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

The night was like ink spilled, permeating the entire capital city.

Zhou Yang stood in the shadows of the backyard, clutching a set of clothes in his hand. It was an old-fashioned robe from the Dragon Tiger Guard, faded from washing, with frayed edges on the collar and cuffs. He leaned closer to smell it; it had a musty, musty smell mixed with the sour odor of sweat.

It was sent from Qin Shuang's side. Along with the waist tag engraved with "Craftsman Zhao Qi" and the hand-drawn map of the underground passage of Zhaoren Palace, it was placed in an inconspicuous package.

He quickly changed his clothes. The robe didn't fit him very well, and it was tight around the shoulders. He hung up his waist tag, then took a hammer and a few nails from his toolbox and stuffed them into his pocket, trying to make himself look more like a craftsman working through the night.

At three-quarters past midnight, the sound of wheels rolling came from the side gate of the palace. It was a cart carrying repair materials, its wheels creaking and groaning as they rolled over the bluestone slabs. Zhou Yang took a deep breath and followed behind the cart, head down, among a group of yawning, sleepy-eyed craftsmen.

The guards at the gate merely glanced at him lazily. Seeing that he was wearing the old uniform of the Dragon Tiger Guard and the craftsman's badge at his waist flashed in the firelight, they waved him through. No one noticed the unfamiliar face that had appeared in the crowd.

Once inside the palace walls, the atmosphere immediately changed.

The wide palace corridor was silent, save for the distant sound of a wooden clapper and his own footsteps. The wind howled through the towering halls, like the wailing of ghosts. Zhou Yang tucked his hands into his sleeves and walked very quietly.

He didn't take the main road. Following the markings on the map, he turned into a deserted alley. It was filled with abandoned beams and bricks, and the air smelled of rotting wood. Moonlight was cut into fragments by the eaves and scattered on the ground, casting flickering shadows like lurking wild beasts.

The light of torches could be heard in the distance, accompanied by the soft rustling sound of armor plates rubbing together.

Patrol team.

Zhou Yang's heart tightened, and he immediately darted behind a stone pillar half-buried in the ground. He held his breath, even slowing his heartbeat.

The flames were getting closer.

Two figures appeared at the entrance to the alley. They walked and chatted, their voices carrying far in the night.

"Damn it, this weather is so bad, you can freeze to death even on night patrol."

"Just bear with it, that's what we're supposed to do. I heard there was an incident at the northern camp, so they added extra patrols tonight." Another person said in a low voice.

"Something happened? What could have happened?"

"Who knows, the higher-ups told us to be extra careful. I heard... it's related to the 'blood bank'."

"Shh! Do you want to die?! That place is not something you can mention!"

The voices of the two guards gradually faded into the distance.

Zhou Yang leaned against the stone pillar, waiting until their footsteps completely disappeared before slowly exhaling. The blood bank. It seemed this place was even more sensitive than Qin Shuang knew. He peeked out, and after confirming it was safe, he immediately moved, like a raccoon, scurrying along the shadows of the wall towards Zhaoren Palace.

Zhaoren Palace has long been abandoned. It is said that a concubine from the previous dynasty, who was deposed and disgraced, lived here and eventually went mad and hanged herself. After that, the palace remained locked and was never visited again.

Zhou Yang stood before the palace gate. The vermilion lacquer on the gate was peeling and crumbling, revealing the rotten wood beneath. A huge, rusty bronze lock hung on the gate, clearly untouched for a long time.

He went around to the back of the palace wall. The entrance marked on the map was in a dry well in the backyard.

The courtyard was even more dilapidated than he had imagined. Weeds grew to waist height, obscuring the stone path. The stone table and benches lay overturned, covered in moss. Zhou Yang parted the weeds and quickly found the well.

The wellhead was covered by a thick bluestone slab, its edges overgrown with moss. He pushed the slab aside a little, and a cold, damp air wafted out from the crack, carrying the stench of earth and stagnant water.

He took out a rope he had prepared beforehand and tied one end securely to the trunk of an old locust tree not far away. He tugged at it to make sure it was secure, then grabbed the rope and climbed down into the well.

The well walls were slippery, covered in wet, slick moss. Zhou Yang used both hands and feet to lower it down little by little. It was pitch black all around, with only a sliver of light filtering through the well opening, which was quickly swallowed by the darkness. A cold wind blew up from the bottom of the well, chilling him to the bone.

I don't know how long I was in the water, but my toes touched the water.

It was icy cold.

He continued down until the water was waist-deep. At the bottom of the well was an underground river. Touching the damp well walls, he found the entrance marked on the map—a low waterway barely wide enough for one person to pass through.

He bent down and crawled inside.

The river current was swift, and the icy water rose above his chest. The space was narrow, and there were often protruding rocks overhead, requiring him to bend over to pass. Zhou Yang gritted his teeth and groped his way forward in the dark waterway. The roar of the water thundered in his ears, like a giant beast's throat.

After walking for about the time it takes for an incense stick to burn, a faint light appeared ahead.

