Chapter 11

Once you enter Tianlaomiao, you must follow Tianlaomiao’s rules.

Break the rules, and the jailers will make prisoners understand what it means to wish for death over life, what it means to regret ever being born. No need for torture—there are plenty of ways to break a prisoner’s will. Dare not pay, and you’ll taste what hell on earth truly is.

If you have money, pay up quickly. If you don’t, find a way to get it.

Failing to squeeze silver out of prisoners is a jailer’s dereliction of duty.

Why does every new recruit get eight or ten taels in bonus each month, plus other side income? Money doesn’t fall from the sky—prisoners locked in Tianlaomiao are the source of income for every level of the jail, the guarantee of everyone’s pay.

So unless absolutely necessary, jailers don’t want prisoners in the big prison to die.

In just a few days, Master Kongkong finally relented, ate roasted chicken, drank small amounts of liquor, and even had his leg wound treated and bandaged.

The flower-snatcher next door was even more sensible than Master Kongkong—he knew his crimes made people hate him, so from day one he obediently complied with the jailers’ demands: give money when asked, give supplies when demanded, and soon he was living well, drinking and eating meat.

But Tianlaomiao’s prices were too high.

Even a wealthy man like Master Kongkong found it unbearable.

He complained to Chen Guanlou, “Two meals a day, thirty taels per meal—that’s sixty taels a day. Ten days is six hundred taels, a hundred days is six thousand. If I want medicine, I have to pay extra. What the hell, this is no different from robbery. Do you think it’s easy to earn this money?”

After getting familiar with him, Chen Guanlou was happy to chat a bit, “All nonsense. You can choose not to eat.”

“Fuck, if your prison food wasn’t so disgusting, I’d put up with it.”

“At least you’ve got something to eat.”

“Young sir, help me out, will you? I know you charge less than others. Either way, it’s silver going out—better it goes to you than to those heartless, gutless bastards.”

Since receiving Luo Jingtian’s package, Chen Guanlou was now, in his own right, a man of means. He snorted, “Do I look like someone who needs money?”

Everyone locked in Tianlaomiao had their desires stripped down to the bare minimum: survival. If they had money, they sought slightly better conditions—better food. If they had money and connections, their demands grew slightly further: beyond food, they hoped to end their cases quickly and walk out alive.

To live, to live a little better—that was the prisoner’s only demand. To achieve it, most were willing to give up anything except their lives, including wives, children, parents.

“Young sir, don’t think it’s too little! Whatever you want, name it. I only ask for a meal.” Master Kongkong pleaded pitifully.

Chen Guanlou smiled faintly, “Are you sure? I want your cultivation technique. I want your secret manual. Will you give it?”

Master Kongkong’s expression showed surprise. After a moment’s hesitation, he asked cautiously, afraid of offending, his tone solemn yet curious: “You don’t have a martial vein...”

“Whether I have a martial vein is my business. Just say yes or no.”

Master Kongkong looked deeply conflicted.

Chen Guanlou didn’t pressure him—it was a transaction, after all. “Think it over. I’ll give you one honest warning: even if I help you, it’ll be limited. You’re free to treat my words as a joke.”

With that, he continued his patrol of Tianlaomiao.

Two days later, Master Kongkong seemed to have made up his mind and called out to Chen Guanlou again.

“I’m willing to trade. If I give you the manual, I don’t have to pay?”

Chen Guanlou was surprised. “You’d rather give up your manual than pay?” He’d heard martial artists treasured their manuals above all—killing and stealing for them was common.

Master Kongkong grimaced bitterly—he had no choice, no way out! Otherwise, he’d never trade his manual for food, nor would he have hoped to secure protection in exchange.

He spat, “I don’t care if you retaliate—I’ll say it straight: those jailers want to drain me dry, then peel off my skin and break my bones. Even if I had mountains of gold and silver, I couldn’t withstand their exploitation. And I don’t even have mountains of gold and silver.”

I won’t hide it from you: though I’ve committed many crimes and seem to have made a fortune, men like me earn fast and spend faster—no savings at all. Otherwise, I wouldn’t care so much about the silver.

I’m afraid that once they’ve squeezed every last coin from me, those seasoned jailers will kill me. I want to live and walk out alive—better to take your path, Chen young sir. You’re a decent man. You wouldn’t be like them.”

“But I’m just a new recruit.”

“New recruits have their own ways. I trust you, Chen young sir.”

“You trust me? I don’t even trust myself.”

Master Kongkong gritted his teeth, clearly wrestling inside. Then he thought: since he’d already decided to invest in Chen Guanlou, why hesitate? It was all or nothing.

“I trust you!” he declared solemnly, utterly certain.

Now it was Chen Guanlou’s turn to look at him with new respect. “No regrets?”

Master Kongkong spoke with conviction: “Dead men’s cocks point to heaven; live men live ten thousand years. I’m betting on you, Chen young sir—you’re a man of principle.”

Chen Guanlou fell silent for a moment, then said, “I can’t bring you food every day. At most once every eight to ten days. You’ll still have to handle the other jailers in between. Are you still willing?”

Master Kongkong opened his mouth, then realized Chen Guanlou was just as heartless—only comparatively less so than the others.

The words were already spoken. If he backed out now, conditions would only grow harsher. The man might refuse all future deals—and even collude with other jailers to punish him.

Even if he regretted it in his heart, he gritted his teeth and agreed firmly: “Willing!”

“Good! You’ve shown sincerity—I’ll do my best to look out for you. What’s your secret manual called?”

At the mention of his secret manual, Master Kongkong perked up. “Chen young sir, what do you think allows a thief like me to roam the Jianghu?”

Righteousness?

Definitely not.

Reputation?

Even more nonsense.

Chen Guanlou ventured a guess: “Lock-picking and burglary?”

Master Kongkong sneered. “Lock-picking and burglary? That’s for petty thieves. A great thief like me relies on endless transformation—pretend to be a ghost, you look like a ghost; pretend to be a man, you look like a man.”

“You mean disguise art!” Chen Guanlou exclaimed, delighted.

“You’ve got insight, young sir—it’s disguise art. But my version is special—it doesn’t rely on external tools, but on...”

As he spoke, Master Kongkong gave him a shocking demonstration. His facial muscles and bones twisted grotesquely, as if tearing apart—terrifying to behold. In moments, the plain thirty-year-old man transformed into a forty-something peasant, his features and bone structure completely altered.

The change didn’t last long. Master Kongkong returned to his original form, gasping heavily—he was utterly exhausted.

He explained, “Injured now. Not what I used to be.”

“You steal using only disguise art?”

“Others call us ‘gentlemen of the rafters,’ but I never climb roofs. I walk boldly through the front gate into the victim’s home.”

“Even when you broke into the Princess’s mansion?”

“I disguised myself as the mansion’s procurement officer and walked right in through the side gate.” Master Kongkong beamed. No one in his line had reached his level—he was the patriarch of this craft!

“Still got caught,” Chen Guanlou teased.

Master Kongkong’s face stiffened. He dodged, “Bad luck—I ran into the real person and was exposed on the spot.”

“What’s the name of this manual?”

“It’s called ‘Thousand Changes, Ten Thousand Transformations.’ Only if you master the inner cultivation method will you realize its infinite wonders.”

“I want your ‘Thousand Changes, Ten Thousand Transformations.’”