While the new protagonist brimd with confidence, already envisioning wealth, influence, and plotting his first pot of gold. Our other protagonist within the prison walls simred in irritation so dense it bordered on violence.
The iron door creaked open.
A dented tal tray slid across the floor and stopped at Ye Chen’s feet.
He stared down at it.
A cloying stench rose instantly—sour, greasy, rotten. It was a kind of sll that made the stomach twist even before the mind could process it.
"This thing... is it even ant for humans to eat?"
Ye Chen slowly lifted his head and stared at the al-delivery inmate with killing intent.
The inmate assigned to food delivery froze.
The mont their eyes t, an invisible pressure crashed down on him. It felt as though a wild beast had locked onto his throat. His instincts scread danger. His body reacted before his mind could catch up, and he staggered back two steps, nearly losing his balance.
Only after retreating did he realise what he’d done.
Humiliation surged through him, quickly followed by anger. His face flushed red as he forced himself straight.
"The hell are you glaring at for?!" he barked, raising his voice to drown out his pounding heart. "If you’ve got a problem, take it up with the kitchen! I just delivered the damn food!"
The words echoed off the concrete walls.
Ye Chen didn’t move.
For a brief mont, the temperature in the corridor seed to drop.
Then Ye Chen exhaled slowly.
Yes, he was angry. Angry enough to snap soone’s neck without blinking. But anger alone didn’t make one stupid.
The man was right. There was no point venting his rage on a nobody.
"What about the others?" Ye Chen asked, his tone returning to calm indifference. "Why were they called to the ss hall while I have to eat here?"
The inmate hesitated.
He glanced at the tray again, swallowing hard. Just carrying it over had made him gag more than once. Even now, the stench lingered in his nostrils, refusing to fade.
His earlier bravado evaporated.
"Well... apparently..." He licked his lips nervously. "These are the chief jailer’s orders."
Ye Chen’s eyes darkened.
"That man..."
A short, thin figure surfaced in his mind. Those narrow shoulders, calculating eyes, and a hypocritical smile. That weak guy, whom he could kill with one hand.
Zhou Kang.
The mory of their previous encounter replayed itself as his eyes narrowed.
’There’s sothing deeply wrong with him.’
After seeing Ye Chen fall silent, the inmate wasted no ti. He backed away, then turned and practically fled down the corridor.
As he left, his thoughts raced.
’This guy is crazy. Completely crazy. I should stay as far away as possible... Maybe those rumours are true. He really is a psycho killer.’
---
At the sa ti, in the prison ss hall—
tal trays clanged. Wooden benches scraped against the floor. Inmates queued up, collected their als, and dispersed to various tables scattered across the hall.
Only one table remained untouched.
The large centre table stood empty, forming a silent vacuum in the room.
As if avoiding a plague. It wasn’t because of disgust, but rather fear.
Soon, a group of n entered the hall together.
Their footsteps were unhurried and heavy. Muscles bulged beneath those worn prison uniforms. Tattoos and scars crawled across their arms, necks, and even faces. As permanent symbols of blood, gangs, and violence, adorning their skin.
With their arrival, the conversation inside the ss died down instantly.
So inmates lowered their heads. Others stiffened, pretending to focus on their food. None dared et their eyes.
Laughter erupted almost imdiately.
"—I shoved the gun right into his face," one man boasted loudly, leaning back with a grin. "That coward was so scared he pissed himself on the spot. Begged not to touch his wife."
Another inmate laughed. "So? You let him go?"
"Let him go?" The man snorted. "I made him watch screw his newlywed wife all night. He was crying, shaking, still hearing his wife moaning under ."
"Hahaha!"
Roars of laughter followed.
"What happened after?"
"I shot him the next morning. Would’ve gotten away clean too, if the neighbour hadn’t called the cops."
"Damn, brother. That’s cold."
"Cold?" a third man chid in proudly. "Back in my day, I ran a whole street. Drugs, extortion, protection money—na it, anything I have not done."
Their voices were loud, crude, and unrestrained. Yet despite the noise, an observant eye would notice sothing strange.
At the core of the group stood a man who hadn’t spoken once.
He walked quietly with a faint smile on his face, lost in thought. As if the chaos around him were nothing more than background noise.
The others unconsciously leaned toward him.
"Brother Du," the loudest man finally said, his grin widening. "You’ve been quiet. "Why don’t you tell us about things you did in the past?"
The man lifted his gaze.
His eyes were deep and steady—like still water hiding an abyss.
"I tore a man apart with my bare hands," he said lightly. "Does that count?"
Silence slamd down in the group’s shatter.
The man who asked felt his throat go dry.
Before he could respond, a guard approached.
The group’s gazes sharpened instantly, turning predatory and hostile.
Yet the guard showed no fear. His expression remained neutral as he stopped beside the silent man.
"Prisoner Du Wuchen," he said, producing a folded note. "This is for you."
Du Wuchen raised an eyebrow.
He accepted the note without a word.
Around them, nearby inmates noticed the guards’ actions. So whispers stirred, but curiosity died before it could bloom.
No one wanted attention from that group, making their days ahead worse.
Du Wuchen’s group collected their als and took their seats at the centre table.
Only after sitting down did he unfold the note.
As his eyes scanned the contents, his expression changed subtly.
From initial interest to surprise and then, finally, a faint sneer filled with killing intent.
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