Chapter 22: Only When Beaten Into Submission Do They Learn to Speak Properly

Xu Fugui had many flaws—vain, greedy, cruel, and heartless—but he had one virtue: he listened to advice.

He took Chen Guanlou’s words to heart and decided maintaining the status quo, though it might mean losing some money, carried no risk. In Tianlaomiao, caution was best.

Court politics were unpredictable. In the imperial court, change didn’t take thirty years—three, five, or eight years could bring total upheaval. Today’s prisoner might be tomorrow’s guest at the Son of Heaven’s hall.

The old emperor had reigned forty-five years; his sons had all come of age. The princes grew strong while the emperor grew old, and the court grew ever more chaotic.

Jiang Tu, a petty man, had won the emperor’s favor precisely because the old emperor was paranoid. The emperor no longer trusted his veteran ministers, the noble families, or even his own sons. Even his old comrades-in-arms lost his trust. Instead, Jiang Tu—a man with no background, no connections, a “simple” petty man—won the old emperor’s favor.

The jailers in Tianlaomiao knew none of these inner details, but that didn’t stop them from using their street smarts to judge: the old emperor’s moods grew ever more capricious; caution was better—caution meant longer life.

Xu Fugui encouraged Chen Guanlou: “Old saying: haste makes waste. Little Lou, if I ever get too impatient in my dealings, remind me. Our Bing-Cell block shares glory and ruin together. You don’t want anyone to get hurt, do you?”

“As long as Uncle Xu doesn’t mind me speaking out.”

“I don’t mind, I don’t mind. Hahaha…”

Xu Fugui suppressed his greed and rejected Zhang Wantong’s proposal.

Zhang Wantong was furious.

Learning that Chen Guanlou had whispered poison into Xu Fugui’s ear, he deliberately led his men to block Chen Guanlou in the corridor. The prison cells on both sides stood empty.

This was the deepest part of the prison; apart from the last cell, which held a prisoner, not even a ghost stirred.

Chen Guanlou held his water-and-fire staff, expression cold, watching Zhang Wantong.

“Kid, do you even know the rules?” Ma Zai One shouted first.

“A new recruit dares to ruin everyone’s income? Looking for death?” Ma Zai Two spat fiercely, hand on his waist knife, ready to draw at the slightest provocation.

By rule, all jailers on patrol must surrender their waist knives and carry only water-and-fire staffs—fearing prisoners might seize the knives and cause irreversible consequences.

Now these men, to target him, broke even basic rules—didn’t they fear prisoners snatching their waist knives?

“What did Lu Datou teach you?”

“Kneel! Bow three times to Zhang Tou. For the sake of your dead father, I’ll let you off this time.”

“Kneel!”

“Kneel!”

The gang of Ma Zai screamed at Chen Guanlou, trying to crush his spirit with intimidation. They’d used this tactic on many before—it always worked. Surely it would work again.

Yet, despite their roaring, Chen Guanlou stood motionless.

“Damn it, can’t you understand human speech? Get on your knees!”

“I, Chen Guanlou, kneel only to heaven, earth, and my parents. You? You’re not worthy.”

“Kid, you’ve got a big mouth! You’re asking for death.” Ma Zai Two had drawn his waist knife.

Zhang Wantong raised a hand to stop him, projecting authority as the gang’s leader: “Chen Guanlou, I don’t care what backing you have—whether Pingjiang Marquis’s house is your kin. This time, you’ve angered everyone. Kneel, bow, apologize, and I’ll let it go. Otherwise, what Lu Datou refused to teach you, I’ll teach you myself.”

“Apologize? What have I done wrong?” Chen Guanlou sneered. His heart pounded with tension, but his face showed no fear. He’d trained for so long, yet never fought a real battle—he didn’t know his own strength.

Better to use this chance to test the waters.

If he was outmatched, taking a beating was deserved—he’d accept it!

If not… he’d make Zhang Wantong and his crew understand respect—so they’d avoid him from now on.

“Why waste words with him? Beat him, and he’ll learn what to do—and what not to.”

Zhang Wantong was furious. Chen Guanlou, a mere new recruit, dared to defy him. Then let him suffer.

He grunted, waved his hand—Ma Zai Two lunged first, waist knife swinging at Chen Guanlou.

Clang!

The knife hit the ground; Ma Zai Two fell.

That seemingly fierce slash—Chen Guanlou had braced for battle—but the man’s speed and technique looked as laughable as a three-year-old swinging a club. Chen Guanlou raised his water-and-fire staff, blocked lightly—and with one strike, Ma Zai Two and his knife flew backward.

Chen Guanlou now had confidence.

All those years of training, enduring unimaginable pain—finally, it had purpose.

“What are you all standing there for? Attack together!”

Zhang Wantong roared; seven or eight jailers charged at Chen Guanlou, knives swinging.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

A pack of weaklings—they couldn’t withstand a single strike from Chen Guanlou. They fell one after another, clutching arms and legs, howling in pain.

Only Zhang Wantong remained standing.

Chen Guanlou walked slowly toward him.

Zhang Wantong stepped back, “What are you doing? I warn you—don’t act rashly. I’m a squad leader. If you lay a hand on me, it’s insubordination.”

“Squad Leader Zhang, what nonsense. You challenged me to a martial sparring—I hit you twice with my staff, isn’t that fair?”

“Y-you… let’s talk this over!” Zhang Wantong retreated frantically, panicked. He couldn’t understand—only months had passed, and Chen Guanlou had somehow mastered martial arts from stolen manuals? Unscientific! If martial arts were this easy, everyone would be a master—why suffer as a jailer in Tianlaomiao?

And he was certain Chen Guanlou had no martial vein. They were all ordinary men without martial veins—why was Chen Guanlou progressing so fast? Why could he defeat so many at once?

But the situation left no room for disbelief.

Zhang Wantong, pragmatic and adaptable, surrendered instantly: “I agree. From now on, we stay out of each other’s way.”

Chen Guanlou said nothing, eyes half-lidded—actually weighing his options. Killing was out of the question.

Seeing Chen Guanlou silent, Zhang Wantong thought he was unsatisfied and quickly added: “We’ll pay compensation—twenty taels. No, fifty taels!”

“Done!” Chen Guanlou agreed decisively, ending the matter.

No trouble inside Tianlaomiao.

If Zhang Wantong was foolish enough to provoke him outside, there were plenty of ways to deal with him.

Zhang Wantong sighed in relief and hurried away with his men, as if the confrontation had never happened.

Chen Guanlou watched their backs, sneered—people were always cruel to the weak and fearful of the strong; this truth held everywhere, in every age.

“Kid, come here, let me see you.”

From the deepest end of the corridor behind him, a rough, aged voice suddenly spoke.