Chapter 52: The Distinction Between Good and Evil

Chen Guanlou quietly left the Hou Fu, as usual, going about his duties methodically.

Every day he patrolled the Jia-class prison alone, paying special attention to Cell 27. The inmate in Cell 27 was in good health, free of illness or misfortune, with no visitors and no interrogations—everything appeared normal.

Yet he noticed the inmate’s mental state growing increasingly anxious.

During idle chat with Senior Jin, he casually mentioned Li Shaoqing; Senior Jin immediately warned him, “Stay far away from that Li man—he’s a curse. Beware of getting stained with his filth and losing your life.”

Chen Guanlou asked curiously, “Is it that serious?”

“Crossing Yu Zhaoan means he might harass you—or kill you—once he’s released. But if you tangle with that Li man, you might die quietly in your home one day, with no idea why or who killed you.”

Chen Guanlou instantly understood.

Yu Zhaoan plays his cards openly. He’s stubborn and proud, despising deceit and trickery—even when cursing the old emperor, he does it to his face. If he wants to kill, he does it himself, openly and boldly.

Li Shaoqing’s affairs are hidden cards, dark dealings no one dares speak of. Who he’s tied to, what interests are at stake—no one knows. Once entangled, any side might kill the meddler without a trace—like the dead inmate in Cell 23, killed merely because he was weak. How utterly innocent.

“Thank you for the warning, Senior Jin. I understand.”

Senior Jin was pleased he took the advice.

“Senior Jin, your case has had no news—shall I ask around for you?” Chen Guanlou intended to return the favor.

He was a man of principle; Senior Jin had repeatedly clarified things for him without causing trouble. He wanted to repay even a small kindness—it took little effort.

But Senior Jin refused, “My case—I’ve long had my own estimate. No need for you to inquire.”

“Can you get out?” Chen Guanlou asked, concerned.

Senior Jin gave no sign—neither shook his head nor nodded. He only said, “It’s all fate.”

His tone suggested little hope.

For corruption charges, returning the money should spare your life. Unless Senior Jin hadn’t returned all the gold—or spent it all and couldn’t fill the hole.

Chen Guanlou was powerless to help, so he offered only reassurance: think positively.

But Senior Jin laughed bitterly, “The old emperor loves grandeur, cruel and venomous, now also greedy. I guarantee nine out of ten in Tianlaomiao will never leave. Unless you’re like Yu Zhaoan—with Prince Jin as your patron and Jixia Academy pulling strings. Those of us without deep backing? We’re either killed or forgotten, buried alive in this prison. How long has the longest prisoner been held?”

Chen Guanlou knew.

The last few cells in the Jia-class prison held a few elderly inmates.

“The longest? Nearly thirty years.”

“Thirty years!” Senior Jin sighed, moved by sympathy for the man imprisoned nearly three decades. “How many thirties does a man have? The finest years of life, wasted in darkness. Tragic, pitiful, hateful!”

“If only he hadn’t studied, hadn’t entered officialdom—he’d never have suffered this. His family must have forgotten him by now.”

“Senior Jin, his family still remembers him—they send clothes and silver regularly.”

With family support, one could endure thirty years in prison.

Without it, one would go mad—or die.

“Please, Chen Tou, greet that old man for me. I’d rather die than spend thirty years in this cell.”

This was Senior Jin’s stance—resolute. Life in Tianlaomiao was unbearable. Even though conditions here were luxurious compared to the Bing-class prison, for former officials who once held power, every moment was torture.

Yu Zhaoan, upon seeing Chen Guanlou patrol the prison, locked his gaze on him instantly.

Chen Guanlou could only offer a wry smile. “Why hold a lowly jailer’s grudge, Your Honor?”

“The world calls me narrow-minded and vengeful. You’d do well to watch yourself.”

“To spare myself daily torment, I’m right here—why not end me now? Killing a commoner like me is nothing to you—just a flick of the wrist.”

Chen Guanlou stood calmly before the cell door, arms open, eyes closed, awaiting death.

Yu Zhaoan fumed, roaring, “You lowly jailer dare scheme against me? How audacious! You’re certain I won’t touch you—especially not here in Tianlaomiao—so you dare act this way. Thief, when I’m out, I’ll make you pay.”

Chen Guanlou slowly opened his eyes, frowning. “Do you always assume the worst of others? In your eyes, is everyone evil, plotting, malicious? Then you believe man is born inherently evil.”

“Hmph! Do you believe man is born inherently good?” Yu Zhaoan sneered, eyes full of contempt—as if mocking Chen Guanlou’s naivety.

Chen Guanlou smiled faintly. He’d finally grasped Yu Zhaoan’s nature—knew his temperament, how to handle him.

He spoke solemnly: “I believe man is born without good or evil. Have you seen a newborn? Teach him good, he becomes good. Teach him evil, he becomes evil. Left untaught, a child follows instinct—survival. If an act aids survival, it is done, regardless of good or evil.”

Yu Zhaoan froze.

Clearly, he’d never heard such a view—it was novel, and strangely plausible.

He frowned, pacing twice inside the cell. “Man cannot be without good and evil.”

Chen Guanlou smiled inwardly. Throwing out a philosophical question had indeed hooked Senior Yu.

He continued: “Did you, as a child, intuit good and evil on your own? Or did your teachers and parents teach you? If you traveled to remote mountains, where no teachers exist, no education—observe those children. They act purely on survival instinct. There, no such thing as good or evil exists.”