Chapter 9: A Petty Soul Files a Complaint

Fuck, some little bastard filed a complaint.

He’s only been working at Tianlaomiao for how long, and already he’s annoyed someone who’s whispering behind his back.

He’s always thought himself smooth in dealings and diligent in work—never shying from hard labor or filth—and yet someone still resents him enough to sneak a complaint. These people’s hearts are just like Luo Jingtian’s—none of them are good, all rotten to the core. Lock them up and chop them one by one; not one deserves mercy.

“Uncle Xu, you’ve watched me grow up. You know what kind of man I am—even if others don’t, you do. Yes, I bring food and drink to the prisoners—I won’t deny it. Everyone in the jail does it. But if you say I’m smuggling messages out, I swear on my life: I never did. On my very first day, your teachings were still fresh in my mind, and I’ve never forgotten them. I never break the rules I shouldn’t touch. I’m your man—if I do something wrong, I’m bringing trouble to you. Do you really think I’m the kind of ungrateful bastard who’d betray you? Who could possibly be spreading these lies? What kind of malice drives them? Uncle Xu, someone’s trying to use me to strike at you! You must be on guard!”

Xu Fugui looked at Chen Guanlou with a complicated expression—this brat sure knows how to talk.

He fell silent, weighing how much truth lay in those words, or perhaps considering the consequences. He recalled Chen Guanlou’s conduct since arriving at Tianlaomiao: the moment he got his salary, he brought gifts—drinking, singing girls, all of it—and despite his youth, he was already so well-mannered. He was decent, even naive compared to the old hands.

In an instant, Xu Fugui seemed to have made up his mind. “I believe you wouldn’t collude with outsiders. But that night of the prison break—you were the only survivor. Naturally, people whisper. This time, it’s clear someone’s targeting you. For now, keep a low profile. Don’t stick your neck out. If anything happens, tell me right away. Don’t act on your own.”

“Thank you, Uncle Xu. I’ll remember your advice.”

“Good! Do your duty well. If they try to frame you, I won’t stand for it.”

Xu Fugui patted Chen Guanlou on the shoulder and left the canteen.

Chen Guanlou broke into a cold sweat—not because of Xu Fugui, but because he’d just realized: that night of the Ghost Gate prison break, every guard in the watchroom was dead. Only he survived. Clearly, he’d become a target.

The higher-ups had already dropped the matter, yet someone here at Tianlaomiao was determined to drag it out, aiming for something big—classic self-destructive malice.

Fuck, this is asking for everyone’s wrath.

He found Lu Datou and told him everything. Lu Datou frowned, thought for a moment, then smacked his thigh and cursed a profanity. “It’s gotta be Zhang Wantong, that bastard.”

“I’ve never wronged Zhang Wantong.”

“Young brother, you’re new—you don’t know the situation. Zhang Wantong acts all loud and generous, but he’s the most vengeful, stingy man alive. Last time, you helped me recover my losses—that night Zhang Wantong lost everything, even his underwear. He’s held a grudge ever since. He won’t touch me—he knows if he does, I’ll slit his throat. But you? You’re new. He’s set his sights on you. Don’t worry—I’ll go smooth things over. No one acts like this. I’ll make him see reason.”

“Is it really him?”

“No one else.” Lu Datou was certain.

Chen Guanlou was skeptical but let Lu Datou test the waters first. He couldn’t fathom how Zhang Wantong could be this stupid.

He didn’t know what Lu Datou had said to Zhang Wantong, but when Zhang Wantong saw him, his face was full of guilt.

Chen Guanlou: …

It really was Zhang Wantong who filed the complaint!

Just because he helped Lu Datou recover his losses—over something so small—he held a grudge. Fuck, a true little bastard. I’ll keep this debt on record.

…

Luo Jingtian was taken away and subjected to severe torture.

Two days later, he was dragged back to Tianlaomiao—blood trailed behind him, his flesh torn open, not a single patch of skin left unharmed. A sight too gruesome to bear.

Chen Guanlou secretly gave him a bowl of thin porridge to sustain his life.

Two more days passed, and Luo Jingtian’s case was decided.

Immediate execution!

His family exiled to the northwest!

That day, Chen Guanlou made his rounds. When he passed Cell 60, he asked, “How are you?”

“Still alive!”

Luo Jingtian leaned against the wall, propping himself up.

He gave a grim smile. “Thanks for your concern, Young Master Chen.”

Chen Guanlou: …

He didn’t know what to say. A jailer and a prisoner—pretending to care was just hypocrisy.

He cleared his throat and asked bluntly: “Didn’t you hire people outside to smooth things over? You didn’t seem worried before—I thought you had a plan. Now that it’s decided, what are you going to do?”

“A man about to die has no plans,” Luo Jingtian groaned, shifting his broken body. “I only worry about my family—will they even survive the journey to the northwest?”

He stared pleadingly at Chen Guanlou through the bars.

Chen Guanlou avoided his gaze and walked away in silence.

He was just a lowly jailer, barely keeping himself alive—no strength left to help others. He and Luo Jingtian had only ever traded—no bond, no debt.

After eating the last meal, he’d be dragged out and beheaded the next day.

Perhaps out of desperation, perhaps clinging to a sliver of hope, when Chen Guanlou passed the cell again, Luo Jingtian, ignoring his shattered bones and searing pain, dragged his mangled body to the bars and gasped: “Outside the city, twenty li, Yangliu Village—beneath the osmanthus tree. I beg you—save my family, get them out of the capital. Everything inside is yours. You want to learn martial arts? There’s a profound technique, and silver—everything.”

Chen Guanlou had been about to walk away, pretending he heard nothing.

But after two steps, he turned back.

He walked to the bars, crouched down, and stared at the man.

Luo Jingtian grinned—a toothless mouth, all teeth pulled out, like a bloody void, eerily grotesque.

“Why are you worried your family won’t leave the capital? You paid people outside to help you—where are they?”

Luo Jingtian chuckled bitterly, then grabbed Chen Guanlou’s sleeve. “Promise me.”

Chen Guanlou frowned, then his face twisted in shock and sudden understanding. “The people who helped you… were the ones who destroyed you.”

“Help me!” Luo Jingtian whispered, voice low and secretive. “Beneath the osmanthus tree is a cultivation manual—I found it by accident. I’ve never unlocked its secrets, never even stepped inside. They say it’s killed over a hundred people. I’m not lying—I swear it’s true.”

Chen Guanlou stared at him deeply, then stood and walked away in silence.

Luo Jingtian watched his retreating back—and smiled, finally at peace.