.

Zhou Yang knew she was nervous.

It's not that I'm afraid of dying. It's that I'm nervous for him.

"Not going to talk?" Zhou Yang tilted his head, as if asking a very simple question.

The stall owner remained silent.

The shadowy figure behind him moved.

Instead of rushing towards Zhou Yang, he lightly touched the ground with his toes, and like a weightless wisp of black smoke, floated towards the rooftop on the other side.

We need to run.

Zhou Yang smiled.

This is what he's been waiting for.

He had already thought it through. Fighting here would be too risky, as it would easily result in friendly fire. This wasn't his battlefield. He needed to choose a place that would be absolutely advantageous to him.

"Want to leave? Did you ask me?"

Zhou Yang pushed off with his feet and chased after them like an arrow released from a bow.

He was faster than the dark figure.

The shadow had barely touched the roof tiles when Zhou Yang's shadow loomed over it. A punch was thrown, accompanied by a sharp whistling sound that tore through the air.

The punches were fierce and powerful.

The shadowy figure dared not take the attack head-on, so it lowered its body, becoming a line close to the ground, trying to slip under Zhou Yang's armpit.

As if he had eyes in the back of his head, Zhou Yang suddenly lowered his body and thrust his knees upwards.

That was a quick and powerful strike.

The shadowy figure barely dodged, but the clothes around its waist were swept by the force of the knee, tearing open with a "rip".

He dared not linger any longer and scrambled to the other side of the roof.

Zhou Yang did not pursue the matter further.

He stood on the rooftop, watching the direction the dark figure had disappeared in. Immediately afterward, the mask vendor packed up his stall, vanished into the depths of the alley in a few flashes.

"Lord Qin," Zhou Yang jumped off the roof and landed next to Qin Shuang, "come with me."

His tone left no room for argument.

Qin Shuang didn't ask why. She nodded and followed.

The two walked one after the other through several narrow alleys. The roads here were winding and labyrinthine.

Zhou Yang knew this place like the back of his hand.

Finally, he stopped at the back door of an inconspicuous clothing store. He knocked on the door, three times long and two times short.

The door opened a crack. A man who looked like an ordinary shop assistant glanced at them and immediately pulled the door open.

"Sir, please come in."

"Take Lord Qin to the safe house," Zhou Yang said in a low voice. "Protect her well. If she loses even a single hair, you will all pay with your heads."

"Yes!" the shop assistant replied solemnly.

"And you?" Qin Shuang asked, frowning. She could tell that this was a secret stronghold of the Embroidered Uniform Guard.

"Me?" Zhou Yang turned around and looked into the depths of the alley. "I'm going to invite our friends in for a cup of tea."

"That's too dangerous!"

"It's not dangerous." Zhou Yang smiled, a hint of cold composure in his smile. "There's no reason to let the guest be comfortable when you're trying to lure them into a trap."

He didn't give Qin Shuang another chance to persuade him. He took a step forward, and his figure quickly disappeared into the shadows of the alley.

His destination was the clock tower in the west of the city.

It was an abandoned bell tower. Long ago, a lightning strike caused the bronze bell to fall and shatter. It was abandoned after that.

The clock tower is very tall, the tallest building in the area. Its structure is also complex, with spiraling wooden staircases and countless compartments, making it an excellent ambush and battlefield.

More importantly, he was here yesterday, setting up some trinkets.

The rain stopped.

The dark clouds dispersed, revealing a sliver of thin moonlight.

Zhou Yang, like a cat, silently slipped into the clock tower. The tower was covered in dust, and the air smelled of rotting wood and rats.

He didn't rush to do anything. He simply found a support pillar and sat down against it. He took out a small cloth bag from his pocket, opened it, and inside were several cotton balls soaked in some kind of oil.

He got up and hung the cotton balls on the wooden beams throughout the clock tower. His movements were light and even.

After doing all this, he returned to the center of the building downstairs and sat down quietly cross-legged.

Close your eyes.

