Chapter 537: Privileges of the New Era

The Black Pond Maximum Security Detention Center is built on a stretch of abandoned salt‑alkali land.

By day the wind‑blown sand scrapes the face; by night the dampness seeps into the bones.

The inmates here are not all criminals.

Sometimes they are ordinary people deemed "troublesome" by this era.

Zhou Ping is hung in Containment Cell No. 3.

Both arms are pulled up by iron chains, the toes can barely touch the ground; any slight release of weight makes the shoulder bones scream as if being torn apart.

Water seeps in the corner of the wall.

The water runs down the cement joints, drip—drip—falling into the black shallow hollow on the floor.

The water is not clean.

It carries the smell of rust, mildew, and a whiff of blood.

Zhou Ping lowers his head; his disheveled hair on his forehead is stuck to his skin by sweat, his lips are cracked and turn white with dryness.

His back bears the bruises left by a police baton.

Under his ribs are burn marks from an electric shock.

The right calf is swollen in a ring, the flesh rotted open, wrapped in cheap gauze that has long been soaked through with pus and blood.

The wound is heating up.

But the Containment Cell is freezing cold.

The cold and heat are twisted together; the torment is highly technical.

Each time Zhou Ping gasps, his chest feels as if sandpaper is packed inside—grinding, then hurting.

He hasn't closed his eyes for three days.

No.

Maybe four days.

Black Pond has no time.

The lights stay on twenty‑four hours; white fluorescent tubes hang overhead, illuminating so uniformly that one cannot tell day from night.

The most disgusting part here is not the beating.

It is that it makes people gradually forget they were ever human.

From outside the door comes the clatter of keys.

Zhou Ping's eyelids flicker.

The Observation Window on the iron door is pulled open.

A greasy face leans in.

Prison guard Lao Liang.

He's not that kind of lively joker; he's the kind of

who crushes lives into cigarette ends and steps on them, an old slick.

Lao Liang has a cigarette in his mouth and, through the small window, exhales a puff of smoke.

"Yo, still alive?"

Zhou Ping's throat churns.

After a long while, he forces out a few words.

"Water."

Lao Liang laughs scornfully.

"You think this is a Hospital? Want to order a menu?"

The other young prison guard beside him peeks, then disgustedly covers his nose.

"Brother Lao Liang, is this man's leg rotting? The smell is overwhelming."

Lao Liang opened the door, his boot soles stepping over the filthy water on the floor, walked up to Zhou Ping, and lifted his chin with the police baton.

Lao Liang opens the door, his boot soles stepping through the standing sewage, walks to Zhou Ping, and lifts his chin with the police baton.

"Gospel Church Thugs, their bodies are tougher than ordinary people, they can endure."

Zhou Ping lifts his eyes.

The whites of his eyes are full of blood vessels.

"I am not Gospel Church."

Lao Liang scratches his ear.

"What did you say?"

"I have no crime."

Each word Zhou Ping forces out comes from his cracked throat.

"The surveillance is on my phone."

"Zhao Xiao led men to break into my shop and snatch my sister."

"I called the police."

"You arrested me."

The young prison guard looks stunned by what he hears.

Lao Liang, however, laughs.

He raises his hand, swinging the baton horizontally.

Zhou Ping's head is knocked aside, his teeth chip the oral cavity, blood streams down from the corner of his mouth.

"Not bad at spinning a story."

【61】 Lao Liang bends over, leans close to Zhou Ping, his tone dripping with foul contempt.

Zhou Ping, haven't you figured out the version update yet?

Before, you talked about evidence, about procedures, about your petty citizen's sense of justice.

What era is it now?

He tapped Zhou Ping's chest with his baton.

Universal deception.

Only those who can hold the front line are truly superior.

An ordinary person blocking a senior deceiver's path is already a death sentence.

The young prison guard lowered his head and said nothing.

Lao Liang gave him a glance.

Newcomer, learn more.

Don't spend all day scaring yourself with that old law routine.

Zhao Ye is an A Ji Deceiver; he alone has resolved three Weird Domains, and how many districts has he saved? That's called a strategic asset.

He looked at Zhou Ping again.

What does your sister count as?

Zhou Ping's body began to tremble.

It wasn't cold.

It was something pressed to the limit, rattling inside his bones.

Lao Liang kept speaking.

Just an ordinary little girl.

No rank, no contribution value, no deceptive potential.

If Zhao Ye is willing to favor her, that's just good luck for her.

Zhou Ping lifted his head, blood smearing half his face.

Shut up.

Lao Liang rolled his eyes.

Hey?

Still being insolent?

The baton fell again.

