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

Qin Shuang handed Zhou Yang a parchment scroll. The scroll was covered with intricate symbols. She whispered, "The blood bank is located beneath the dragon vein of the imperial city; its former site was called Zhaoren Palace."

Zhou Yang took it and examined it closely.

"I need three things," Qin Shuang continued.

"An old uniform of the Imperial Guard Dragon Tiger Guard from the previous season."

"A set of waist tags belonging to palace craftsmen."

"And the prisoners' exercise schedule for the next three days."

Zhou Yang nodded and smiled faintly: "First, get rid of the Censorate officials who are investigating the cause of my father and brother's deaths."

Qin Shuang raised an eyebrow and then stuffed a portrait of an assassin into her bosom.

"Give me the portrait, and I'll pay you half price upfront," she said.

Zhou Yang pulled a small bottle of pale yellow liquid from his sleeve. The bottle opening was sealed with a candle wick.

"This is a bottle of refined extract from a century-old blood-clotting herb." He handed the bottle over.

Qin Shuang accepted it, her fingers lightly tapping the bottle cap. The liquid inside shimmered gold under the light.

She handed the bottle back, and Zhou Yang immediately placed the bottle opening against the base of the danmu root.

Danmu is a dark red stone core with fine cracks all over its surface.

Zhou Yang used a sharp knife to cut open his left wrist, and drops of blood dripped into the stone core.

Then, the liquid in the bottle seeped into the crack. Golden light writhed inside the stone core.

He frowned slightly as he noted the changes in the golden light.

"Absorption rate of approximately 7.2 percent." The pen tip traced a line of numbers on the paper.

The lamplight flickered, and golden light gathered in a circle within the stone core. Then it spread outwards like a thin mist.

Zhou Yang felt a slight tremor, but did not stop.

"Deal." He sheathed his blade, handed back the portrait, and left a small copper coin as an advance payment.

Qin Shuang nodded, put away the portrait, and turned to leave. Outside, rain pattered, and streetlights cast dappled shadows.

Zhou Yang did not go to the Censorate immediately, but instead headed towards the mass grave in the east of the city.

He quickened his pace in the rain, his footsteps muffled in the mud.

The mass grave was a mess of rubble, with a few bare, withered branches exposed, and occasionally wild dogs growled.

Zhou Yang stopped in front of a tombstone and quietly surveyed his surroundings. There was only a thin mist and no lights.

The smell of rotting flesh mixed with the soil was pungent yet familiar to him.

He tucked the knife back into his sleeve and tapped the side of the tombstone lightly, producing a dull echo.

After the echo dissipated, a loose stone slab was revealed.

Beneath the stone slab lies a narrow passage, its entrance concealed by vines.

Zhou Yang drew his short sword, cut the vines, and revealed the darkness.

There was an oil lamp at the entrance of the passage, its wick dim. Zhou Yang lit the wick, and the light illuminated the stone wall about three meters ahead.

The wall is engraved with ancient patterns, which resemble the symbols of the Heavenly Principle Sect.

Upon closer inspection, he discovered a recessed metal badge. It was a replica of the craftsman's waist badge that Qin Shuang had requested.

Zhou Yang put the badge into his pocket.

Then, he pulled an old cloth from his sleeve, wrapped the blade, and gently placed it on the stone wall. Thin streaks of blood seeped from the cracks in the stone wall, as if someone had offered a sacrifice earlier.

Zhou Yang reached into the crack and took out a dark red silk pouch. Inside the pouch was the cuff of a worn-out imperial guard's tiger-patterned robe.

He folded up his cuffs and put them into his backpack.

At this moment, the rain grew heavier, as if something was knocking on the city wall.

Back at the entrance to the mass grave, Zhou Yang checked his belongings.

Old clothing cuffs, craftsman's waist tag, prisoner's exercise schedule.

He copied the time from the bamboo slips to ensure the information was complete.

The night was deep, and the sound of police sirens could be heard in the distance, reminding the guards that they were on patrol.

Zhou Yang put away the lamp, quickly crossed the overgrown weeds, and returned to the alleyway of Beijing.

He knocked on the heavy wooden door of Qin Shuang's residence. Low breathing came from behind the door, where Qin Shuang stood, key in hand.

"I brought it back." Zhou Yang handed her the cufflink and waist tag, his voice devoid of emotion.

Qin Shuang examined the fabric, her brows furrowing slightly, but she said nothing. She unfolded the cuff, her fingertips lightly touching the material to confirm the pattern was correct.

Then, she opened the blood bank's schedule. The schedule marked three days of exercise periods, down to the hour.

"Now," Qin Shuang said, "you must go to the Censorate and get rid of that censor."

