The low-key prince summons trainees from the Imperial Household Department at the start of the game.

After Lu Changfeng left, the lights in Mohenxuan stayed on all night.

The oil lamp cast the shadows of the three people onto the mottled earthen wall.

The candlelight flickered and swayed slightly, like three swords sheathed in their sheaths trembling gently.

A map of the capital city lay open on the table, Nie Zheng's finger pointing from Willow Lane.

It slowly passed the Beggars' Sect branch in the south of the city, the Tongzhou Wharf in the west, the Heshengyuan headquarters in the east, and the Qianjin Pharmacy in the north, finally stopping at the Imperial Palace in the very center of Qipan Street.

These positions are like chess pieces in His Highness's hands, dense as a spider web, covering every inch of the capital's fabric.

And their Mohenxuan is the newest thread on this internet.

But it's not the last thread, but the most hidden one.

It lies hidden beneath all other threads, never revealing itself until the very moment it strikes.

Jing Ke flicked his fingertip across the map, his gaze fixed on the direction of Tongzhou Wharf: "Lu Changfeng said His Highness wants us to integrate into the martial world."

"Among the martial arts forces in the capital, the Canal Gang is the oldest, the Sea Sand Gang is the richest, and the remaining small fry of the Bamboo Gang after it was crippled can't cause any trouble."

He placed the wine gourd next to the map. "The training of assassins must start with people. What Your Highness wants is not a one-off deal, but a dark network that can be passed down from generation to generation."

"people."

Nie Zheng looked up from the map. "Crown Prince Dan spent three years searching for a dagger for Jing Ke, and it was coated with a hundred poisons. Your Highness has given us the knife, but we will find the hand to wield it ourselves."

Zhuan Zhu walked to the corner of the wall, lifted the half-person-high wooden box, and took out his fish-gut dagger from under the burlap.

Under the oil lamp, the dagger did not reflect light; it was dark and absorbed the light, like a frozen piece of night.

He held the dagger with his one arm and gently turned it, the tip drawing a tiny arc in the air before retracting it into his sleeve. The movement was fluid and without any unnecessary movements.

Jing Ke asked him where he was going, and he said the dock.

He asked Jing Ke where he was going, and Jing Ke replied that it was a tavern or gambling den.

After saying that, he grabbed the wine gourd on the table, hung it around his waist, and strode out the door.

Nie Zheng did not move.

He sat back down at his desk and picked up the carving knife, its blade gleaming coldly under the lamplight.

Then he lowered his head and continued carving the half-finished book block, his carving knife penetrating the wood with precision, each stroke as accurate as measuring a person's bones.

Two days later, at dusk, Jing Ke, wearing cloth shoes, walked into an underground gambling den in the south of the city.

As soon as the curtain was lifted, a strong smell of cigarettes, alcohol, and sweat hit me.

The shirtless gamblers were playing Pai Gow around a few broken tables, and no one noticed the unfamiliar face at the door.

He would squat in the corner for most of the hour, his wine gourd resting on his lap, his drunken eyes glazing at everyone who came in and out.

The casino staff assumed he was a drunkard trying to freeload off the heating and didn't bother to kick him out.

But he wasn't looking at the gambling table; he was looking at the people.

The young man in the corner, who had lost all his money and was being dragged out by the gambling den's thugs, had despair in his eyes.

The beggar squatting at the door had only seven fingers left out of ten, but his eyes kept glancing at a few people at the gambling table, his eyes filled with hatred.

Across the street, a ragged boy stood in front of the pawnshop, staring intently at the bundle on the counter, his eyes filled with resentment.

Jing Ke rolled the wine gourd near the child's feet.

The child instinctively bent down to pick it up, and when he straightened up, he had half a sesame seed cake in his hand.

Jing Ke had already walked up to him, looked down at him, and asked with a smile, "Have you been hungry for several days?"

The child took a bite of the sesame seed cake, his eyes slowly shifting from wary to numb, and said, "Five days."

Meanwhile, Zhuan Zhu sat on an old wooden boat by the Tongzhou Wharf, holding a fishing rod in his hand, the fishing line dangling in the murky river water, his one arm as steady as a rock.