This time it struck Zhou Ping under his ribs.

Zhou Ping forced a suppressed painful sound from his throat, his whole body swayed as the iron chain yanked him, and his toes left two blood trails on the ground.

Lao Liang pressed the cigarette butt against the wall.

I'm telling you, don't even think about overturning the case.

The surveillance is gone.

The phone is gone.

Your sister lying in the life-support cabin is useless now.

Zhou Ping suddenly lifted his head.

The iron chain was pulled, clanking loudly.

Did you move her?

Lao Liang gave no answer.

But the expression on his face was already enough.

A certain thread in Zhou Ping's mind snapped with a crack.

Memories were pushed away by the tide of Black Pool.

That day, the repair shop's rolling shutter was only half lowered.

It was raining outside.

Younger sister Zhou Ning squatted at the doorway, clutching a lunchbox, laughing brightly, "Brother, you forgot to eat again; if this keeps up, you'll end up turning yourself into scrap metal."

Zhou Ping, his phone oily, called her a little brat.

She was nineteen this year.

She was studying nursing.

The tuition came from the four years Zhou Ping spent fixing night rides.

The brother and sister lived in a tiny cubicle behind the shop, with a bunk bed, an old refrigerator, and a perpetually leaking rice cooker.

Poor.

But life could still move forward.

Zhou Ning loved saving money to buy hair clips, ten‑something yuan each, and could be happy for half a day.

She always said, once she graduates and gets into a hospital, she'll take care of her brother.

That day, Zhao Xiao arrived.

A black off‑road vehicle parked at the shop's entrance.

The doors opened, and four people stepped out.

The leading man wore a garrison army coat, his shoulder insignia flashing dazzlingly.

Zhao Xiao.

The local front line was guarded by an A Ji Deceiver.

Seen on TV.

In the news, he is a hero.

In reality, his eyes settle on Zhou Ning, clinging in a way that makes people feel nauseous.

"I told you you can't escape; come with me."

Three words.

No negotiation.

No prelude.

Zhou Ning hides behind Zhou Ping, drops the lunchbox she holds onto the floor, and the soup spills everywhere.

Zhou Ping picks up a wrench.

"Get out."

The shop is silent for two seconds.

Then, Zhao Xiu laughs.

"Are ordinary people this brave nowadays?"

Zhou Ping rushes forward.

The wrench smashes toward Zhao Xiu's shoulder.

But in midair, the wrench stops.

It doesn't stop.

It's Zhou Ping himself whose whole body is bent at the waist by an invisible force.

His knee hits the ground, his jaw cracks and bleeds.

Zhao Xiu stands in place, his fingertip gently presses down.

Zhou Ping's right leg is severed on the spot.

Zhou Ning rushes forward, crying.

"Don't hit my brother!"

Zhao Xiu furrows his brow.

"Quiet."

Rules press it down.

Zhou Ning flies out, her back of the head hits the corner of the elevator.

That blow wasn't heavy.

But she never gets up again.

The rain is still falling.

A crowd gathers at the repair shop's entrance.

No one dares to go in.

Zhou Ping climbs to his sister's side, his hand feeling a warm palm, and his whole self feels empty.

Outside the hospital emergency room.

The doctor removes his mask, says it's essentially brain death, and recommends giving up.

Zhou Ping holds a phone that contains the shop's surveillance backup.

He files a report.

The attending policeman watches the video and remains silent for a long time.

Then someone comes in and closes the door.

And then.

Gospel Church thugs attack the stationed hero, maliciously edit the video, and incite public resentment.

Every hat is fastened with strict precision.

Zhou Ping never even went to court.

The signature belongs to the Special Security Committee.

A red seal is stamped on the File.

Because Zhao Xiu made a major contribution defending the line, he enjoys the highest immunity; any civil or criminal charge must be reviewed by the Strategic Asset Protection Office.

Review result.

Not accepted.

Zhou Ping looks at that paper and smiles for a long time.

He smiles until someone pins him to the ground and breaks two of his teeth.

Later, he is sent to Black Pond.

Charge: Gospel Church thugs.

Evidence: refuses to plead guilty, extreme emotions, possesses a risk of alienation.

These days, ordinary people who want to appeal must first prove they aren't contaminated by the Weird.

This logic is brilliant.

Brilliance to the point of making one want to vomit.

In the Containment Cell, Lao Liang crouches down and pats Zhou Ping's face.

"Remember now?"

"Don't blame the brothers."

"The higher-ups have already given the nod on this matter."

"If you truly want what's best for your sister, be honest and leave."

Zhou Ping stared at the pooled water on the ground.

There was a person floating in the water.