Zhou Yang did not immediately agree. He reached out and took out the portrait, examining it carefully. In the portrait, the censor was wearing an embroidered robe with a silver badge on the back.

He put the portrait back and nodded slightly: "I'll confirm the target location first."

Qin Shuang handed him a small jade pendant.

"This token can be used to mislead others when the imperial censors are on patrol."

Zhou Yang accepted the money and turned to leave. The night wind swept across the eaves, causing the bamboo curtain to sway gently and make a soft rustling sound.

He walked along the dark alley at the foot of the city wall. The alley was piled with scrap wood on both sides, and occasionally a night owl would pass by. The lamps were sparse, and darkness occupied most of the space.

Zhou Yang stopped in front of an abandoned stone gate. Behind the gate was the logistics passage of the Censorate. The three characters "Shenlutang" (Court of Law Judges) were carved on the door frame, but they had been eroded by rain.

He put the small jade pendant into his pocket, gently tapped the stone door, producing a dull thud. The door slowly opened, revealing a dark corridor.

A low murmur of conversation drifted from the end of the corridor, where several officials sat around a candlelight. Zhou Yang quietly approached, hiding in the shadows.

He observed that the censor was whispering with two attendants, holding a secret letter in his hand. The censor's eyes were uneasy, and he kept glancing towards the door.

Zhou Yang untied the thin rope, tied it to the pillar, and gently pulled it. The rope made a soft rustling sound, attracting the attention of the imperial censor.

The censor turned his head, his gaze briefly sweeping over the shadows before returning to his original position. Zhou Yang took a step forward, his short sword flashing with cold light.

The blade sliced ​​through the sleeve of his robe, and drops of blood fell. The censor cried out in alarm, collapsed to the ground, and spat out blood.

Zhou Yang immediately sheathed his sword, stood beside the censor, and swiftly inserted the back of the blade into the censor's collarbone, ensuring he could not stand. Then, he pierced the censor's chest, and blood sprayed onto the stone slab.

Zhou Yang sheathed his short sword, lightly wiped away the bloodstains, and turned to leave. The officials panicked, blaming each other, not even noticing that the bloodstains had been diluted by the rain.

He stopped at a hidden door at the end of the corridor, where he saw an oil lamp still burning. The light illuminated small characters on the wall: "The Path of Forbidden Blood, No One But You May Enter."

Zhou Yang pondered for a moment under the lamp, then pressed the back of the knife against the door to ensure he could not be tracked.

Night had fallen, and the city lights were sparse. Zhou Yang walked out of the logistics corridor and returned to Qin Shuang's residence. The door was closed, and the corridor was silent.

He folded the censor's blood-stained robe and placed it in his personal wooden box. Inside the box was also the previous Danmu, its golden light still flickering slightly.

Sitting back down at his desk, Zhou Yang placed the three items under the lamp and carefully checked them. With all the information complete, his next plan was already taking shape in his mind.

He raised his hand, gripped the pen, and quickly wrote on the paper: "Location of the blood bank entrance, guard rotation, energy conversion rate of the Danmu." Then, as the lamp wick was about to go out, he blew it out and put away his pen and ink.

The rain was still pattering against the roof tiles outside, the sound like a reminder of the urgency of time. Zhou Yang stood up, put on his robe, and slowly walked out of the mansion.

The night wind carried away the sound of his footsteps, and also the undercurrents of the city.

The wind in the mass grave carries a sweet, rotten smell.

Zhou Yang squatted beside a newly dug pit, in which lay an unclaimed death row inmate. He didn't look at the corpse; his gaze was focused on a few freshly picked blood-clotting herbs in his hand. The leaves were purplish-red, and when squeezed, the juice was sticky, like diluted blood.

He pulled a small porcelain bottle from his pocket, poured out some powder, and mixed it with the herbal juice. It was his crushed fingernails, mixed with some hair. Finally, he bit his fingertip, squeezed out a few drops of his semen, and dripped it into the sticky mixture.

A strange aroma wafted through the air. It wasn't the smell of blood, nor the smell of grass; rather, it was like fine candied fruit mixed with a touch of rust. A wild, restless energy lurked within its sweetness.

His fingers skillfully kneaded the dough, and soon several pieces of dark red "tofu" took shape. Their surfaces were smooth, gleaming oily in the moonlight. He didn't immediately put them away, but instead tossed one piece to the stray dog ​​in the ditch.

The skinny, yellow-haired dog, which had been whimpering, perked up its ears immediately upon smelling the tofu. It approached and cautiously licked it. The next moment, it went berserk, opening its mouth wide and swallowing the piece of blood tofu in a few gulps. Not satisfied with that, it frantically licked the dirt with its tongue, making strange hoarse noises from its throat.

