Chapter 953: My Experiences Have Grown Even Richer

When wearing the uniform prison garb, holding bedding and small yellow basins for washing, Wang Yan found the scene somewhat amusing—but when he learned he’d be spending over four years here, he found it utterly boring.

As he entered the cell and began making his bed, he spent those few minutes recalling his thousand-year life. Though he’d been a major thug many times, he’d only been imprisoned once—that was back when he first received the Living Father’s favor, during his time in the World of Infiltrator, which now felt truly a millennium ago.

He’d already seen Liu Liangti sitting there reading, and of course he’d long noticed Zheng Qiudong, who’d come with him. Perhaps the Living Father wanted to give him a chance to interact with the protagonist, or perhaps the Living Father thought he’d been living too comfortably and wanted him to reflect deeply on his thousand-year past in this place suited for introspection.

No matter the reason, he was in.

It really was a novel experience—he’d never been imprisoned in China before; his useless life experiences had grown once more…

“Brother, what’d you do to end up here?”

As Wang Yan was organizing his things, someone beside him asked curiously. This question was an ordinary greeting here—everyone was locked up, so everyone wondered who had committed the worse crime, who had done something weirder. It was like on a long-distance train, where people naturally chatted about where they boarded and where they were headed.

Zheng Qiudong’s mood was terrible; he acted as if he hadn’t heard, ignoring the question entirely.

Wang Yan turned his head, smiled, and replied: “I beat someone up bad.”

The man was of average height, over one meter seventy, fairly strong, with a uniform buzz cut and several scars on his scalp. He had a naturally menacing look, clearly not someone to mess with—especially here, where his menace was amplified. Anyone with ordinary courage would already be trembling.

Just like Zheng Qiudong—he looked calm, but inside he was definitely rattled. Though Zheng Qiudong was a repeat offender, he’d heard plenty of prison legends.

Those stories may have been a mix of fact and fiction, especially those from last century—many exaggerated, yet still rooted in truth. But today, in the new century, regulations have been refined, supervision has been intensified, and legal reforms have been continuously evolving. No matter how violent a man was, once inside, he had to submit to the iron fist of state power.

“How many years?”

“Five and a half.”

“Whoa, you really went hard.”

“Not bad. How about you?”

“Involuntary manslaughter. Six years and ten months.” The man grinned easily, speaking as if it were nothing.

But Wang Yan’s words killed his smile, turning his face sour: “The guy’s dead, and you’re still grinning? I don’t think this was involuntary—you’re guilty of murder, and you’ve got zero remorse? Are you trying to scare me?”

The man stepped forward a few paces, squinted, and unleashed the oppressive aura of a man who’d taken a life.

Without a word, Wang Yan grabbed his throat, lifted him up, and slammed him against the iron frame of the top bunk, then punched his stomach—once, twice, steadily, neither too hard nor too light.

After half a minute, the man’s kicking legs lost all strength. Wang Yan finally released him, dropping him to the floor.

The eight-man cell fell utterly silent. Everyone stared at Wang Yan like he was a monster, and at the once-feared inmate now lying like a dead dog, gasping for breath.

“This time I’ll let it go—we’re all strangers. Next time someone tries to show off for no reason, I can’t exactly commit involuntary manslaughter again, but I can definitely amplify the spirit of reform and send you out on medical parole to breathe some free air.”

“It was all a misunderstanding—we just met. What grudge could we possibly have?” The others spoke politely, cautiously.

Wang Yan nodded, satisfied, ignored them, finished making his bed, and lay back with his arms behind his head, glancing at Liu Liangti, who had remained utterly still, quietly reading since the beginning.

“I just lifted him up and nearly choked him to death—they were all terrified. But you’re calm.”

Liu Liangti looked up, adjusted his glasses, and offered a harmless smile—his eyes vanished in mirth. “I could tell right away you’re not the type to harm the innocent. I haven’t provoked you, haven’t even spoken to you—why would you waste energy on me? If you really wanted to kill him, that’d be pointless—no benefit, only harm. You wouldn’t do that.”

“How’d you end up here?”

“Sorry—intentional homicide. Life sentence.”

“Hey, hear that?” Wang Yan shouted to the still-groaning show-off beside him, “Even the guy who committed intentional murder didn’t grin like you.”

“Yes, yes, I’m wrong, I’m wrong!” The man was terrified—being lifted and nearly strangled was no fun.

He’d never truly intended to challenge Wang Yan—just wanted to put on a show, scare him a bit. But he hadn’t expected Wang Yan to be so brutal, so decisive—no warning, just immediate action. He had zero ability to resist—it was utterly hopeless.

