Era of Magic and Martial Arts Chapter 229 - 213: Dog

My parents nad Xiang Ergou, and I don’t like the na.

Because I heard the boss tell , dogs walk a thousand miles to eat shit, wolves walk a thousand miles to eat at.

So I changed my na to Lang.

The boss praised my ambition and asked if I wanted to collect debts for the company, and I agreed.

In one month, in just one month, I collected 17 debts for the company, three of which were bad debts that others couldn’t recover.

Since then, no one called by my na anymore; everyone respectfully called "Brother Lang."

I moved out of the rundown shack where my dad had died and into a big house.

The house was one that a debtor handed over to the company to settle a debt, recovered by , along with the corpse of a man and a dying woman.

Debt collection, wall building, it was the most work I did for the boss, and I got a lot of money, found a lot of joy.

That ti was the happiest ti of my life; I thought I found the aning of life.

Until one day, as usual, I went to collect a debt for the boss. The debtor was a sick old man, looking like he was on the brink of death.

No matter how I pressured him, he refused to pay. I smashed his limbs one by one and built them into the wall, but he only scread in pain and refused .

I didn’t understand how his bones could be so hard, so I shattered all the bones in his body and built them into the wall.

That was my first failure in debt collection, as if so kind of destiny was warning , and a series of misfortunes occurred.

The boss went wrong practicing martial arts and warped into a terrifying monster, killing anyone inside the company.

Then, people from the Arresting Bureau surrounded the company. Their leader was an incredibly ruthless woman, who with one kick, like a scorpion’s sting, blew the boss’s head apart and crushed a wall.

A pile of mangled corpses rolled out from the wall, and the sight in that mont was unbelievably beautiful.

I was locked up in prison, initially sentenced to death, but I made a deal with the judge using a house under my na, and I was put into the Second Prison, becoming a minor offender.

At first it was fine; the prison provided food and shelter, and I beca the prison leader.

However, the good tis didn’t last long; the managent of the prison gradually beca harsh, starting to charge us for food and accommodation, requiring us to pay weekly.

The prisoners naturally refused, causing several riots, and the corridors were washed with blood repeatedly, but couldn’t be cleaned.

Then, a construction team entered the prison, renovating the entire place; the walls were freshly painted white, corridors filled with caras, isolation doors set up between different prison zones, layer upon layer of door security.

Moreover, a crematorium was built inside the prison; for a ti, the cremator ran in continuous operation every day.

I moved bodies to the crematorium a few tis; judging by my years of wall-building experience, I noticed the wall behind the cremator was exceptionally sturdy.

I suspected there was an unspeakable secret hidden inside that wall, but I never told anyone; it was a secret buried deep in my heart.

After that, it didn’t take long for the inmates to not dare refuse to pay.

But after paying the al fees, the quality of food in the prison plumted, every al was sticky mush.

Like pig feed, tasteless, and after eating it, the body’s energy beca unbelievably sluggish, as if the bones were weighed down with heavy shackles, making it hard to resist when the prison guards swung down their electric batons.

I knew what the prison’s agenda was, but facing the gaping gun barrels on the high walls, I was powerless and could only submit to eating that sticky mush.

Because not eating would truly lead to starvation.

That day, I felt like I was eating shit, and I realized that I turned from a wolf back into a dog.

Days passed one by one, and when there were only three months left until my release, the prison replaced the warden, who ca up with an odd [bottom elimination system].

On the sa day, those prison guards went crazy, swinging their electric batons, rcilessly killing an inmate who couldn’t pay enough money right in front of .

I watched those bloodthirsty prison guards; their silhouettes flashed in my mind, just like the crazed version of previously.

But now, I had beco the one being collected from.

But it didn’t matter; I still had money outside, enough to last the remaining three months and enough left over for to rebuild and rise again after I get out.

By then, I could start my own mortgage company, be my own boss, using the advanced debt collection techniques I learned from Second Prison, to crush competitors outside, then step by step make the company bigger and stronger.

Just as I was planning and envisioning the beautiful future after release, two night-shift prison guards interrupted my dream, slick-tongued convincing my foolish, poor cellmates.

Refuse to pay?

What a joke?

If a debt collector can’t collect money, then they can only collect lives!

I dared not play stupid or dumb right on the brink of freedom, using my own bones to clash against electric batons.

But I still pretended to agree with those two prison guards because my cellmates, each one of them, had been riled up by that newly arrived, supposedly kind prison guard.

Although he often wore a gentle smile and spoke civilized and reasonably, I could feel the terrifying malice hidden behind that smile.

The way he looked at us was as if examining toys, the hidden coldness and cruelty even more creepy than when I walled those people inside the walls back then.

After all, my original intention was simply to get their money, whereas this prison guard nad Feng Mu only wanted our lives. No, not right, he wanted to sell our lives for a good price.

I wouldn’t fall for his trap.

So, during the day, when the debt collecting prison guards, face filled with viciousness, swung the electric batons, knocked three inmates to the ground, lying in pools of blood.

And then raised the baton again, sneered as he approached ; at the mont the baton ca down, I imdiately went down on all fours, like a dog, revealing a fearful yet fawning face.

I just lightly took a hit, but I scread more heartbreakingly than anyone.

The prison guards laughed heartily, and I cracked a smile, taking the phone handed to by the prison guards, contacting the woman outside I had tad like a dog, who in accordance with my instructions, transferred the money in full to the account provided by the prison guards.

My submission spread like an invisible pressure to every prisoner’s heart, and they all lost the courage to resist, submissively handing over double the usual money.

I looked at their mourning expressions, glaring daggers at , daring not speak or act against .

I disdainfully pursed my lips, and after the guards left, said to them:

"Why are you looking at like that, are you truly stupid enough to think you could fight against the electric baton with your bones? I’m saving your lives here, damn it."

At this mont, I truly felt like I saved them, at least saved them for a week.

Moreover, after living for thirty-three years, I suddenly realized sothing like waking up from a dream:

Wolves walk a thousand miles eating at but will be beaten to death; dogs walk a thousand miles eating shit but can live forever.

So, what’s wrong with being a dog? Only a fool would go crazy and want to be a wolf, pfft— how stupid.

Indeed.

The na my parents gave is not bad; I like my na.

My na is Xiang Ergou, dog’s dog!