Zhou Yang's eyes were calm.

This stuff is harmless to ordinary animals, but its pungent smell can arouse the most primal appetite. However, for those who practice unorthodox martial arts and need to rely on their essence and blood for advancement, it is a great tonic. At least, that's what it smells like.

He withdrew his gaze, wrapped the remaining pieces of blood tofu in oiled paper, and stuffed them into his pocket. The night breeze blew by, lifting the hem of his clothes and carrying away the strange, sweet fragrance.

The Imperial Censor's Residence is one of the most heavily guarded residences in Jian'an City.

High walls, corner towers, and guards changing shifts every ten steps. Ordinary people would be questioned for ages just for getting close to the gate, let alone sneaking in.

But for Zhou Yang, none of this mattered. He moved like a shadow blending into the night, hugging the shadows along the wall, making no sound. The guards' torches swept over his head several times, but they never spotted the figure, darker than the darkness itself.

He had long since familiarized himself with the area. His reconnaissance a few days ago hadn't been in vain. He knew which section of the wall had loose tiles, which eaves offered the best view, and he also figured out the brief gap during the handover of duties between the guards in the study.

He lay prone atop the clock tower opposite the study, like a patient eagle. Below was the study of Censor Wang De, the light still on. Zhou Yang had investigated Wang De; he was greedy, suspicious, and timid. Such suspicious people are easily deceived.

He waited a long time until the patrol passed. Only then did he get up and, with a few leaps, land silently on the roof of the study. He took out a piece of blood tofu from his pocket and placed it on a tile facing the study window. The placement was clever; no one inside could see it, but the smell would drift in through the window when the wind blew.

Having done all this, he didn't go far. Instead, he retreated into the shadow of the clock tower, his gaze fixed on the eaves and the study window. He was now both hunter and fisherman, having laid the bait and waiting for the fish to take the hook.

Time passed little by little.

The study light was finally turned off.

After another incense stick's time, a slightly plump middle-aged man in a silk nightgown emerged, yawning. It was none other than Imperial Censor Wang De. Behind him followed two sleepy-eyed servants.

Wang De stretched and was about to return to his bedroom.

A night breeze blew by.

Wang De's nose suddenly twitched. He stopped, a puzzled look on his face. "What's that smell?"

The two servants beside him sniffed hard and shook their heads. "Master, we can't smell anything."

Wang De, however, seemed bewitched, taking a few more deep breaths. The scent was faint, yet like a tiny hand, it tickled his heart. It wasn't the fragrance of flowers, wine, or a woman. It was a... indescribable scent, carrying a hint of sweetness, and a fishy smell that inexplicably stirred him.

"No, there's a smell." He muttered to himself, his eyes scanning the yard.

He raised his head, his gaze finally landing on the eaves of the study. In the moonlight, that dark red thing, like a piece of jade soaked in honey, gleamed with an alluring light.

"What's that?" he asked, pointing to the eaves.

The servant looked in the direction he was pointing and saw it too. "Master, it looks like... a piece of meat?"

"Nonsense!" Wang De retorted, but his curiosity only grew. How could there be a piece of meat on the eaves in the dead of night? And the smell was coming from there. He had a feeling that this thing was unusual. Perhaps it was some kind of rare treasure, a stroke of luck that had fallen from the sky.

The kind of guy who climbs to the top through scheming believes most in luck.

"You, go up and take it down for me," Wang De ordered his servants.

The two servants looked at each other in bewilderment. Why would they climb onto the roof in the middle of the night for some unknown piece of meat? But they dared not disobey their master's orders.

One of the braver ones brought over a ladder and climbed up it shakily.

Just as his hand was about to touch the piece of blood tofu, a dark shadow flashed past the wall beside him.

It was so fast that you could only see a blur.

The shadowy figure's target wasn't Wang De at all, but rather the servant on the roof and the piece of blood tofu. A short blade, gleaming with an eerie light, drew a cold line in the moonlight. The servant didn't even have time to scream before he fell off the ladder, a bloody gash on his neck resembling a gaping mouth.

The other servant was so frightened that he fell to the ground with a thud.

Wang De was also stunned. He pointed at the suddenly appearing dark figure, his voice trembling, "You...who are you?"

The shadowy figure ignored him, grabbed the blood tofu from the tile, stuffed it into his clothes, and turned to leave. His movements were clean and efficient; he was clearly a repeat offender.

"Stop! Leave the thing behind!" Wang De cried out anxiously. He was now convinced that the thing was a treasure, and seeing that it was about to be snatched away, he didn't know where he got the courage, but he lunged forward.

