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

Zhou Yang blew out the fire extinguisher.

Darkness enveloped the cellar, with only a faint light filtering through a sliver of ventilation in the corner. He carried Qin Shuang on his back, his right hand holding a knife, his left supporting her knees. There were thirteen stone steps, each four inches high, covered in slippery moss. He could count them even with his eyes closed.

On the right side of the third step was a loose stone slab. Zhou Yang stepped on it with his toes, and the slab sank half an inch. A soft click came from the base of the wall, and a half-foot-wide gap slid open in the entire blue brick wall, revealing a dark room behind it.

The dark room was small, about two zhang square. The walls were made of rammed earth, and three elm beams stretched across the ceiling, with cobwebs hanging from them. Zhou Yang carried Qin Shuang across the threshold and pressed his hand against a spot on the wall. The blue brick wall slid back into place, fitting perfectly.

He walked to the southwest corner and lifted the straw mat on the ground. Underneath the straw mat was a three-inch-thick wooden board with copper rings along its edges. Zhou Yang grabbed the copper rings and pulled it up, revealing a deeper pit.

This is a safe house.

The pit was eight feet high and twelve feet in circumference. A fist-sized air hole was dug into the north wall, leading to a dry well in the backyard. Three layers of hidden compartments were embedded in the south wall, containing pottery jars, oil paper packages, and water bags. A thick straw mat was laid in the east corner, and on the mat was a blanket whose original color was indistinguishable, with frayed edges at the corners.

Zhou Yang gently placed Qin Shuang on the straw mat. He moved very lightly; the wound on her back had reopened, blood soaking half of her clothes and sticking to her skin. Zhou Yang took out wound medicine from a hidden compartment, removed the cork, and poured the powder onto a clean gauze. He lifted Qin Shuang by the back of her neck, turned her to her side, pressed the gauze against her back wound, wrapped it twice, and tied a slipknot.

The powder irritated her wound, causing Qin Shuang to furrow her brows and groan, but she didn't wake up.

Zhou Yang took out another bottle of Qi-replenishing pills, poured out three, and rolled the brown pills in his palm. He pried open her chin, inserted the pills, took the water pouch, uncorked it, and poured some onto her lips. The water droplets slid into the corner of her mouth, her throat moved, and she swallowed. A few drops of water flowed down her chin, dripping onto the straw mat, leaving dark circular spots.

After he finished doing all that, he went to the hidden compartment to take stock of the supplies.

Five bottles of wound medicine. Seven packs of dry rations. Three bags of water. Two pounds of smoked meat.

Zhou Yang placed two bottles of wound medicine on the right side of the straw mat, within easy reach of her. The dried rations were divided into seven portions, wrapped in oilcloth, and stuffed into a depression on the left side of the mat. The three water pouches, all full and heavy, were hung on wooden nails on the wall.

He took out a bamboo tube and placed it three inches in front of the straw mat. The tube was five inches long and two fingers wide at the opening, with a sinew rope extending from the bottom. The rope was threaded through a crack in the wall and connected to the iron bell of the dry well outside. She pulled the rope, and the bell would ring. He would return when he heard the bell.

With the arrangements complete, Zhou Yang inspected the authorities.

Three caltrops, pointed upwards, were nailed to the outside of the wooden entrance plank. Pushing them aside from the inside was easy, but forcing one in from the outside would surely pierce one's feet. A thin copper bell hung inside the air vent; it would ring softly when the wind passed through and would be struck by someone climbing in. Under the straw mat lay a short crossbow, with a sandalwood base and an iron trigger, already cocked. A silk cord was attached to the trigger, the end of which was tied to her wrist. With a blink of her eye and a flick of her wrist, an arrow would be fired towards the entrance.

He retreated to the entrance and closed the wooden plank. As the plank fell, he nudged it with his hand, making no sound.

The straw mat was put back in place, covering the gaps in the wooden planks.

Zhou Yang climbed the stone steps, and the blue brick wall slid back to its original position. He stepped on the third step, and the base of the wall clicked shut with a locking mechanism. From the outside, it looked like an ordinary wall, even the moss in the cracks between the bricks was intact.

Shouts and shouts came from the front courtyard of the mortuary. Pursuers were searching the side rooms, their footsteps hurried and the sounds of clashing swords ringing out.

Zhou Yang didn't leave immediately. He walked to the corner, where the pile of oil-soaked timber was still there. Several corpses lay among the timber, their bodies bound with earthenware jars, the jar openings' strings tangled together, the main rope dragging on the ground all the way to the cellar entrance.

He took out a tinderbox, but instead of blowing it on, he held it in his hand, his fingertips rubbing the rough paper roll.

hold on.

Zhou Yang turned and walked towards the side room. That was where he usually lived. A bundle stood in the corner, its blue cloth cover patched. He untied the bundle and took out a set of night clothes.

The clothes were made of fine, pure black cloth, with frayed edges on the cuffs and a hidden pocket sewn into the lapel; he had bought them on the black market for thirty taels of silver. Zhou Yang took off his outer robe, changed into his night clothes, tightened his belt, and tucked his trousers into his boots. He then took out a black cloth, covered half his face, leaving only his eyes exposed, and tied the corner of the cloth in a tight knot at the back of his head.

Finally, he dragged an iron box from under the bed, with a brass lock on it. He took out the key and opened it; inside was a mask. The mask was made of tanned cowhide, painted with wrinkles and pockmarks, with holes for the lips. Zhou Yang tucked the mask into his coat, keeping it close to his chest.

Fully equipped, Zhou Yang opened the window.

The night wind swept in, carrying the stench of blood and gunpowder, along with the distant shouts of battle. Firelight shone from the direction of the Demon Suppression Division, and shadowy figures moved about like a swarm of headless flies.

Zhou Yang climbed out of the window and crouched low to move stealthily.

He didn't go through the main gate, but instead went around to the backyard, hugging the wall. There was a pile of firewood at the base of the wall. He pushed the firewood aside, revealing a dog hole, with waist-high weeds outside. Zhou Yang squatted down, crawled out through the dog hole, and his clothes brushed against the earthen wall, getting covered in mud.

There was an old locust tree in the backyard, its trunk hollow and most of its bark peeled away. Zhou Yang climbed the tree and took a cloth bag out of the hollow. Inside the bag were two iron plaques, one engraved with the words "Suppress Demons" and the other blank with a number on the back.

He carefully tucked the iron plate into his pocket and jumped down from the tree trunk.

As he landed, Zhou Yang looked up at the second floor of the mortuary. It was pitch black there, without any lights, and the windows were wide open, like blind eye sockets.

The safe house was well-hidden. The pursuers searched the front yard but couldn't find the cellar entrance. Even if they found the wall, they couldn't break the traps. Even if they broke the traps, there was still a pit under the wooden planks. Even if they found the pit, there were barbed wire and crossbows waiting for them.

She is safe.

Zhou Yang withdrew his gaze and disappeared into the night.

He darted toward the Demon Suppression Division, his footsteps so light that they made only a faint sound on the roof tiles, like an owl gliding across the rooftop.