Chapter 13

Knocking Zhang Wantong unconscious, Chen Guanlou carried him back to his mistress’s bed, circled the area to ensure safety, then returned home.

Lying in bed, he lay awake for a long time.

He had never interacted with Wan Yuli, never even spoken to him. But their history ran deep: the pit left by his dead father had been seized by Wan Yuli through connections, nearly costing him the iron rice bowl of the Tianlaomiao.

Wan Yuli wanted the position of jail supervisor—no matter what, he couldn’t let him succeed. But where should he start? He was just a lowly jail guard, with no authority to join the struggle or influence the higher-ups’ decisions.

Was he really going to watch helplessly as Wan Yuli succeeded?

If so, how could he ever have peace again?

But…

The situation wasn’t without room for maneuver.

Even the lowest jail supervisor was still an official, entering the bureaucratic hierarchy—even if at the very bottom.

No matter how powerful a jail clerk was, he was still just a clerk; the yamen always had rotating officials but permanent clerks.

For a clerk to cross the class barrier and become a supervisor wasn’t merely difficult—it was rare, almost nonexistent. No official would risk being despised and scorned by his peers to promote a clerk to office. Only if an official had an unshakable patronage, a background so formidable it defied court norms, could such a tradition be broken.

For Wan Yuli to be promoted, he needed influential connections above him; if his background were truly as strong as claimed, he wouldn’t still be a jail clerk—clearly, his connections weren’t as powerful as assumed, and his promotion wouldn’t come easily.

Other jail clerks had connections too—like Xu Fugui, a seasoned veteran who had served at Tianlaomiao for years and surely knew several powerful figures; while he might not outdo Wan Yuli, Chen Guanlou believed Xu Fugui couldn’t win, yet could still sabotage Wan Yuli’s chances.

This was another kind of incompetence that only succeeded in causing failure.

…

Early the next day, Zhang Wantong woke from his stupor; the pain in his chest proved it was real, not a dream. He cursed furiously, vowing revenge, yet trembled with fear, wondering if someone in the Tianlaomiao had tried to kill him.

The kidnappers had shown exclusive interest in Tianlaomiao affairs—clearly targeting the recent supervisor contest. Thus, the men who abducted and interrogated him last night were likely someone inside the prison. He remembered their voice—if they were still in the Tianlaomiao, he’d find that bastard and tear him apart.

Despite his injuries, he dragged himself to work without even considering taking leave to see a physician.

Upon entering, Xu Fugui’s new recruit, Chen Guanlou, greeted him politely—a well-mannered lad, still untouched by the Tianlaomiao’s corrupting influence. Too bad, he was too soft-hearted, showing kindness to prisoners—fool. He’d heard the boy collected martial arts manuals. Hmph. Without a martial vein, collecting manuals was useless. He might even invite disaster.

Young people, so naive!

Next time, I’ll give him a lesson—teach him what the world is really like.

Inside the prison, he met his usual mahjong partners, and they chatted nonsense. He didn’t suspect them—they were too familiar to be his kidnappers.

Yet he already had a suspect: the jail guards of Jia-1 and Jia-2; Wan Yuli had promised him the position of jail clerk, overseeing Jia-1 and Jia-2, which clearly threatened the interests of those guards.

Everyone wanted advancement—not just him.

He wanted to become a jail clerk; others wanted it even more.

He even suspected Wan Yuli had made similar promises to other guards. Perhaps the leak about his involvement came from someone close to Wan Yuli. Otherwise, why would a lowly jail guard like him be singled out?

Fuck.

The more he thought, the more certain he became.

Zhang Wantong spat fiercely, cursing every last man, woman, and child in Jia-1 and Jia-2. As he cursed, he plotted to infiltrate their group and find last night’s kidnapper. Mahjong was the best social tool—he even stole money from his mistress to fund his plan.

At lunch, Lu Datou complained to Chen Guanlou, “That Zhang Wantong is getting worse. Sure, he plays, but he used to at least stay in the duty room. Today, he’s been gone since morning—where do you think he went? He’s crawling into Jia-1 and Jia-2 to lick their asses. Hmph. Him? He wants to transfer to Jia-1 and Jia-2? Look at him—a complete illiterate, can’t even read a single character. How’s he supposed to deal with those official masters?”

Chen Guanlou smiled inwardly—he guessed Zhang Wantong had gone to Jia-1 and Jia-2 because he suspected the kidnappers came from there.

But he was more curious about something else: “When did jail guards need to be literate?”

Fuck, how many scholars would ever come to be jail guards?

Only he—having studied a few years—was willing to hold this iron rice bowl.

Lu Datou picked his teeth, chatting idly: “There used to be no such rule. The guards of Jia, Yi, and Bing were all illiterate brutes, yet they did their jobs fine. No one knows when the rule changed, but rumor says a disgraced official, on his deathbed, left a fatal note. The guards, being illiterate, destroyed it on the spot. Normally, that wouldn’t matter—rules required all written documents to be destroyed. But the problem was, the official’s case was later overturned, and his note resurfaced. That stirred up a hornet’s nest—deadly.

Since then, anyone assigned to Jia-1 and Jia-2 must be literate. Honestly, with your background, you could easily qualify for Jia-1 and Jia-2. But you’re new, ignorant of the rules—if you blunder in, you might get yourself killed.”

“You’re right, Big Head Brother. I still have much to learn—I’ll follow your lead.” Chen Guanlou flattered him appropriately.

“Hahahaha…” Lu Datou loved hearing that. “Jia-1 and Jia-2 aren’t that great. Sure, the pay’s better, but the risks are higher. Those imprisoned officials—they may be down now, but who knows when they’ll be reinstated? This job’s no walk in the park. Better to stay in Bing-1 and Bing-2—free from having to fear offending anyone.”

“Big Head Brother, you’re truly insightful—absolutely right. Of all people, officials are the hardest to please.” Chen Guanlou eagerly poured tea and flattered him.

Lu Datou, warmed by the praise, let his tongue run wild: “Exactly. If it were me, I’d never take Jia-1 and Jia-2—being someone’s grandson, it’s soul-crushing. Plus, these past few years, officials from Jixia Academy keep falling. You know Jixia Academy? That bunch sticks together, dangerous as hell. All of them walk around with their noses in the air, treating us jail guards like dirt. Yet you still have to grovel, afraid that one wrong word—snap!—a sword cuts your throat, and you’ve got no one to appeal to. Isn’t that the truth?”