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

dusk.

The setting sun left only a last sliver of crimson, hanging on the western mountaintop.

Outside Anyang Prefecture, the official road leads west, and the Shili Pavilion stands alone.

Zhou Yang walked along the road at a leisurely pace. He wasn't wearing the uniform of the Imperial Guard, just a simple blue cloth outfit, with a broadsword hanging at his waist. The wind blew from the fields, carrying the scent of earth and vegetation, and a hint of coolness.

His hand remained on the hilt of the knife.

Every now and then, his fingers would unconsciously tap the hilt of his knife lightly. The sound was so faint that it was almost inaudible, carried by the wind.

He hid three corpse puppets in the grove of trees on the left. They were fed with blood mist during the battle between the Salt Gang and the Heavenly Principle Sect. They had almost no trace of human life, but exuded a strong killing intent.

The rocky slope to the right is Qin Shuang's position. She is accompanied by two of her most trusted captains, bows nocked, swords drawn. If anything changes here, her arrows will be the first to arrive.

Shili Pavilion was the place they chose. It was also the location specified in the letter.

This was not a fair meeting.

Zhou Yang never believed in fairness. He only believed in the knife in his hand and the cards hidden in the shadows.

He had even considered several possibilities.

If the opponent is tough, then fight. If you can't win, Qin Shuang can stall for time, giving him enough time to retreat.

If the other party wants to talk, then let's talk. Talk about price, talk about conditions. He needs to see what the Heavenly Principle Sect can offer before deciding what they want.

"Just add more money."

These four words were his guiding principle in navigating the world of martial arts.

The pavilion is getting closer.

It was a very ordinary stone pavilion, with eight pillars and a roof covered with blue tiles. Some tiles were broken, and a few clumps of weeds had grown over them. There were already people inside the pavilion.

a woman.

She sat on a stone bench in the pavilion with her back to Zhou Yang. Her long, black hair was not styled in a complicated updo, but loosely held up with a simple wooden hairpin. She wore a white dress, the hem of which spread out on the ground like a pile of fresh snow.

Zhou Yang stopped in his tracks.

There are still thirty steps to the pavilion.

This distance is safe. It allows you to see the opponent clearly, but they are also outside the range of arrows.

A breeze blew, and the woman's white dress fluttered gently. She had an indescribable scent, neither floral nor perfumed, but rather cool and serene, like snow on a mountaintop.

She didn't turn around.

It was as if they hadn't noticed anyone coming.

It was as if she had known all along that Zhou Yang would be standing here.

Zhou Yang's fingers stopped tapping. He gripped the knife hilt tightly. Every muscle in his body tensed. This was his most alert state. The calmer the other person was, the more uneasy he felt.

This woman is like a wisp of fog. You can't see her clearly, and you can't understand her.

He waited a moment.

The woman remained motionless.

Zhou Yang took a breath, started walking towards the pavilion. His boots rustled on the gravel path. Each step felt like stepping on his own heartbeat.

He walked into the pavilion and stopped three steps away from the woman.

Now, he can see her profile.

A white veil hung down from her hair bun, covering the lower half of her face. Only her eyes and smooth forehead were visible.

What kind of eyes were those?

It was very still. Like an ancient well, without the slightest ripple. The afterglow of the setting sun fell into her eyes, but instead of illuminating anything, it was swallowed up by the deep pool.

Zhou Yang suddenly felt his mouth was dry.

He spoke, his voice slightly hoarse: "You are the Holy Maiden?"

The woman did not answer.

She simply raised her eyes and glanced at Zhou Yang.

In that one glance, Zhou Yang felt as if his trump cards had been flipped over and tossed onto a table. The corpse puppet he hid in the woods, Qin Shuang behind the rocky slope, and even the poisoned needle hidden in the scabbard at his waist were all exposed.

This feeling is very unpleasant.

His knuckles were turning white as he gripped the knife.

The woman finally spoke. Her voice, like her personality, was cold and devoid of warmth.

"Your knife has killed many people."

Zhou Yang's heart skipped a beat. This was referring to his recent annihilation of the Salt Gang and the Heavenly Principle Sect.

He tugged at the corners of his mouth, revealing a smile that held little real joy: "To make a living like this, you have to shed blood. The Holy Maiden didn't invite me here just to tell me this, did she?"

