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

The tapping sound on the roof tiles stopped.

Zhou Yang stood up, the night wind ruffling his wide black robe. Like a night owl with its wings folded, he silently glided down the rooftop and into the shadows of the back alley.

The alley was narrow and cluttered with miscellaneous items. The air reeked of leftover food and rancid water. He paid no heed, simply removing his Blood Shadow Guard uniform. The garment, bearing the scent of blood and power, had now served its purpose. He crumpled it into a ball, stuffed it into a bamboo basket filled with rotten vegetable leaves, and weighed it down with a broken wooden plank.

After doing all this, he pulled out a set of coarse cloth short shirt from his pocket and changed into it. The clothes were gray, faded from washing, and the cuffs were worn. He looked like the most ordinary person from the lowest rung of society in the capital, someone who wouldn't get a second glance on the street.

He walked out of the alley, his steps neither fast nor slow.

The capital city was quieter than usual tonight. The number of patrolling Imperial Guards and the Demon Suppression Bureau had increased by thirty percent. Firelight flashed across the streets, and everyone's face was tense. They were searching for the fugitive Zhou Yang and his "accomplice," Qin Shuang.

Zhou Yang kept his head down, blending into the sparse crowd of pedestrians. An old man selling wontons pushed his cart, the steam rising in the cold night as a puff of white mist. Zhou Yang could even smell the aroma of pork bone soup. He was just passing by.

He turned into another street, more secluded. A pawnshop was still lit. The paint on the character "当" (pawn) on the door was peeling, like a tired eye opening. He stepped forward and knocked on the door knocker three times. Not too hard, not too light.

Footsteps sounded inside. The door opened a crack, and a lean face peeked out. "Pawning it?" the man asked in a hoarse voice.

Zhou Yang remained silent. He took out three small packages wrapped in oil paper from his pocket and handed them over. Each package was a different size, but the weight was about the same.

"Once the goods are delivered to their destinations, the remaining money is yours." Zhou Yang's voice was very low. "One, deliver it to the bookstore opposite the residence of Vice Minister Li of the Ministry of Personnel. One, deliver it to the steamed bun stall in front of the house of the Left Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate. The last one, deliver it to the gardener at the residence of Scholar Liu, the leader of the upright officials in the east of the city."

The lean man paused for a moment. He weighed the package in his hand; it didn't seem to contain gold or silver.

"The price for selling dead people goes up."

"If you're afraid of dying, then don't take the job," Zhou Yang said. "The money is enough for you to buy another street of houses."

The lean man fell silent. He tucked the three packages into his coat, nodded, and closed the door.

Zhou Yang turned around and disappeared back into the darkness.

His expression remained unchanged as he did these things, as if he were simply noting down an expense in an account book. He was investing intelligence and taking risks. His expected return was to completely stir up this stagnant pool.

The study of Li Wenbo, the Vice Minister of the Ministry of Personnel, was brightly lit.

Li Wenbo was a fat man, but he wasn't sleepy at all. His head was bald, and he held a string of prayer beads in his hand, turning them in circles. The tea on the table had gone cold, but he hadn't drunk it. He was waiting for something.

Something that could bring down his political enemies.

He waited a long time. So long that the night watchman outside the window struck the gong twice.

Just as he was about to lose his patience, there was a slight noise outside the door. It wasn't a knock, but something was slipped under the door.

Li Wenbo's breath hitched.

He walked over, bent down, and picked up the oil paper package from the ground. It was very thin. He opened it; inside was not a letter, but a thin account book. The paper was ordinary, but the ink was fresh.

He turned to the first page.

Zhao Quan, the Minister of Revenue, embezzled 300,000 taels of disaster relief funds over three years. The details below clearly record the time, place, people involved, and the banks and banks where the embezzled funds were hidden.

Li Wenbo's hand trembled slightly.

He continued flipping through the pages. Qian De, Vice Minister of Works. He accepted 150,000 taels of silver for cheating in the imperial examinations. Wang Qian, Director of the Military Selection Department of the Ministry of War. He profited 500,000 taels by reselling military equipment…

Each name struck him like a hammer blow to the heart. These were his mortal enemies, powerful figures who had held sway over the court for years. He had wanted to take them down for a long time, but he had never been able to find the axe that could deliver the fatal blow.

Now, the axe has come to us of its own accord.