The dockworkers' association had already found out his background. After listening to them, Zhuan Zhu simply nodded, put away his fishing rod, and carried his empty fish basket toward the alley at the west end of the dock.

There was a porter in the alley whose leg had been broken by the canal gang.

It is said that he was beaten to death with an iron bar for refusing to pay protection money and was left to lie on a broken wooden board to die.

No one dared to approach. Even the workers' association advised Zhuan Zhu not to go, saying that the man had a fierce temper and would bite anyone who got close.

Zhuan Zhu didn't say anything, but took out a paper package from his pocket, inside which were two freshly grilled fish.

When he entered the dilapidated shack that let in drafts from all sides, the man was using his only movable hand to grab a piece of broken tile from the ground and throw it at him.

Zhuan Zhu turned his head to avoid him, bent down and placed the oil paper package within his reach, then sat cross-legged on the muddy ground opposite him, resting his single arm on his knee, without saying a word.

After a long time, the man finally grabbed the oil paper package and wolfed down the two fish. Then he looked up at Zhuan Zhu and said that they had broken his leg and asked him what he was doing there.

Zhuan Zhu's voice was hoarse but steady: "I am also a cripple, but my hands can still hold a knife, and so can yours."

At midnight, Nie Zheng sat on the stone steps in the backyard of Mohenxuan, wiping the blade of his sword by the moonlight.

The sword blade did not reflect the moonlight; it was dark and absorbed the light.

Jing Ke climbed over the wall, his clothes reeking of wine and crumbs of sesame cakes, and told him about the whereabouts of the two promising young men he had selected that evening.

Zhuan Zhu came in through the back door, bringing back a man who was a whole head taller than him.

The man, leaning on two broken wooden sticks as crutches, with filthy rags wrapped around his knees, stood trembling in the courtyard of the Mohenxuan backyard.

Nie Zheng sheathed his sword and stood up.

The moonlight in the courtyard was cut into a narrow white ribbon by the high wall, dividing his face into light and shadow.

He looked at the three people in front of him.

One lost a bet, one fainted from hunger, and one was crippled.

He asked them what their names were.

The one who lost the bet mumbled that his name was Ajiu, while the one Zhuan Zhu brought back said that everyone called him Que San (Crippled Three).

Nie Zheng interrupted the boy before he could speak.

From today onwards, you will have no names. Your former identities will return to dust. You will have new names after you stay at Mohenxuan.

He asked them if they were afraid of killing people in the future. Ah Jiu clenched his fists and then relaxed them, then clenched them again, saying that he had been given a second chance at life anyway.

The lame man, leaning on his crutch, hopped forward a step and gritted his teeth, saying, "How can someone like him kill someone?"

But after speaking, he lowered his head and remained silent for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse, and he asked if he could just have a bite to eat.

Nie Zheng looked at the three people.

A gambler, a starving man, and a cripple.

All three of them lived in despair, living like neither humans nor ghosts.

He spoke slowly to them, saying that once they entered this door, they would no longer suffer from hunger and cold, nor would they be left to die in the alley with broken legs.

But from this day forward, their lives are no longer their own.

In the future, you will be a living being or a dead being.

Those who are afraid of death can leave now; we will not stop them.

No one left.

Zhuan Zhu stepped forward, placed his one arm on the shoulder of the lame man, and said that his leg could still be cured, but the bones had to be broken again before being set.

The lame man gritted his teeth and nodded.

Jing Ke leaned against the water vat, holding his wine gourd, and waved it at Ajiu, saying, "Stop gambling and learn something useful from me."

Ajiu's eyes lit up and she asked what he would learn. Jing Ke smiled and said he would learn to steal, pick locks, poison, and play dead.

These are all jobs to save lives.

Nie Zheng did not speak again.

He turned around and sat down again in front of the stone steps. The moonlight cast his shadow on the bluestone slabs, making it very long.

He knew this was just the beginning; these three people were still just three rough stones, unpolished, and whether they could become useful depended on fate.

But the first seeds of reincarnation have already been sown.

As long as one of them can be tempered to a sharp edge, Reincarnation will no longer be just a code name for three people.

It is a net.

A dark web that permeates the entire capital city.

He placed the sword across his lap, its blade gleaming coldly in the moonlight, reflecting a faint smile in his eyes that only he knew.