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

The Western Hills Imperial Mausoleum rise sharply, as if carved by a knife. Low-hanging clouds drift through the crevices of the rocks. Zhou Yang stood at the foot of the mountain, his gaze sweeping over the massive stone gate covered in vines. The gate was seven feet high and nine feet wide, its surface cracked with the marks of time. The vines, like veins, entwined tightly, obscuring half of the entrance.

The tattered page left by the old man on his deathbed trembled slightly on his sleeve. The paper was yellowed, yet strange symbols were still discernible. Zhou Yang gently pressed the paper against Shi Men's chest. The edge of the paper lightly touched the stone surface, making a faint rubbing sound.

A black jade ring clung to my index finger. A slight coolness touched my fingertip, and a faint black mist seeped from between my fingers, slowly spreading across the paper. The mist intertwined with the symbols, which then glowed with a dark red light.

The stone door trembled dully. A low hum, like the sound of ancient drums, emanated from within the rock strata. The door slowly cracked open, revealing a narrow gap through which a cold wind howled, carrying the smell of decaying plants.

Zhou Yang lifted his foot and stepped inside. His footsteps echoed through the empty passage. The massive rock behind the door slammed shut with a deafening crash, the impact causing the mountain to tremble slightly. Paper fluttered in the air currents within the doorway, then turned to fine ash and scattered with the wind.

He stood in the darkness, his brow furrowed. The old man's words echoed rapidly in his mind: "The blueprints are only for opening; the rest of the path must be guarded by oneself."

Zhou Yang's gaze pierced through the darkness, revealing flowing patterns of light on the stone wall. The patterns, like water, flowed slowly, converging into vortexes. At the center of the vortex appeared an ancient bronze disc, its surface engraved with spiral patterns.

"This... is a mechanism?" he muttered to himself, his voice swallowed by the wind.

The spiral spun rapidly, emitting a low-frequency hum. The surrounding stone walls began to deform, the once-hard rock flowing like liquid. The fragments turned into light dust, drifting away with the wind.

Zhou Yang felt a pressure on his back, as if an invisible hand was gripping his shoulders. His breathing became rapid, and his chest heaved violently.

He raised his hand and gripped the black jade ring tightly. The undulating mist on the ring's surface condensed into a beam of dark light, piercing towards the spiral disc in front of him. The dark light struck the disc, causing it to crack open and reveal the gears inside.

The gears turned, producing a metallic clanging sound. The sound echoed through the passageway, like the tolling of an ancient bell.

A beam of light shot out from the cracked surface of the disc, pointing straight to the end of the passage. Within the beam, a circular stone platform was vaguely visible, upon which rested a piece of glowing jade. The surface of the jade rippled incessantly, like the surface of living water.

Zhou Yang strode forward, his steps steady. Each step landed on the still-flowing stone wall, yet he did not slip. The flowing light from the stone wall seemed to have a mind of its own, slowly pressing towards his chest.

He stopped and listened intently. The deep tolling of bells and the distant howling of the wind echoed in his ears. He silently calculated: if he continued forward, he might gain greater benefits; if he retreated, the old path was blocked.

"There's no turning back," he chuckled softly, a mocking smile playing on his lips.

At the end of the beam of light, a pale blue door appeared and disappeared. Ancient characters were engraved on the door, shimmering in the light and shadow.

Zhou Yang reached out and touched the door, feeling a chill at his fingertips. The chill quickly spread throughout his body, like winter frost seeping into his blood.

The door trembled slightly, opening a crack. Behind the crack was darkness, with faint red lights flickering within, like stars dancing in an abyss.

He took a deep breath and strode forward. His footsteps echoed dully on the cold stone surface. Each step felt heavy, as if he were stepping on his own life.

The beam of light gradually dimmed, and the gears of the spiral disc stopped turning. The surrounding stone walls returned to their original shape, and the vines climbed back up the stone gate as if they had never been torn apart.

The darkness behind the door suddenly churned, forming a swirling vortex. At the center of the vortex was an eye, reflecting countless faces—familiar figures and strange, ghostly shadows.

His eyes suddenly lit up, like flames bursting forth. The flames shot outwards, heading straight for Zhou Yang's chest.

He raised his hand and used his black jade ring to block the flames. The ring emitted a faint black mist, which instantly turned to ash upon contact with the flames.

The ashes scattered in the wind, and the vortex spun faster. Zhou Yang felt a powerful suction force pulling him into the core of the vortex.

In the instant he was sucked in, countless images flashed through Zhou Yang's mind: Fang Tian's smile, Qin Shuang's eyes, the mechanisms deep within the ancient tomb, and that eternally ageless fragment of the dragon's spine.

