Chapter 58

Chen Guanlou snorted and said loudly, “The dangers of Tianlaomiao are no less than those of the officialdom. We jailers are mere nobodies, nobody cares about us, so our stories never reach the outside world. The world sees us as cruel and lowly, a pack of greedy pests. Yet no one knows that while we take money, we also bear immense risk—most of the cash goes to those above us, while the blame falls entirely on us.”

After listening, Master Du sighed, “No profession is easy. Even street vendors must carefully cultivate relationships with yamen runners, or risk having their stalls overturned and their livelihood destroyed. Come, let me toast you.”

Chen Guanlou hurriedly said, “Master, don’t you dare. It should be me toasting you. Though I never studied under you, these past months I’ve benefited from your teachings, and my scholarship has improved somewhat. I’ve realized reading truly helps—at least now, when I speak to the big shots in the cells, they’re willing to listen, even give me a proper look.”

Master Du laughed heartily and asked curiously, “So these fallen officials still act so arrogant even after landing in Tianlaomiao? Don’t they fear being tormented by jailers?”

It’s just idle chat—better to speak truthfully, a little exaggeration doesn’t hurt.

Chen Guanlou sighed. Being a jailer is hard.

“Who dares torment them? Who knows when they might be reinstated? One glance, one word from them, and our jobs are gone. We can’t torment them—we must treat them like lords. Tell me, isn’t that hard?”

“Everyone’s hard. Everyone’s hard.”

Master Du shook his head, lost in thought, suddenly inspired, and reached for his brush.

Chen Guanlou willingly ground the ink, eager to see the result. Master Du had intended to write a splendid essay—the inspiration came, but once he put brush to paper, he wrote only the opening line and then fell silent.

Chen Guanlou grew anxious but dared not urge him, so he comforted, “Great writing is born of heaven; brilliance comes by chance. Master, you have a clear vision, a vast inner landscape—you’ll surely produce a masterpiece. The daylight is too bright now, lacking the right atmosphere. Wait till nightfall, when all is still, and your thoughts will flow like a spring.”

“Little Lou, you speak beautifully—especially those first two lines: ‘Great writing is born of heaven; brilliance comes by chance.’ Excellent! Wonderful! I never knew you had a talent for poetry. It’s a pity you don’t continue studying—if you did, you might even pass the imperial exams.”

“Master, don’t tease me. I’m already in Tianlaomiao, a jailer—how could I possibly sit for the exams? When the officials checked my background, they immediately disqualified me. I’m better off staying out of scholar circles, lest I pollute their eyes and earn their disdain.”

Chen Guanlou wore a self-deprecating expression. He was a commoner by status—he could have taken the exams. But he’d chosen the despised profession of jailer.

Others frowned at his occupation. Especially those high-minded scholars. Not every scholar was like Master Su, Master Du, or Young Master Zhao—none of them looked down on jailers.

In truth, his commoner status had been tainted, no longer pure. The world assumed jailers had dirty hands and black hearts, that they’d killed, taken bribes, done countless vile deeds.

Can a man who’s killed be called pure? Don’t insult the word ‘pure’—it would only make people laugh.

Master Du felt deeply sorry and sighed with him, “What a pity—you ended up in Tianlaomiao, doing this job. What a pity.”

Chen Guanlou took it all in stride. Though everyone lamented his fall into Tianlaomiao, he cherished it.

Without Tianlaomiao as this treasure trove, how could he have trained in martial arts? How could he have obtained the profound martial scripture, Sheng Tian Lu? In less than a year, he’d already defeated a Rank One martialist. He couldn’t show it off, but his heart swelled with quiet joy—true joy was silent joy.

No one understood how precious this jailer’s post was to him.

What did it matter that jailers were lowly? In a world that revered martial strength, only the powerful could reign supreme. And he carried the Fruit of Immortality—nowhere else was better suited to hide himself than Tianlaomiao.

He said casually, “No pity needed. You must give up to gain. When I first hit rock bottom, I had nothing but my undergarments, staring at an empty pot—I was about to starve. It was this job that saved me, gave me savings, let me eat meat every few days, drink a bottle of wine.

If I hadn’t taken this job, I’d be slaving in some merchant’s shop now, bowing, serving tea, earning barely enough to survive. I’d have no wealth to help my elder sister, no chance to come here and learn from you.”

“Too much, too much,” Master Du waved his hand. He wasn’t a glutton—he could eat a few ounces of meat, drink two ounces of wine, and be content. He’d never expected to receive money from Chen Guanlou.

Seeing Master Du’s misunderstanding, Chen Guanlou quickly explained, “If I worked in a merchant’s shop, I’d be on my feet from dawn to dusk. Even if I wanted to come here and learn, I’d have neither time nor energy. Now? I work shifts, finish my duty, and go home. I have money, I have leisure. Except for low status, I couldn’t be more free.”

“Free, yes—but you’re wasting your talent.”

“I have no talent,” Chen Guanlou firmly denied. He preferred to be seen as illiterate.

“Little Lou, don’t be modest. After all these months talking with you, I know your worth. Your foundation isn’t solid, your scholarship isn’t deep—but you think flexibly, grasp one thing and understand ten, refuse to be bound by convention. You have ideas, opinions, insight. These are precisely what today’s scholars lack. If you spent more time strengthening your foundation, I can’t promise you’d pass the palace exam, but passing the provincial exam is within reach.”

Oh! Chen Guanlou hadn’t expected Master Du to rate him so highly—to say he had the talent of a provincial graduate. His heart swelled with quiet delight. Being recognized and praised always felt sweet.

No wonder the old emperor loved flattery—officials who spoke truth were never promoted. Sometimes truth was simply too harsh. Jiang Tu had won the emperor’s favor—not because of his ability, but because his emotional intelligence was high, his words always polished.

When dusk fell, he left Master Du’s house, slightly drunk, weaving through alleys toward home.

Far off, he saw Liu Guan’s gatekeeper, Liu Xiaochuan, leaning against the wall, looking like he was up to something.

He walked over and greeted, “Liu Xiao, off duty tonight? What are you doing here?”

Liu Xiaochuan startled at being called by name, then relaxed when he saw it was Chen Guanlou. “Oh, it’s Brother Chen—you’re off duty too?”

“I’ve been on night shift these days—haven’t even clocked in yet. What are you doing here, skulking around?”

Now, Chen Guanlou was a minor headman, had money, and had repaid his debt to Liu Guan—so he spoke to Liu Xiaochuan freely, without restraint.