Chapter 39

Early in the morning, Chen Guanlou strode into the Jia-class prison with sharp spirits.

All were familiar faces, exchanging greetings with one another.

“Chen Guanlou, come here.”

Wan Yuli suddenly appeared, looking worn and gloomy, and called Chen Guanlou into the office.

“Servant greets Master Wan!”

Chen Guanlou bowed in proper form, playing the part of an inexperienced rookie.

But Wan Yuli stared at him intently.

Just as Chen Guanlou sensed he was about to explode, Wan Yuli spoke: “Since you’re now in the Jia-class prison, work hard. Master Fan has high hopes for you—there’s just been a vacancy for shift leader. You’ll take the position.”

“Me? Shift leader?” Chen Guanlou doubted his ears. Had the swordsman’s threat really worked so well? Or was this man trying to set him on fire?

“There are so many senior officers here—they’re far more suited than I am.”

“They can barely read a few characters. You’ve actually studied. Master Fan said the Jia-class prison needs people like you. Do you object to my decision—or Master Fan’s?” Wan Yuli pressed with authority.

Chen Guanlou quickly denied it. “Master, you misunderstand. I’m just worried the others won’t accept me.”

“Then it’s your problem. Figure out how to earn their respect yourself. Here’s the duty roster. Take it. Follow the schedule exactly. Pay attention—this isn’t the Bing-class prison. Don’t bring that place’s lax habits here.”

Wan Yuli sneered at the Bing-class prison with every word—how much he despised his colleagues! They were all jailers, yet still divided into ranks—how exhausting!

Chen Guanlou took the roster in silence and took his leave from the office.

He first went to the guard room to meet his subordinates—only four men total.

Short man Chen Quan, Liu She. Fat man Qian Fugui, middle-aged greasy sleaze Wu Jin.

This was his team.

They met, introduced themselves.

Chen Guanlou saw at a glance: all four were jailers who just drifted through the days—no desire to manage, no wish to take responsibility, only to slack off.

No sense of duty. No major crimes, but constant minor ones.

He cleared his throat and began his speech.

“You all know, because of the gambling incident, the authorities cracked down hard on the Tianlao. Many were forced—or chose—to leave. Those who stayed must have had something special. Luck is also a kind of strength. I’m that lucky one you’ve all heard about—transferred from the Bing-class prison to the Jia-class prison to be your shift leader.”

"I have no other demands. Patrol when you must, stand duty when required. What you do in your free time is none of my business, and I won’t ask. But if you cause trouble, fix it yourself. If you can’t, good luck. Earning this hard-earned pay isn’t easy—no one should have to clean up after someone else. But when I can protect you, I won’t refuse—as long as you’re willing to trust me. Dismissed!"

That’s it? Dismissed?

The four jailers exchanged glances. No intimidation? No establishing authority?

Seeing they still stood, Chen Guanlou asked, “Any questions?”

“Chen Tou, do we keep things as they were?” Perhaps because of the shared surname, Chen Quan spoke first.

Chen Guanlou hesitated. “How did you used to stand duty?”

“Three men per patrol.” Again, Chen Quan.

Chen Guanlou immediately said, “We don’t have enough men. For now, two per team. Liu She, you pair with Qian Fugui. Chen Quan, you pair with Wu Jin. Anything unclear?”

“Um…” This time it was fat Qian Fugui, hesitating as he spoke.

“What else?”

“When Boss Zhao was here, he took a sum of money.” Qian Fugui finally gathered courage.

Chen Guanlou raised an eyebrow. “What does Boss Zhao taking money have to do with me? The sword of the former dynasty doesn’t cut the ministers of the new one. What’s left by the predecessor is none of my business.”

Did Qian Fugui even understand the rules?

He snapped back, annoyed.

Wu Jin chimed in: “That money was shared by all of us.”

“Explain clearly.” Chen Guanlou’s face hardened, his authority emerging. Years of martial training had given his gaze an unyielding intensity—far sharper than the slack-jawed jailers around him.

Wu Jin hurried to explain: “Chen Tou, here’s how it was. When Boss Zhao was in charge, he took silver from a Ministry of Works official who’d broken the law, promising to look after him and pass messages to his family. We’re not asking you to pass messages. But the payment was only half paid. The other half—Chen Tou, what do you say?”

Chen Guanlou finally understood: they wanted him to join their scheme and split the silver. If he refused, they wouldn’t dare openly help the Ministry of Works official.

Chen Guanlou frowned, one foot propped on a chair. “First, tell me the rules of the Jia-class prison. How do they differ from the Bing-class?”

The four exchanged glances, quickly reaching an unspoken agreement. Wu Jin spoke again: “The Jia-class prison’s rules have changed several times. Originally, each shift collected money from officials belonging to their assigned ministry. But everyone thought that unfair—some ministries had more offenders, some fewer, so pay varied. That hurt internal unity.”

“So we switched to assigning shifts by prison block. Whoever’s locked in a block, that shift collects the money. Forty percent goes to Master Wan, thirty percent to the Jia-class prison’s public account for our wages, and the remaining thirty percent we split privately.”

“The shift leader takes an extra ten percent,” Liu She added.

“The shift leader takes ten percent?” Chen Guanlou was genuinely startled. He’d never imagined the Jia-class prison’s shift leader got a full ten percent—no wonder the Tianlao gambling rings treated the Jia-class as the most prestigious, with the richest stakes.

“Yes, yes. It’s an old rule,” Liu She hurried to say, mistaking Chen Guanlou’s surprise for dissatisfaction.

Chen Guanlou clenched his molars. “Does the higher-ups have no objection to the shift leader taking ten percent?”

“Chen Tou, you don’t know—the prisoners here aren’t ordinary. Often, the shift leader must personally look after them. When superiors don’t want to show their face, the shift leader must relay messages up and down.”

No wonder the Jia-class prison required jailers to be literate. Those in power loved to speak in circles—roundabout, indirect, never plain. Without education, you couldn’t even understand what they meant, let alone relay it properly.

Chen Guanlou cleared his throat and asked casually, “You all can read?”

“I know a hundred characters.”

“I know three hundred.”

“I’m better—I can finish the entire Thousand Character Classic.”

Chen Guanlou: …

The hell? “Literacy” here really just means recognizing characters!

He’d actually studied—among these jailers, he stood out like a crane among chickens.

“Back to the money—you only collected half. That means your payments to the public account are short. So now you want me to make up the difference?”