He quickened his pace, and the current became calmer. Soon, he emerged from the waterway and stood on a dry, rocky beach.

The source of the light was a massive gate in front of them. The entire gate was cast in black iron and covered with intricate patterns. Upon closer inspection, the patterns seemed to be alive, shimmering with a faint, eerie light.

It's a formation.

Zhou Yang reached out, but before his fingertips even touched the iron gate, he felt a scorching force bounce back. This gate kept people at arm's length.

He stopped and closed his eyes.

[System, initiate deduction.]

[Target for deduction: Seven Star Locking Sun Formation.]

[Estimated lifespan consumption: 24 hours. Confirm?]

confirm.

Zhou Yang felt his heart clench suddenly, as if gripped by an invisible hand. An indescribable weariness instantly washed over him, as if he hadn't slept for three days and three nights. The world before him seemed to have faded in color, as if shrouded in a layer of gray.

In that instant, a massive amount of information flooded into my mind.

Those previously mysterious and difficult-to-understand array patterns now became incredibly clear in his eyes. The flow of energy, the distribution of nodes, the methods of breaking them... everything was crystal clear.

He opened his eyes, his gaze unwavering. His fingers, as if possessed by their own will, moved swiftly across the moss-covered iron gate, tapping, tracing, turning, and pressing. Every movement was precise and flawless.

When his palm pressed on the central node of the formation, the entire iron gate emitted a dull thud.

"Click".

The eerie light went out instantly.

Zhou Yang stepped forward and pushed hard. The heavy iron door opened a crack. The air rushed in from behind the door, and his pupils suddenly contracted.

The smell was so strong it was almost overwhelming.

is blood.

It wasn't fresh blood, but blood that had been left out for a long time, beginning to rot and decompose, congealing into a gelatinous black liquid. Mixed in with this bloody stench was something even colder: resentment, the bitterness left behind by countless lives lost in despair.

The smell entered his nasal cavity, burned down his throat, and made him want to vomit.

He covered his mouth and nose and squeezed through the door.

Behind the door was a long passageway. On the stone walls on both sides, every ten steps there was an ever-burning lamp, its dim yellow light illuminating the scene inside.

Zhou Yang's breathing stopped.

On both sides of the passageway were rows of huge bronze cages.

These cages stood side by side, densely packed, stretching as far as the eye could see. Those imprisoned inside could hardly be called human beings.

In some cages, a creature was curled up. It had a human torso, but eight spider-like limbs covered with barbs extended from its back, futilely scratching at the cage, making a rustling sound.

In some of the cages, flames burned. A humanoid creature, entirely crimson, sat cross-legged, his skin like cracked lava, scalding liquid flowing from its crevices, sizzling on the cold stone floor. His chest did not rise and fall, as if he were dead, but the flames burned exceptionally fiercely.

In another cage, there was a lump of rotting flesh. The lump of flesh kept writhing and deforming, and occasionally a crack would split open in the middle, revealing one or dozens of cloudy eyeballs, which turned silently.

Zhou Yang forced himself to look away. His heart was pounding, not from fear, but from the shock of being overwhelmed by an immense life force. Each of these things contained terrifying power and bloodline. This wasn't a prison; it was a farm that bred monsters. A "blood bank."

He walked along the passageway, his footsteps drowned out by the low growls and hisses of the monsters. He kept his eyes straight ahead, his mind racing as he recalled the information Qin Shuang had given him.

"Feeding schedule. Early morning of the third hour (1-3 AM), passageway number three, third to last cell."

The cages here weren't numbered. He could only count them one by one, relying on his memory of their locations.

One, two, three...

The surrounding scene grew increasingly bizarre. He even saw a woman without a lower body locked in a cage; her hands had transformed into sharp bone blades, and she was intently and frantically cutting her own body, feeding chunks of flesh to a small, lizard-like monster beside her. The little monster ate with relish, making satisfied gurgling sounds from its throat.

Zhou Yang quickened his pace.

Finally, he saw a cage that was different from the others.

It is not made of bronze. It is made of a single, huge piece of transparent crystal.

The crystal cage was about the height of a person, and it was completely empty except for one person floating in the very center. It was a boy, who looked no more than fifteen or sixteen years old. His eyes were closed, his face was deathly pale, and he was shirtless with no visible injuries.

The boy was quiet, like a sleeping statue.

Zhou Yang moved closer.

His gaze fell on the boy's face. The boy's eyes were tightly closed, but beneath his long eyelashes, a strange blue hue shone through.

He is a blue-eyed boy.

He found it.

Zhou Yang stood before the crystal cage, reaching out his hand and gently touching the cold crystal wall with his fingertips. Through this transparent barrier, he seemed to be able to feel the life force emanating from the boy, as vast as the ocean.

Is this the "Danmu" that the Heavenly Principle Sect painstakingly cultivated?

Zhou Yang withdrew his hand, a cold smile curving his lips. He took out the small hammer from his pocket and weighed it in his hand.

The good stuff naturally belongs to him.