Fine beads of sweat appeared on Li Wenbo's forehead. He wasn't afraid; he was excited. A bloodthirsty excitement. He closed the ledger, its cover a cool, black hard leather.

He immediately summoned his trusted aides. "Prepare the carriage! We must go to Scholar Liu's residence immediately!"

Tonight, the capital city is destined to be sleepless.

Almost simultaneously, in the study of Chen Zheng, the Left Censor-in-Chief of the Censorate, an identical account book appeared. Chen Zheng, elderly, wore reading glasses and read it word by word. He examined it with extreme care, his fingers lightly tracing the names and numbers.

His wife brought in a bowl of hot ginseng soup. Seeing his pale face, she asked with concern, "Sir, what's wrong?"

Chen Zheng raised his head, and his eyes behind his reading glasses shone with an unprecedented light.

"My dear wife, go get my official robes," he said. "They must be the most formal ones. There'll be a good show to watch after dawn."

Those who kept the records in the ledgers, however, were not so at ease.

In the residence of Qian De, the Vice Minister of Works, a fire suddenly broke out in the small stove in the backyard. A servant rushed in panic to report the fire, but Qian De kicked the servant aside, rushed into the kitchen, and snatched a stack of account books that had just been placed in the brazier. The edges of the account books were already charred black, and he frantically patted out the sparks with his hands, feeling no pain even as his hands were covered in blisters.

He knew that no matter how fast the fire burned, it couldn't outrun someone else's mouth.

Minister of Revenue Zhao Quan was even more direct. Upon receiving the news, he immediately opened the secret room, intending to transfer the silver notes. But he froze as soon as he pried open the bricks of the hidden door.

The dark room was empty.

All the gold, silver, and valuables he had hidden inside—those boxes he considered his lifeblood—were gone. Only a note remained, nailed to a wooden board with a dagger.

The note read: Check water meter.

Zhao Quan's vision went black, and he collapsed to the ground.

It was still dark.

But the entire officialdom of the capital was like a pond tossed with a giant boulder. Undercurrents were surging wildly beneath the surface.

Zhou Yang didn't go back to see the commotion. He returned to the mortuary.

Qin Shuang was still resting, her breathing was steady, and her complexion was better than before. He sat beside her and gently wiped the thin layer of sweat from her forehead with a damp cloth. Her skin was cool, showing the fragility of someone recovering from a long illness.

After he finished doing all that, he went outside and sat down against a locust tree.

He pulled out his pipe from his waist, only to realize he was out of tobacco. He simply put the pipe in his mouth and listlessly chewed on the filter with his teeth.

In the distance, the outline of the capital city slowly became clear in the morning light. Faintly, one could hear the sharp sounds of gongs and carriages rushing along the stone-paved road. His "investment" was beginning to accrue interest.

He didn't need to attend the morning court session to imagine what it would be like.

Li Wenbo, Chen Zheng, and Liu Xueshi, these members of the Qingliu faction, would be like sharks smelling blood, tearing at the accounts with frenzied rage. Those officials caught in the crossfire would struggle desperately, biting each other in turn. The imperial court would become a giant marketplace, noisy, chaotic, and bloody.

The emperor, seated on his dragon throne, watched all of this unfold.

He had to give an explanation. To quell public anger and to uphold royal authority, he would order a thorough investigation. An investigation required people to conduct it, and it needed to be carried out in a specific location.

Zhou Yang spat out the empty pipe from his mouth.

What he was waiting for was this word "check".

Once an investigation begins, forbidden areas in the capital—places normally off-limits to everyone—will be opened up. For example, certain princely mansions and villas connected to corrupt officials. Or, for instance, the "blood pool" beneath the palace where the imperial advisor recuperated.

It's easier to catch fish when the water is murky.

He tucked his pipe back into his belt, stood up, and stretched. His bones cracked slightly. He glanced at Qin Shuang's room in the mortuary.

It's time to prepare a safer place for her.

A safe house that he built himself, a house that no one could break into.

He turned and walked deeper into the mortuary. There lay the things he had laid before: some corpses, some poison, and some... fuses waiting for him to ignite.

A net has been cast, a net that can trap you from heaven and earth.

He was both the one who cast the net and the fisherman waiting to haul it in.

However, what he wanted to collect was not just a few small fish. He also wanted the large, man-eating fish hidden in the deepest part.