Chapter 50

“You actually refused me?”

Yu Zhaoan could not believe it.

A mere jailer dared to reject his patronage—clearly ignorant of his own good fortune, ungrateful and insolent.

Instantly, his face darkened.

As a third-rank martial cultivator, he unleashed his full aura; Chen Guanlou felt as if a mountain had crushed him, his body frozen in place. He sensed an invisible force brimming with intense malice and killing intent, ready to tear him apart at any moment—it circled him without pause.

He dared not move, could not move, and dared not resist. If he resisted, his secrets would be exposed.

He forced his body to stand firm, exhausting every ounce of will to withstand the pressure, sweat pouring from his forehead like thick paste, yet he never bowed his head. All he thought was: Is this the power of a third-rank martial cultivator? When will I ever possess such strength?

His wandering thoughts eased the pressure; even as his facial muscles twisted, he refused to bow.

In an instant, the force circling him—the one that could have torn him apart—vanished completely.

He exhaled in relief, gripping the wall as he gasped for air, feeling as if his lungs had burst.

He had barely survived.

“This is my wrath, this is my power. Ungrateful dog. Just a lowly jailer—turning down fine delicacies to chew on coarse grain.”

Yu Zhaoan raged, hurling insults.

The esteemed Right Assistant Censor of the Censorate screamed like a rabid dog with its tail stepped on.

Chen Guanlou clutched his chest, feeling his heartbeat, slowly straightening his body: “Why are you so angry, my lord? Are you really going to hold a grudge against a mere jailer? I am ignorant and ungrateful—I spurned your favor. But, my lord, are you not curious why I refused to follow you?”

“A fish’s eye cannot recognize jade set in gold,” Yu Zhaoan spat.

Chen Guanlou chuckled. “I fear you.”

He roared in fury: “Look at yourself now—because I refused your patronage, you wanted to kill me. Tell me, if I had followed you, I am no god—I would make mistakes, I would anger you. Everyone says you have a foul, stubborn temper. If I erred once or twice, could you forgive me? Would you forgive me five or eight times? Better to gamble on your conscience than to refuse outright and at least keep my life. I refused not out of ignorance, but simply to survive.”

“You—”

Yu Zhaoan never imagined Chen Guanlou would dare challenge him.

Yet the reasoning made sense—he could not refute it.

His temper—he knew it better than anyone. He was quick to rage, immensely powerful, and his strikes left only death or maiming. He never believed himself in the wrong; all who died by his hand deserved it.

But for the first time, someone stood before him and said they feared him—feared death, refused to follow him—and Yu Zhaoan was stunned.

He had never considered anyone would abandon a brilliant future out of fear.

“Nonsense! What’s so great about being a jailer? Lowly, degraded, worthless scum who deserve contempt. If you follow me, I can’t promise you greatness—but your status will rise. In the provinces, local officials will treat you as their master.”

Yu Zhaoan was not lying.

A Censorate official had no need to fabricate lies to deceive a jailer. He held Chen Guanlou in some regard—but only that, not enough to warrant deception.

“But I only wish to stay in the capital. I have no grand ambitions—I only want a quiet life.”

“Then you deserve to be a jailer your whole life.”

Chen Guanlou: …

He was surely enraged—humiliated by being rejected by a jailer. He said nothing, smiled, and walked away.

Yu Zhaoan felt deeply ashamed, yet he refused to accept Chen Guanlou’s reasoning.

Fear him?

If you fear him, you should flatter him, serve him well—not defy him.

A lowly jailer dares to defy me? Hmph!

Chen Guanlou knew full well: rejecting Yu Zhaoan’s offer would bring trouble once Yu Zhaoan left.

But he was not afraid.

Yu Zhaoan was a rabid dog.

The best way to deal with a rabid dog is to kill it—before it keeps biting.

“Inmate number twenty-three is dead,” Xiao Jin reported.

Chen Guanlou shot to his feet. “What happened? He was fine—why did he die?”

Just as feared, it had come. Though inmate twenty-three was not in his jurisdiction, those above didn’t care—they’d hold every guard accountable.

“No one knows.”

Chen Guanlou hurried to cell twenty-three.

The inmate lay on the ground, back up, long dead.

Xiao Jin whispered beside his ear: “He was a Ministry of Revenue official—no family, no patrons, or weak ones. If you need to know, I’ll find out who did it.”

“Can you tell how he died?”

Chen Guanlou had served in the Heavenly Prison long enough, but had seen few deaths—his experience was shallow. He could not discern the cause of death.

Xiao Jin, facing away from others, whispered: “Without doubt, he was starved first, then overfed.”

Chen Guanlou froze. “Murder?”

Xiao Jin nodded. This was clearly murder. Someone wanted to eliminate inmate twenty-three: starve him near death, then force-feed him a lavish meal. No need to lift a hand—the victim would choke to death. If questioned, they could claim he choked on his own meal. Even the coroner would conclude death by overeating or choking.

“Inmate twenty-three was a minor official with a simple case—why kill him? Go find out the truth. Even if it’s not our jurisdiction, we can’t be blind and deaf—letting others treat us like monkeys.”

Chen Guanlou acted calmly.

The man was dead. Now, he must: first, handle the aftermath; second, uncover the cause; third, decide what to do next—based on the cause.

Even if he chose to stand aside, he needed to know the truth.

“Don’t worry, Boss—I’ll find out right away.”

Soon, the laborers carried the body away; the onlookers dispersed, returning to their duties. A prisoner’s death in the Heavenly Prison was routine—especially one so insignificant; no one above would likely care.

Xiao Jin handled things well—by the next day, he had news.

Inmate twenty-three died because of “kill the chicken to warn the monkey.”

“Kill the chicken to warn the monkey?” Chen Guanlou was startled.

“Exactly!”

He took a deep breath. “Who’s the monkey?”

Xiao Jin had learned the truth—he spoke without hesitation: “Inmate twenty-seven.”

“Li Shaoqing of the Dalisi ? It’s him?” Chen Guanlou was stunned.