The shadowy figure seemed surprised that this civil official dared to come up, paused in his steps, and turned back to give him a cold look.

That one glance revealed his murderous intent.

"court death."

The shadowy figure uttered two words and swung his hand back. This time, the short blade showed no mercy, slicing through Wang De's neck.

Wang De's eyes widened, his throat gurgled, and he clutched his neck, blood gushing from between his fingers. He collapsed to his knees with a thud, his face filled with disbelief. Even in death, he couldn't understand how he could have lost his life for something he didn't even know.

Zhou Yang, who was hiding on the top of the clock tower, took in all of this.

He remained expressionless, as if watching a play that had nothing to do with him. The shadowy figure's martial arts skills were mediocre. At best, he was just a lackey for the Heavenly Principle Sect. Such a person was perfect for feeding the Pill Mother.

After killing the man, the shadowy figure didn't linger; he immediately leaped onto the wall, preparing to escape.

Zhou Yang's lips twitched slightly. He pulled out a second piece of blood tofu from his pocket and, with all his might, threw it towards the wilderness west of the city. The blood tofu traced an arc in the air, carrying its unique sweet fragrance, and landed in a patch of grass several dozen feet away.

The dark figure on the wall suddenly stopped.

His nose twitched, and a look of wild joy spread across his face. There's more! There's still that smell! And this time the aroma is even stronger! Without hesitation, he abandoned his escape route out of the city and turned to rush towards the direction where the blood tofu had landed.

Zhou Yang then leaped down from the clock tower, his figure as light as a falling leaf.

Instead of giving chase, he took a detour and went to the west of the city from another direction, taking a shortcut.

West of the city, a rocky slope.

The Heavenly Principle Sect member, like a hunting dog, finally found the piece of blood tofu in the grass. Just as he was about to reach for it, a calm voice came from behind him.

"Does it smell good?"

The believer froze, then whirled around. In the moonlight, a man in blue stood three zhang away, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on a lifeless object.

"Who are you?" The cultist gripped his knife tighter, staring warily at Zhou Yang. He could sense that the person before him was dangerous.

"Just passing by." Zhou Yang smiled. "Seeing how interested you are in this, I came to give you another ride."

Before he finished speaking, he moved.

There were no fancy moves; he simply took a step, leaving a blur in his wake. The cultist only felt a blur before his eyes, followed by a sharp pain in his chest. He looked down and saw a hand piercing through his chest, the hand clutching his heart.

Zhou Yang clenched his fist, and the still-beating heart was instantly crushed into a pulp.

The believer opened his mouth, blood and foam spilled from the corner of his mouth, and the fear and confusion in his eyes were frozen forever.

Zhou Yang casually tossed the corpse on the ground and wiped his hands. He walked over, picked up the piece of blood tofu covered in dirt, patted it off with disgust, and then put it back in his pocket. This stuff could still be used; he couldn't waste it.

He took out the golden elixir from the wooden box he carried with him.

As Danmu left his body, her light dimmed considerably, and she appeared somewhat weak. Zhou Yang knelt down and pressed Danmu against the chest of the cultist's corpse.

hum.

Danmu emitted a soft tremor. Wisps of black energy were drawn from the corpse and flowed continuously towards Danmu. The cultist's corpse visibly shriveled, its skin losing its luster, and quickly turned into a dried-up corpse.

The golden light on the surface of the mother danmu brightened again, and its pulse became more powerful.

A low-cost feeding session is complete.

Zhou Yang retrieved the Danmu, sensing the faint but undeniably increased energy within it, and nodded. This method was feasible. Dealing with these minor figures wouldn't require personally sacrificing his lifespan.

He stood up and glanced in the direction of Jian'an City. The night grew even darker.

He turned and disappeared into the darkness, vanishing once more.

Half an hour later, at an abandoned earth god temple in the south of the city.

Zhou Yang walked to the temple entrance and gently placed a locust leaf folded into a specific shape on a blue brick in the corner of the wall.

This was the secret code he and Qin Shuang had agreed upon. The leaves forming a triangle meant the mission was halfway complete.

After doing all this, he left without lingering.

Tonight's events will only be seen by the Heavenly Principles Sect as internal strife and a failed attempt to seize the treasure. The government investigation will also proceed in that direction. No one will suspect that the real culprit, from beginning to end, didn't even lay a finger on that censor.

Zhou Yang walked down the deserted street, the rain starting to fall again, wetting his hair. He tugged at his collar, a smile playing on his lips that he himself didn't even realize.

He liked the feeling of having a well-thought-out plan.

Now, all that's left is for Qin Shuang to deliver the other half of the reward: the waist token and the key to enter that mysterious blood bank.