The saint ignored his question.

She turned her head and looked again at the distant sunset.

"Three bodies in the woods to the left. Clean and lifeless. They're your trump card."

Zhou Yang's pupils suddenly contracted.

"On the rocky slope to the right, there are three men: a centurion and two squad leaders. They are your backup plan."

Cold sweat trickled down Zhou Yang's forehead. He felt as if he had been stripped naked and thrown into the freezing cold. All his proud schemes and plans seemed like child's play in the eyes of his opponent.

How did she know?

Who exactly is she?

"You..." Zhou Yang wanted to say something, but found that his throat felt like it was blocked with a wad of cotton.

"Don't be nervous," the saint's voice remained calm. "I won't touch them. They mean nothing to me."

Zhou Yang took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

Especially in times like these, it's crucial to stay calm and avoid making a rash decision.

"What exactly do you want?" he asked in a deep voice.

The saintess remained silent for a moment.

I came to see you.

"Look at me?"

"Hmm," she responded, "Let's see... a variable."

Zhou Yang frowned. He didn't understand.

"Holy Maiden, can you speak more bluntly? I'm a rough man, I don't understand these roundabout ways." He deliberately made his tone irritable, trying to break free from the oppressive feeling of being seen through.

The saint seemed to chuckle slightly.

Even through the white veil, Zhou Yang could feel the fleeting curve of her eyes.

"You are the Corpse King, born to face calamity."

Corpse Emperor?

The word struck Zhou Yang like a thunderbolt. He recalled the strange phenomenon of his lifespan calculation technique, the increase in power after absorbing the blood mist, and the bizarre "Burning Heaven Blood Scripture".

The saintess gave him no time to think and continued:

"This world is a chessboard. The celestial realm has made its moves over millennia, arranging a grand scheme to reap a great reward. But you were not originally on the chessboard. You were a pebble that fell in from outside the board."

Zhou Yang's heart was pounding. He felt that things were developing in a direction he couldn't understand at all.

The Celestial Realm? A Strategic Plan?

These things are too far removed from him. All he wants is to live, to live a few more years.

"I don't understand what you're saying," he interrupted coldly. "I'm just a captain of the Imperial Guard. The Heavenly Principle Sect has a deep grudge against me. If you want revenge, or if you want to talk about anything, just say so. Don't give me this nonsense."

"Useless?" The saintess finally turned to face him. "You'll soon find out that this is the most useful thing. Every time you burn your lifespan, every time you devour the blood mist, you're disrupting the game's structure. You've brought forward the 'Zok'."

She paused, and for the first time, something else appeared in her usually calm and still eyes.

A feeling... akin to scrutiny and curiosity.

"You're a very interesting variable. So, I've come to meet you."

Zhou Yang felt a chill run down his back.

He always thought of himself as a chess player, seizing profits in the shadows. Little did he know that in the eyes of a higher being, he wasn't even a chess piece, just an accidental pebble.

That feeling of powerlessness made him feel suffocated.

"Are you done talking?" He heard his own voice, dry and hoarse.

"That's all."

"Then you can leave," Zhou Yang said. "I'm not interested in being any kind of 'variable.' I just want to live a peaceful life."

The saintess stood up.

She was very tall, taller than the average woman. Her face was veiled in white, revealing only her eyes, yet they gave off an oppressive feeling that was impossible to look directly at.

"You can't stay calm," she said. "From the moment you embarked on your spiritual journey, there was no turning back. The chessboard is already trembling because of you, and all the players will take notice of you."

After saying that, she walked out of the pavilion.

The footsteps were light, landing silently. Like a feather, drifting on the grass.

Zhou Yang did not move.

He simply watched her retreating figure, her snow-white dress slowly fading into the deepening night. He didn't turn back, nor did he utter another word.

They just left like that.

Zhou Yang was the only one left in the pavilion.

A cold night wind blew in. He then realized that the sweat on his palms had soaked the hilt of his knife, making it wet and slippery.

He raised his head and looked in the direction the saintess had been gazing.

The sun had completely set. Only a dark red glow remained on the horizon.

The surroundings were eerily quiet.

He felt as if he had been pushed into an even more turbulent and darker vortex by an invisible hand.