Chapter 389

"Chen Guanlou is back!"

At the announcement, the men in the office fell silent and turned toward the door.

Chen Guanlou had been drinking tea at a nearby teahouse—he wasn't one for strolling, especially when in a foul mood. He went straight to his usual teahouse to sip tea and listen to storytellers.

The jailer found him. He had no desire to return to the Heavenly Prison, but then he thought: he had caused this mess; he shouldn't drag others down with him. If Lei Yucheng truly lost his mind, he could handle it alone.

Look—he really does have a conscience.

He followed the jailer back to the Heavenly Prison. His ears and eyes were sharp; he heard the commotion in the office and grasped the gist before he let the jailer announce him.

"What are you all doing here? Don't you have work?" he barked at the squad leaders as he entered, "Get out, get out! Don't disturb Master Lei. Whoever offends Master Lei, I'll deal with you later."

He took it upon himself to kick Xiao Jin's stool.

Xiao Jin didn't hesitate a moment—he led the others out of the office without even glancing at Lei Yucheng. He had perfected the role of the loyal dog.

Once he left, the remaining three hesitated half a second, then rose and followed suit.

Lei Yucheng's chest ached with rage. "Chen Guanlou, do you have any respect for me? Did I give them permission to leave?"

"Master, calm yourself. The one you wish to scold is me—why punish those squad leaders? I know you want to humiliate me before them, to damage my authority in their eyes. But there's no need for this."

"I believe it is necessary," Lei Yucheng began to put on airs. Those squad leaders were crude men, ignorant of etiquette, always spouting nonsense—he couldn't maintain his dignity before them. Chen Guanlou understood propriety, valued face—perfect. He must put on a show, and the grander, the better.

Chen Guanlou let out a light laugh. "I overheard a few words of your conversation outside. When Jiang Yucheng died, I'd just entered the Heavenly Prison—I knew nothing. But even then, I knew Jiang Yucheng's death wasn't simple."

"What are you getting at?" Lei Yucheng's heart tightened. What wind was blowing today? Every word spoken was about Jiang Yucheng, that dead ghost. He thought to threaten him with Jiang Yucheng? Dream on. As Yucheng, he must defend his authority—he would never be a rubber stamp.

Chen Guanlou treated the office like his own domain, poured himself tea without asking, then offered some to Lei Yucheng.

Lei Yucheng said no—then realized his mistake. "Chen Guanlou, don't overstep."

Chen Guanlou blew on his scalding tea and murmured, "No one in the Heavenly Prison is safe—except me. My patron holds the highest rank, the greatest power, the noblest status. And crucially, I bear the surname Chen—you're all just men who bought your patrons."

I am a son of the Chen family. I may seem insignificant, but the Hou Fu will never stand idly by while others plot against me. If I die one day, the Hou Fu will avenge me—for their face, for the Chen lineage. So in this entire prison, I am the safest.

No matter what I do—even if I cause several deaths—the Ministry of Justice won't intervene. They'll find ways to cover it up for me. But I never abuse my patron's power. When superiors give me face, I give them face in return. Face is mutual. Precisely because I understand and uphold the rules, they treat me with increasing leniency.

Look—I've shut down the Jia-class cells for days. The Ministry must have known by now. So why hasn't anyone come? Why no reprimand? Master Lei, why do you think?"

Lei Yucheng said nothing, but his face darkened, his eyes clouded with doubt.

Chen Guanlou continued: "Because they know I know my limits—I never push things to the brink. So they wait, watching. But you, Lei Yucheng, couldn't hold back—you jumped out. Do you think they're not laughing at you?"

"You—" Lei Yucheng choked on a mouthful of blood he couldn't spit out. "You're too arrogant!"

"I'm only arrogant within my own domain, with restraint. Why not turn a blind eye? Pretend you don't know. We remain superior and subordinate, getting along peacefully. But you insist on tearing open the window paper—then won't you be terribly embarrassed?" Chen Guanlou sighed repeatedly, as if deeply regretting how strained their relationship had become.

Lei Yucheng's chest throbbed painfully, as if dying. He glared at Chen Guanlou with bloodshot eyes. "Your surname Chen—that's your only strength. Lose that, and you're nothing."

"True. In this prison, among officials and nobles, everyone is nothing without their patron. Master, without your patron, you're a street thug—barely worthy of polishing my shoes. I don't even need to speak—a single glance, and someone will deal with you."

Lei Yucheng clutched his chest. How long had it been since he endured such vicious humiliation?

His demeanor remained courteous, his tone calm—but every word he spoke carried sharp blades, piercing the heart, lethal.

"Scholars truly are extraordinary. I've often heard that a scholar's pen is a knife that can kill. Today I realize: not only the pen, but the tongue can kill too. Chen Guanlou, I've done you no harm. I'm merely doing my duty as Yucheng. Why do you obstruct me?"

Chen Guanlou set down his teacup and sighed. "I never wished to reach this awkward state—it serves no interest of mine. I've always believed in harmony bringing profit, reciprocity. But this time, our views clash—someone must be wounded. I won't be the one hurt. So I must ask you to bear the burden. I hope you'll forgive me."

Listen—listen to his words. The politest phrases, yet killing without blinking.

Lei Yucheng seethed with rage, but his tongue couldn't match his opponent's. What could he do—he'd never studied. He could curse, yes—but his curses were vulgar street slurs, only disgusting the ears, revealing his own coarseness. Compared to Chen Guanlou's words, they were child's play.

What is "killing the heart"?

Chen Guanlou kills the heart.

He can only wound flesh.

At this moment, he deeply regretted never reading more books.

In another setting, if this weren't the office, perhaps he could abandon all dignity and hurl the foulest, crudest curses at Chen Guanlou.

But there were no "what-ifs."

He was in the Heavenly Prison, in the official world—he must maintain dignity. He couldn't let the jailers laugh at him. He couldn't speak like a jailer—he was an official, not a lowly jailer. First, he must distinguish himself in posture, in speech, from the lowly.

He gripped the corner of the desk. "I cannot control you, is that it?"

This was his final, desperate struggle as Yucheng—he would not yield.