He is waiting.

Time passes little by little.

The sky outside seemed even darker.

A gust of wind blew in through the dilapidated windows of the clock tower, carrying a chilly, damp air. That wind was different from the one outside. It felt tangible, cold, viscous, and carried a kind of malice that could seep into one's bones.

The light was fading rapidly.

The clock tower was already dimly lit, but now it was pitch black. Even the moon, which had just peeked out, seemed to be obscured by something.

The sound disappeared.

The sound of the wind, the chirping of insects, the faint barking of dogs in the distance... all of it was gone.

The whole world seemed to be encased in a silent, pitch-black jar.

Zhou Yang opened his eyes.

It was pitch black.

But he could "feel" that someone was standing opposite him.

It was a pure killing intent. It had solidified into a tangible form, sending chills down one's spine.

"A net of heaven and earth, a shadow barrier."

A hoarse voice rang out. The voice was like sandpaper rubbing against a wooden board, harsh and dry, "It's your blessing to die in my territory."

Zhou Yang didn't say anything.

He knew that this was the "devil's nightmare".

A top assassin in the late True Essence Realm.

This martial art, truly living up to its reputation, doesn't simply create darkness; it isolates light and sound. Anyone within it is essentially blind and deaf.

The other party is clearly the ruler here.

The "Ghost's Sorrow" has moved.

He took a step forward, his body disappearing into the darkness without a sound. He was like a shark swimming in the deep sea, patiently searching for the weakness of its prey.

Zhou Yang sat cross-legged, motionless.

He was like a stone statue.

He was waiting.

Waiting for the other party to make a mistake is also waiting for your own opportunity to strike.

A pair of oddly shaped short spikes silently emerged from the darkness behind Zhou Yang on the left. They resembled the fangs of a venomous snake, gleaming with a ghostly blue light. The spikes aimed straight for Zhou Yang's vital area in the back.

fast.

ruthless.

quasi.

Just as the short thorns were about to touch the clothing.

Zhou Yang's body swayed slightly. The movement was so small as to be almost negligible.

But he just swayed for a moment.

The short thorns slid past the hem of his clothes.

The attack missed its mark.

Zhou Yang remained motionless.

A hint of surprise crept into the voice of "Ghost's Sorrow." "You've got some skill. You can sense me even in the dark?"

Zhou Yang thought to himself, "You idiot, I can sense you because I just burned off a year of my lifespan."

[Lifespan burning out...]

[Ding! One year of lifespan consumed.]

[Derived Technique: "Listening to the Wind and Discerning the Rain"]

[Completed: A minor work on "Listening to the Wind and Discerning the Rain"]

The moment the "Shadow Restriction" took shape, Zhou Yang made his decision. Without the slightest hesitation, he directly burned his lifespan.

A year's work resulted in a pair of "ears".

Now, although he is blind and deaf.

But his entire body has become a highly sophisticated radar.

The most subtle changes in airflow. The trails left by moving dust particles. The instantaneous transmission of force when an opponent exerts muscle tension… all of this, in his perception, transforms into a three-dimensional image.

This is the early-stage version of "Listening to the Wind and Discerning the Rain".

"Ghost's Bane" tests again.

This time, his attacks came from all directions. His twin daggers moved like butterflies, flitting up and down, blocking all of Zhou Yang's possible escape routes.

Ding!Ding!Ding!

A series of rapid, intense sounds of gunfire rang out.

That was the sound of Zhou Yang drawing his embroidered spring knife and parrying. His movements looked clumsy and awkward, as if he were frantically trying to cope.

Each block sent shivers down his spine, leaving his arm numb.

The astonishment in "Ghost's Sorrow" turned into disdain.

So that's how it is. He just luckily escaped the first time. Oh well. In this kind of field, he's nothing but a turtle in a jar.

He intensified his offensive.

The force on the twin daggers grew stronger. The sound of the wind grew stronger.

Zhou Yang was forced to retreat repeatedly. As he retreated, he "struggled" to block.