Wang Yan had acted to establish dominance—to make a strong first impression and avoid countless future troubles. Everyone here was a criminal, everyone had a temper. Gathered together, conflicts were inevitable—even if he didn’t start trouble now, chaos would arise later.

By acting now, at the start, he ensured that in future interactions, no one would joke with him, no one would raise their voice at him—except, of course, the guards.

Compared to waiting for trouble to emerge later, initiating it now was the wisest choice.

“I’m Wang Yan. What’s your name?”

“Liu Liangti. A few years older than you—call me Old Liu if you like.”

Wang Yan nodded, then kicked the upper bunk’s mattress: “What’s your story?”

His posture was no less arrogant than the man he’d beaten—perhaps even more so. But clearly, he was the strong one. Even if others thought he was showing off, they’d wisely keep it to themselves—and when discussing him, they’d speak with care.

Above him was Zheng Qiudong, lying stiffly like Wang Yan, but unlike him, Zheng Qiudong might have been reflecting—or regretting.

Though displeased, Zheng Qiudong still answered: “Pyramid scheme. I was a lecturer. Five and a half years. What about you? What’d you do to get such a long sentence?”

“Not too serious—broke five limbs, cranial injury, spinal damage. Now he’s mentally sluggish, walks stiffly, can’t perform sexually, can’t work—just being able to take care of himself is a win.”

“Only five and a half years for that?”

“I pleaded guilty and accepted punishment. Besides, the other guy started it—I just went too far. It didn’t qualify as excessive self-defense, so they charged me with intentional injury. Add in my cooperation and mitigating factors, and they gave me five and a half. But I paid a fortune—went bankrupt—and lost five precious years. It’s pretty tragic.”

“What was it over?” Liu Liangti asked, curious.

He wasn’t naturally talkative—he just sensed Wang Yan was approachable, not a madman who’d attack anyone. So he dared to ask. More importantly, he knew he had to respond—someone had to keep the conversation going. Others were too afraid. He couldn’t read Wang Yan, but he understood the situation.

“It was minor—just driving. He was crawling ahead, I wanted to overtake, honked for him to speed up and move over. He got mad, kept cutting me off. Back and forth four or five times—I lost my temper, floored the gas and rammed his rear bumper into the roadside. Then he stormed out, tall and fat, covered in tattoos, looking scary, with a pretty young girl beside him.”

“He shoved me, swore at me. I thought I’d just let it go—but he wouldn’t stop. Shoved me again, then tried to punch me. So I fought back right there, sent him to the hospital, and the cops arrested me on the spot.”

“That was indeed excessive. But brother, you were too reckless. A little thing like that—just let him go. Why make it so big? He’ll spend the rest of his life on medicine, and you’ve lost money and time—it’s not worth it.”

“Doesn’t matter. I did it. When I hit him, it felt great. Now I’m sentenced—wondering if it was worth it? That’s pointless.”

“You’ve got depth.”

Wang Yan shook his head and smiled: “You committed intentional homicide. Do you think it was worth it?”

Liu Liangti laughed—laughing at his own nosiness, laughing at the absurdity of their conversation.

Liu Liangti’s words carried meaning—he assumed only he understood them, unaware that Wang Yan understood too, since he’d watched the original plot.

In the original drama, after Zheng Qiudong was released, he helped Liu Liangti—buying a house, purchasing a grave, arranging for his parents’ burial. At that time, Zheng Qiudong spoke with Liu Liangti’s friend—who was actually Liu Liangti’s ex-wife, the woman he’d married after divorcing his first wife.

Liu Liangti’s daughter had terminal cancer and needed a transplant. Liu Liangti had already divorced his wife; both had new partners and happy lives. But to save his daughter, Liu Liangti wanted to conceive another child with his ex-wife. Since his ex-wife was beautiful and had many suitors, he eliminated one of them. At the time, his ex-wife was pregnant. To protect the child, Liu Liangti took full blame for the murder.

His “must kill” referred to this. Only by protecting his ex-wife and the unborn child could he secure everything.

It wasn’t the best solution—the law had provisions for pregnant women. If his ex-wife confessed, the child could still be born. Liu Liangti was a top-tier headhunter with excellent income—he could afford to care for the child and pay for treatment.

But he was a man. He was a father. Even divorced, he was still the pillar. Besides, no criminal wants to get caught—his ex-wife was no exception.

In truth, Wang Yan was the more pitiful one.

If he’d truly crippled the man, fine—he could accept it. But now, lying on this prison bed, his thoughts still couldn’t settle. He hadn’t even opened his eyes before he was sentenced in court.