His hair was disheveled, blood and grime thick, eye sockets sunken, and the corner of his mouth split open.

He no longer looked like Zhou Ping.

He looked more like some Weird creature that had crawled out of the Sewer.

He suddenly let out a low laugh.

At first it was light.

Later his throat was filled with blood foam, and his laugh came out in broken bursts.

The young prison guard took a half‑step back.

"Brother Liang, he's off."

Old Liang was impatient.

"What are you scared of?"

"Do you think it's strange that ten or eight people go crazy here every day?"

Zhou Ping was still watching the water's surface.

The person in the water also stared at him.

He recalled his sister's pink hairpin.

He remembered her shoving a lunchbox into his arms and, with a disgusted tone, saying, "Your hands are all covered in engine oil, don't touch my hair."

He recalled Zhao Xiao saying, "Noise."

He remembered the cold notice from the hospital.

He recalled those people sitting in the conference room, sipping hot tea, discussing how to deal with him as a "risk source."

It turned out that when a person is forced into a corner, even shouting "it hurts" counts as a risk.

It turned out that when people are forced into a dead end, even crying out in pain counts as a risk.

Zhou Ping's Nail dug into the flesh of his palm.

Blood dripped from his palm down into the Black Water.

One drop.

Another drop.

He let out a silent roar.

If only the cunning ones in this world deserve to argue reason.

Then let all who speak reason be wiped out.

If an A Ji merit could offset a girl's life.

Then let the so‑called merits rot on the throne.

If ordinary people are born merely to make way for the privileged.

Then we'll tear up that road.

Kill them all.

Kill all those privileged ones cloaked in human skin.

Let them kneel as well.

Let them beg for mercy too.

Let them also taste what it feels like to be trampled by Regulation.

As long as it can be done.

Zhou Ping is willing to throw his bones, blood, name, and past all into the darkness.

Being human is too painful.

Then I won't be human.

The world's most evil Weird?

Come on.

Lao Liang stood up, disgustedly flicked the police baton.

Old Liang stood up and, with disgust, flicked his baton.

"Alright, that's enough for tonight."

"Don't actually cut off his breath; Zhao hasn't arrived yet."

The young prison guard couldn't help asking, "Is Zhao Xiao really coming in person?"

Lao Liang lowered his voice, his tone carrying flattery and envy.

Old Liang lowered his voice, his tone laced with flattery and envy.

"Zhao's been in a bad mood lately; another batch of rookies died on the front line, so he needs a place to unwind."

"These scum have tarnished Zhao's reputation, just right."

The young prison guard's Adam's apple twitched.

"What about the file?"

"Suicide out of fear of guilt."

Old Liang said it smoothly.

"Gospel Church thugs, mental breakdown, self‑harm death, makes sense."

He reached out to close the door.

Just before the iron door shut, Zhou Ping lifted his head.

【241】 That blood‑splattered face was hidden in the light, lips moving.

Lao Liang didn't hear clearly.

"What did you say?"

Zhou Ping stared at him.

"I said."

"Someday, you will be on your knees begging ordinary people for forgiveness."

Lao Liang was stunned for half a second, then burst into uproarious laughter.

"Did you hear that?"

"Ordinary people."

"Hahaha, this scum is still dreaming of the old era."

The iron door closed.

The Containment Cell was left only with the hum of the fluorescent tube and dripping water.

Zhou Ping lowered his head.

His palm was still bleeding.

The Black Water on the floor rippled with tiny waves.

No one noticed that, after the blood fell into the water, it did not disperse.

Instead, it sank.

It sank to a place deeper than the Shadow.

Outside the Black Pond Detention Center, the night wind swept over the barbed wire.

The searchlight rotated.

On a distant watchtower, a prison guard yawned while scrolling short videos; the screen showed an interview with a certain Yujui star.

"With greater power comes greater responsibility."

The bullet comments scrolled rapidly.

If Zhou Ping saw it, he would probably laugh until he vomited blood.

"Responsibility?"

Those two words, coming from someone like Zhao Xiao, are truly the hellish joke of the year.

At the end of the Corridor, the lift gate opened.

Leather boots stepped on the floor.

One step.

One step.

No rush.

Very steady.

Lao Liang's demeanor underwent a professional-level change within seconds, his waist bending as if it might snap in two.

"Zhao Ye, you have arrived."

"That scum is hanging inside."

"All the surveillance above has been cut; the system is under maintenance tonight, and the logs have been wiped clean."

"Consider it a suicide out of guilt."

"Take your time and play."

Outside the heavy iron door, footsteps halted.

A man chuckled softly.

"Open the door."