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

The capital city, the prison of the Demon Suppression Bureau.

Three miles away.

Zhou Yang stopped in his tracks, his nostrils twitching slightly.

There was a smell in the air.

It wasn't the usual rusty smell. The smell was thinner, colder, like icy needles piercing his lungs with his breath. The flow of his internal energy noticeably slowed, like wet cotton thread—heavy and sluggish.

Anti-magic blood array.

This is a method used by the imperial court to deal with cultivators. Legend has it that the great formation was constructed deep underground using the soul blood of three thousand prisoners, along with countless amounts of black iron powder. Invisible to the naked eye, it continuously suppresses the true energy of martial artists within the formation.

That's quite a grand gesture.

Zhou Yang squinted at the gloomy prison. It lay silently in the night like a crouching beast. An ordinary person would only feel oppressed, but to him, the area was emanating a low hum. It was the sound of power at work.

Just then, the skin on the back of my neck tightened suddenly.

That's not an illusion.

It was a gaze.

A sticky, cold gaze, thick with the stench of blood. It clung to his skin like a slippery leech.

Zhou Yang did not turn around.

He didn't even change his expression. The faint smile still lingered at the corners of his mouth. He didn't even pause for a moment, continuing to walk forward.

But his eyes held a depth of ice.

Blood Shadow Guard.

The Imperial Advisor's dogs. A pack of mad dogs that only know how to kill. They don't need status like the Embroidered Uniform Guard, nor do they adhere to rules like the Six Doors. They only do one thing: kill.

Use the fastest, most direct, and most covert methods.

The imperial advisor had indeed laid a trap here, just waiting for this rabbit to run headlong into it.

interesting.

Zhou Yang, on the contrary, felt somewhat excited. He walked more steadily, like a peddler who had just come to the city from the countryside, curious about everything. He looked left and right, appearing completely clueless.

The gaze from the shadows seemed to be confirming his identity as well. It didn't attack immediately. The Blood Shadow Guards' rule was to only act when they were 70% certain, and only use their full strength when they were 90% certain.

Zhou Yang could sense that the owner of that gaze was transmitting a message to the rear using some kind of secret method.

He pretended not to notice and continued walking forward.

After walking about a hundred steps, the shadow beneath his feet suddenly swayed slightly.

It's not the kind of swaying caused by the wind.

It's a kind of...unnatural wriggling.

The edges of his shadow seemed excessively black. Black as a blob of ink, so thick it couldn't be dissolved. Moreover, the lines at the edge of the shadow were unusually smooth and sharp, as if re-cut by a blade.

Zhou Yang's steps remained steady.

He cautiously extended a wisp of his true energy.

The moment his true energy touched the shadow, a faint suction force came from it. Immediately afterward, he "saw" it.

A cicada clung to his shadow.

That's not a living thing.

Its body was entirely composed of congealed blood, and its wings, as thin as cicada wings, were covered with fine, blood-red patterns. It had no legs, and its entire body resembled a bloodstain, blending perfectly into the shadows.

Blood cicada.

The Blood Shadow Guard's unique tracking artifact. Once attached, it cannot be shaken off or severed. Unless the caster is killed, or you and your shadow are destroyed together.

This blood cicada is like a mobile beacon. It is continuously reporting its location to the surrounding Blood Shadow Guard members at a specific frequency.

The net is tightening.

Countless figures had already lurked around the Demon Suppression Division. They were slowly converging on the beacon from all directions.

Zhou Yang smiled.

He wasn't laughing at the enemy, but at his own damned luck. Every time he returned, this kind of welcoming ceremony was indispensable.

He suddenly stopped.

He turned around and glanced into the dark corner. It was a perfectly normal action, as if he were checking to see if anyone was following him.

That one glance was full of flaws.

A martial arts master, if truly wanting to shake off being followed, would never resort to such a blatant attempt to conceal their identity.

