Chapter 51

Who made them do this?

Chen Guanlou now wanted only to know who was the mastermind behind it.

Without an official’s order, without sufficient reward, without sufficient threat, the jailers would never do something so self-destructive.

Xiao Jin shook his head slightly. “I couldn’t find out anything. Everyone just followed orders.”

Does Li Dahong know?

“Head Li probably just followed orders too.”

So even Wan Yuli might not know who gave the order.

Perhaps Fan Yucheng knows.

“Fan Yucheng certainly knows who gave the order. To kill a detained official in the Heavenly Prison, you must go through Fan Yucheng. Who among the ordinary jailers would dare take such a massive risk and just kill someone on a whim?” Chen Guanlou snapped.

Only through Fan Yucheng’s hands would the jailers dare use such vicious methods to kill someone without hesitation.

He rubbed his temples.

“I remember prisoner number twenty-seven was arrested for a yamen murder case—he must’ve paid up. Then why make an example of him?”

You’ve got me stumped, Head Chen. How would I know? Officials always operate in secrecy, wrapped in mystery. You don’t need to worry—since it went through Fan Yucheng, the higher-ups won’t pursue it. When I just came in, I saw Li Dahong heading to the next office to gamble with money. He’s not concerned—why should you be?

Chen Guanlou waved his hand, dismissed Xiao Jin, and told him to do his duty well.

The next morning, after finishing his shift, he met Li Dahong at the main gate.

Chen Guanlou stepped forward to greet him, noticing the man’s bloodshot eyes—he’d clearly stayed up all night. He asked casually, “How was the game last night? Win or lose?”

“Damn it, I lost. Lu Datou that bastard had insane luck last night. Next time I’ll make him treat us—come along too.”

Maybe later.

Money Lu Datou won by luck would be lost again by luck within ten days at the latest.

He walked out the gate beside Li Dahong. “Prisoner number twenty-three is dead.”

“Oh, that? Already handled. The body was handed over to the family.”

Chen Guanlou hesitated. “Next time, could you use a gentler method?”

He smiled at the man, as if joking.

Li Dahong paused, unsure whether Chen Guanlou was teasing or speaking seriously.

He laughed it off. “The boys down there handled it too roughly. First time seeing it, scared you, huh?”

“It did startle me. Back in the Bingzi cellblock, I only saw prisoners die from broken limbs after torture. This was the first time I saw someone killed without a blade—and the scene was even more grotesque and terrifying than a bloody mess. I’m not used to it.”

With this explanation, Li Dahong understood. He naturally assumed Chen Guanlou, being young and inexperienced, couldn’t accept the rules of the Jia-class cells.

Everyone back then went through the same thing.

He chuckled. “Don’t worry—once you’ve seen more, you’ll get used to it. You know, the prisoners here are all officials. We can’t use bloody, brutal methods. Too much blood would upset them. We must kill with soft knives—no blood, no disturbance.”

“Let me teach you a trick: sometimes a soft knife kills better than a bloody scene. It terrifies the prisoners more, and you achieve your goal without a sound.”

Chen Guanlou chuckled, acknowledging the man’s words.

“If you’ve got a disobedient prisoner you can’t handle yourself, just tell me. I’ll take care of him for you.”

Li Dahong looked like he was genuinely offering help, unusually eager.

Chen Guanlou could only laugh it off. “If I ever need it, I won’t forget Brother Li.”

Li Dahong draped an arm over his shoulder, grinning. “That’s the spirit. We’re brothers eating from the same pot—we should look out for each other, right? Where are we? The Heavenly Prison. A death or two here is normal, isn’t it? Back when you worked in the Bing-cellblock, didn’t you beat prisoners daily until their limbs broke? They died, and no one cared. Why should a martial hero be allowed to die but not an official? Right?”

“Brother Li speaks wisely. We’re all born of parents, all have one life, all must die one day. But officials at least have one extra shield—Brother Li, really aren’t you worried the higher-ups will investigate?”

Chen Guanlou feigned curiosity.

Li Dahong was happy to explain. “You’ve only been here a short while—you don’t know yet. Except for those already dying of illness, no one can stop death when the Reaper comes. Usually, when someone dies here, it’s deliberate. I advise you to get along well with Wan Yuli. With his support, you’ll only gain benefits, never trouble.”

“I’d like to. But Wan Yuli has to give me the chance. Honestly, as long as he doesn’t make things hard for me, I’m content. I just want to do my job in peace.”

“Young brother, opportunities are seized, not given,” Li Dahong patted Chen Guanlou’s shoulder. “Some things you’ll face sooner or later. Building ties with the higher-ups never hurts.”

They parted ways at the crossroad.

Back home, Chen Guanlou slept soundly.

That night, he disguised himself as a rough old man, donned coarse hemp robes and a conical hat, slipped over the wall under cover of darkness, and hid inside Fan’s residence.

Fan Yucheng had recently taken a beautiful concubine, rumored to be greatly favored.

Yet late at night, he was not with her—he was in his study.

A jailer, not even a high-ranking official, spending his nights away from his concubine and hiding in his study? Something was odd.

Chen Guanlou crouched on the roof above the study, suppressing his Qi, listening carefully.

He dared this because Fan Yucheng was a Rank One martial cultivator—and Chen Guanlou was certain the man couldn’t detect him.

Li Shiyeh stood beside Fan Yucheng.

“Master, don’t worry so much.”

Fan Yucheng sighed. “I’m not worried about anything else—I only fear I’ll end up like Jiang Yucheng.”

“Jiang Yucheng failed because he was careless and sloppy. Master has considered every angle, handled everything properly—you won’t make a mistake.”

Li Shiyeh kept urging him, as if to prevent him from losing his mind at this late hour. Wasn’t it better to return to his concubine and sleep? Why torment himself? The deed was done—regret now was useless. He must see it through to the end.

Fan Yucheng’s task had gone smoothly. But after completion, he grew anxious, uncertain.

“Prisoner twenty-three had no connections. The coroner verified the corpse. Everything’s fine. Why worry?”

“I’m not worried about prisoner twenty-three—I’m worried about what they’ll do next. The Emperor is now obsessed with alchemy, favors Jiang Tu, and neglects state affairs—he’s no longer the diligent ruler of old. Meanwhile, the Crown Prince has fallen out of favor, lost the Emperor’s trust, and the other Imperial Princes are stirring. One wrong step now… could mean utter ruin.”