He was truly wronged…

Thus began his fresh prison life.

It was militarized: every activity had a fixed schedule. Workdays meant labor; rest days meant ideological study; evenings meant watching the News Broadcast. There was also leisure time. Facilities were complete—cultural and sports activities were provided, and reemployment support was prioritized.

Wang Yan gained quite a bit—he learned embroidery.

To house inmates and avoid wasting human resources, prisons ran businesses—all labor-intensive. Making clothes, shoes, etc.—profits subsidized prison operations and paid inmates small wages. That’s why people always picture prison as sewing machines—because they really do tread them.

Wang Yan of course treaded them too—but he wasn’t just wasting time. After two days, he was promoted. He possessed advanced tailoring and clothing design skills. He negotiated with prison leadership: outsourcing work wouldn’t do—he needed to build his own brand. The prison also needed marketing—to promote virtue, reveal prison life, and build brand recognition.

This served two purposes: profit from prison industry, and political propaganda to guide people toward goodness. Both were achievements for the leadership.

Most importantly, there was zero investment. So the leadership was open-minded—they agreed to a trial run, assigned someone to oversee it, and Wang Yan became the main worker.

Meaning: he no longer treaded sewing machines—but his labor reform became this.

Then came brand registration, opening an online store. Wang Yan personally designed clothes and shoes, targeting the mid-market. He also launched a clothing design course—wrote textbooks, taught classes, trained inmates in new professions.

This was for sustainability—he’d be released eventually. No one stays imprisoned forever, but someone always will. Wang Yan also trained long-term inmates to mentor future ones.

He filmed videos inside the prison, registered an account on the platform, and posted short clips. He recruited other inmates to write literature, scripts, skits—promoting laws and guiding people toward goodness.

In the videos, he subtly advertised the prison’s clothing brand.

After some time, word spread, buzz grew. Then official praise came, amplifying the heat. Traffic flowed to the clothes stitched by inmates—curiosity and herd mentality drove purchases, sales surged, prison finances swelled.

As a result, inmate meals improved slightly. And the prison staff? Their benefits skyrocketed.

So although Wang Yan had no special privileges, his prison life was actually quite comfortable—staff treated him well. All of this he achieved through his own ability—though he mustn’t forget the Living Father’s favor.

Without the Living Father, he wouldn’t have had such rich experiences, such ample time, such a skill set, or the ease he carried everywhere. Thank you, Living Father…

Zheng Qiudong and Liu Liangti had watched Wang Yan’s entire hustle—truly incredible.

“Brother Yan is amazing! Truly awesome!”

In the reading room, watching Wang Yan chat and laugh with others, Zheng Qiudong sighed again—though he’d sighed many times already.

“He has great talent, capable of great things. But he’s carefree, almost playful about life—he may not want greatness. Still, no matter what, he’ll never do poorly.”

“I believe it.”

“You can’t envy him, nor should you. You’re talented too. If you work hard, you won’t do badly either.”

“I don’t even know what to do after.”

“Go into human resources.”

“Human resources?”

…

Zheng Qiudong, as originally destined, followed Liu Liangti’s guidance down this path—studying diligently, taking self-study undergraduate exams, earning certificates.

Zheng Qiudong really was talented—he’d been in pyramid schemes, a senior member. His eloquence, his shamelessness—those were keys to success. He’d do well at anything.

One day, Wang Yan lay on his bed, flipping through a book, watching Zheng Qiudong scribbling beside him. “Qiudong, what’ve you been busy with lately?”

“Studying with Master Liu, getting certificates—can reduce sentence, or at least learn skills and kill time.”

“Old Liu, what’re you teaching? Don’t hold back—tell me.”

“Human resources. I used to be a headhunter—you’ve heard of it?”

“I know.” Wang Yan nodded. “Should I get some certificates too? But what’s the point? After release, employers want a clean criminal record—no certificate I have will help.”

“Learning more skills never hurts. I suggest you learn too—even if you don’t use them for sentence reduction, like Qiudong said, it kills time.”

Liu Liangti smiled warmly. They’d spent enough time together, day and night—Liu Liangti and Zheng Qiudong were now close friends with Wang Yan.

“True enough. Everything’s on track now—I’ve even gotten into embroidery out of boredom.” Wang Yan stretched lazily. “Alright, I’ll learn too. Old Liu, tell me what’s worth studying.”

…

Then Zheng Qiudong witnessed what true terror looked like—and Liu Liangti fell silent. He admitted the world had geniuses—even he was one—but he never imagined Wang Yan could be this ruthless in certification.