After making this move, Zhou Yang's expression "changed".

He seemed to sense something, a hint of panic flashing in his eyes. Without further hesitation, he took off running. His movements were swift, but to a true expert, they appeared chaotic and disheveled.

He fled in panic, like a rabbit spotted by a hunter.

He ran not towards the city gate, nor towards any crowded area.

It's in the west of the city.

There stood an abandoned prince's mansion. A prince from the previous dynasty had committed a crime and his entire family was executed. The mansion was left in ruins. The buildings there were intricate and complex, the courtyards and rockeries were dilapidated, and it was a notorious deserted area in the capital.

It is the best hunting ground, and also the best grave.

That sticky gaze seemed to sense his "panic." The buzzing frequency of the blood cicadas even seemed to increase slightly.

The pursuers behind us must have already made their move.

Zhou Yang sprinted ahead. His speed varied, sometimes fast, sometimes slow. Sometimes he would stumble, sometimes he would bump into street stalls. He portrayed himself as a timid young man with decent martial arts skills but no experience in the martial world.

His inner energy surged wildly within his body, a state he had deliberately simulated. In this state, the signals transmitted back by the Blood Cicada would also appear chaotic and disordered.

He plunged headlong into the west of the city.

The streets here are narrow and winding. Most of the houses on both sides have peeling paint, revealing the blue bricks underneath. The air is filled with the smell of decay and dampness.

Zhou Yang didn't care about any of this.

His figure darted through the alleyways like a nimble cat. With each turn, he memorized the terrain behind him. He knew exactly where the corner was, where the low wall stood, where the dried-up ancient well lay…

These will all be his weapons later.

Finally, he stopped.

He stood beneath a massive archway. The plaque on the archway was nowhere to be found; only two ferocious stone lions remained, silently staring at him in the night.

We've arrived at the Prince's Mansion.

He didn't go in immediately.

He bent over, hands on his knees, panting heavily. Sweat streamed down his forehead and dripped to the ground. His chest heaved violently; he looked utterly exhausted.

His shadow trembled slightly on the ground with his panting. The blood cicada remained quietly in the shadow, like an evil birthmark.

Zhou Yang, panting, looked up and surveyed the lifeless mansion before him.

The dark, imposing gate stood wide open, like the mouth of a giant beast. The brass rings on the gate were long since rusted. The stone steps leading to the gate were covered with moss.

The wind blew out from inside, carrying a musty smell.

It was very quiet around him, so quiet that he could only hear his own heartbeat.

But he knew that this stillness was just an illusion.

At least a dozen pairs of eyes were cast upon them from the shadows all around. Those eyes were greedy and cruel, like a pack of wolves eyeing the fat sheep that had already entered their trap.

They did not act immediately.

This is the Blood Shadow Guard's habit. They will patiently wait for the moment their prey is most relaxed, then deliver the fatal blow.

Zhou Yang straightened up.

The panic on his face had vanished, replaced by an eerie calm.

He dusted himself off and straightened his collar.

Then, he made a move that surprised all the people secretly watching.

He did not rush into the depths of the palace to find a hiding place.

Instead, he turned around and leaned against the stone lion beside the gate. He took out a pipe from his pocket, slowly packed some tobacco, lit it with a tinderbox, and started puffing away.

White smoke billowed from his mouth, swirling around his face and making his already blurred expression even more indistinct.

He seemed to be waiting for someone here.

Or perhaps he's waiting for his "guests" to come to him on their own.

He looked down at his elongated shadow at his feet.

The blood cicada in the shadows seemed to sense its master's composure, and emitted a barely perceptible restlessness.

Zhou Yang smiled.

He raised his hand and pinched the pipe between two fingers.

With his other hand, he gently stroked the black iron ring on his finger.

The ring was cold and hard to the touch.

Inside, there was the grand gift he had prepared for the Grand Preceptor.

Since the guests are almost here, it's time to set out the banquet.