His breathing grew heavier and heavier.

"Ghost's Sorrow" had completely regained his confidence. He even had a touch of cat-and-mouse humor to it. He enjoyed watching his prey struggle in despair.

He deliberately created a flaw.

The portal under the left rib is wide open.

This is bait. It's meant to lure Zhou Yang into a desperate struggle.

Zhou Yang was indeed fooled.

A glint of light flashed in his eyes, as if he had grasped a lifeline, and he swung his knife across the left rib of "Ghost's Sorrow" without any regard for the consequences.

court death!

A cruel smile curled at the corner of "Ghost's Sorrow".

He neither dodged nor evaded, but instead accelerated forward, allowing Zhou Yang's blade to slash towards his body. Meanwhile, his right-hand short dagger thrust towards Zhou Yang's throat with even greater speed.

He wanted to end this boring game in the most direct way.

He already had a premonition of the sensation of the blade cutting into his flesh and the sound of his throat being pierced.

Zhou Yang's knife has arrived.

However, the anticipated collision did not occur.

Just before Zhou Yang's seemingly inevitable strike was about to touch "Ghost's Sorrow," he flipped his wrist, the blade pointing downwards, and slammed heavily into the floor.

At the same time, he fell backward.

This series of movements was incredibly fast.

"Ghost's Sorrow" suddenly contracted his pupils.

He had a bad feeling.

He wanted to change his tactics and retreat.

But it was too late.

His forward momentum was too strong, and the distance was too close.

When Zhou Yang fell to the ground, he slammed his left hand heavily on the floor.

"Snapped!"

A crisp sound.

This is a signal.

The inconspicuous cotton balls hanging in various parts of the clock tower were ignited by an invisible force the moment Zhou Yang slapped the floor.

There was no flame.

Only a series of barely visible fine lines connect instantly throughout the entire space.

The next moment, countless pale red powders burst open from the cotton balls, like a sudden red mist that instantly enveloped the entire bottom floor of the clock tower.

"Seeing blood brings sorrow".

The poison Zhou Yang found among the medicinal herbs at the inn. It was colorless and odorless on its own, but when mixed with a special kind of kerosene and wrapped in a special cotton ball, it could produce this explosive effect.

This poison, even without wounds, will seal the seven orifices and reverse the flow of vital energy if inhaled, turning the person into a motionless living dead.

"Ghost's Bane" was at the peak of his charge. He took a deep breath, and his lungs felt like they were filled with molten iron.

"Well……"

He tried to hold his breath, but it was too late.

He felt his strength rapidly draining away like a flood breaking through a dam. The darkness before him was no longer his domain, but the embrace of death.

His body went limp, and he collapsed to his knees. The two oddly shaped short spikes clattered to the floorboards.

Zhou Yang got up from the ground and dusted himself off.

The red mist slowly dissipated.

Zhou Yang walked up to "Ghost's Sorrow" and looked down at him.

The eyes of "Ghost's Sorrow" were filled with resentment and disbelief. He opened his mouth, but couldn't utter a single word.

"I told you, I'd treat you to tea." Zhou Yang picked up a short thorn from the ground, weighed it in his hand, and said, "After you finish, you can be on your way."

He aimed at "Ghost's Sorrow" in the heart and stabbed him without hesitation.

Blood splattered out, carrying that pungent, sweet smell.

Zhou Yang pulled out the short thorn and threw it aside.

He looked up and glanced at the shadows on the second floor of the clock tower.

"There's one more. What are you hiding for? Come down."

"Aren't you afraid he'll run away?"

Qin Shuang's voice came from the doorway. She didn't know when she had arrived; the shop assistant followed behind her, looking helpless.

"He can't escape." Zhou Yang's expression was calm. "This domain is two-way. Once 'Ghost's Sorrow' dies, the restriction will be lifted."

He paused, his eyes sharpening.

"Besides, if he dares to run, I dare to chase him to the ends of the earth."