After the suction ended, Zhou Yang found himself in an unfamiliar space. All around him stretched endless gray-white plains, the sky was dim, and only distant points of light flickered.

Beneath his feet was a massive stone tablet, its surface uneven and covered with densely packed symbols. The symbols trembled slightly in the dim light, as if they were breathing.

Several ancient copper coins lay scattered on the ground in front of the stone tablet, their surfaces covered in dust. Zhou Yang bent down, picked one up, wiped away the dust, and saw a snake-shaped pattern engraved on it.

"Is this the entrance to reincarnation?" he murmured to himself, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

He slipped the ring back onto his finger, and the black mist within it began to writhe again. The mist formed a thin line in front of the stone tablet, which rapidly climbed upwards, reaching the top of the tablet.

The symbol atop the stone tablet suddenly lit up, and a beam of light pierced the plain, illuminating the distant mountain ridge. At the end of the beam, an ancient city loomed in the distance. Torn flags hung on the city walls, fluttering in the wind.

Zhou Yang looked up, a resolute glint in his eyes.

"No matter which round it is, I'm going to smash it," he whispered, his voice echoing in the silent space.

He strode toward the city, his steps steady and powerful. Each step trod on the ashes, leaving clear footprints.

Two guards clad in black robes stood at the city gate, each holding a gleaming sword. Their brows furrowed as they gazed at the approaching visitors.

Zhou Yang stopped, took a deep breath, and gently tapped his fingers on the ring. The ring released a faint black mist, which condensed into a barrier in front of the guard.

The guard was taken aback; his sword struck the mist, producing a sharp metallic cracking sound. The mist dispersed like water, revealing Zhou Yang's figure.

The guard took a step back and asked in a low voice, "Who are you?"

Zhou Yang smiled, a barely perceptible hint of sarcasm playing at the corners of his mouth.

"A businessman."

He turned and stepped into the city. The gate opened slowly, the ancient wooden beams creaking softly. Light seeped in through the cracks, illuminating the black mist behind him, which then dissipated.

The city's corridors were dimly lit, with tattered curtains hanging on the walls. A faint smell of gunpowder lingered in the air, like the lingering warmth of a long-dormant battlefield.

Zhou Yang's gaze lingered on the wall, where he discovered a hidden stone door. On the stone door was a mark with the same pattern as the black jade ring.

He reached out and gently stroked the mark, the ring emitting a low hum. The stone door opened in response, revealing a downward stone staircase.

The lamps on both sides of the stone steps flickered on and off, as if they were alive.

Zhou Yang stepped onto the stone steps, his footsteps echoing in the deep, well-like passageway. At the end of the passageway was a brightly lit hall, in the center of which stood a massive altar. On the altar was a blood-red gemstone, emitting a dim light.

He stood before the altar, his gaze fixed on the gemstone. He thought to himself, "This must be the core of the Reincarnation Mechanism."

The black jade ring glowed again, the beam of light shining directly on the gemstone. Cracks appeared on the surface of the gemstone, spreading rapidly as if it had been cut by a knife.

A faint red mist flowed from the crack, condensing into tiny blood droplets in the air. The droplets fell to the ground and disappeared instantly.

Beside the altar appeared a stone gate, its lintel inscribed with ancient characters. The characters shimmered under the light, as if calling out.

Zhou Yang raised his hand and gently pushed open the stone door. Behind the door was a bottomless ravine, from which the faint sound of drums could be heard.

The drumbeats sounded like a heartbeat, like the breath of death.

He stood at the edge of the rift valley, looking back at the opened stone gate, feeling an indescribable sense of pleasure.

"Reincarnation is just another transaction," he murmured, his voice echoing through the rift.

Just then, hurried footsteps sounded in the distance. Several assassins dressed in red robes rushed out of the shadows, their short knives gleaming coldly.

Zhou Yang raised an eyebrow and lightly tapped the ring with his finger. The ring immediately released black mist, which transformed into an invisible blade that pierced straight towards the assassin.

The blade sliced ​​through the air, and the assassin's dagger split open in mid-air, scattering metal fragments everywhere.

The assassin retreated, a look of terror on his face, and then quickly withdrew.

Zhou Yang stood at the edge of the rift valley, his gaze still resolute.

He knew that reincarnation was just one siege after another, and that every black mist in his hand could be the key to breaking through the siege.

As night deepened, the drumbeats of the rift valley still echoed. Zhou Yang's figure stretched long in the lamplight, like a black cheetah, ready to pounce on its next prey at any moment.