In the days that followed, the Divine Prison completely changed.
One batch after another of prisoners were brought in, filling every empty cell on the first to third floors.
These new prisoners are completely different from the previous ones.
Most of them were wearing official robes, some of which were tattered and some even showed signs of being torn.
There were elderly ministers over fifty, Martial Generals in their prime, and several civil officials with gray hair.
When they were wheeled into the cells, some were still protesting their innocence, while others had lost their voices and were left only with dry howls.
"I am Zhao Yuan Lang, Vice Minister of the Ministry of Rites! I have served as an official for thirty years and have never embezzled a single penny! Wei Changgeng, you will die a horrible death!" An old man with disheveled hair was shoved into the third floor, his face hitting the iron railing and drawing blood. He struggled to his feet, gripping the railing with both hands, his voice so hoarse that his words were almost unintelligible.
"I've guarded the Northern Border for the court for twenty years! Twenty years! You say I'm colluding with the enemy? What enemy have I colluded with!" Another Martial General with a scarred face shook the iron railings violently, making the whole corridor rattle.
He had previously served as a deputy general in the Northern Border army and was an old acquaintance of Shen Du. This time, he was also implicated in the "Shen Du rebellion case" and was dismissed from his post and imprisoned by order of Wei Changgeng's men.
There were also a few young civil officials, no more than thirty years old, who were editors in the Hanlin Academy.
After they were moved to the second level, they were crammed into the same cell. One of them squatted in the corner, clutching a half-finished memorial, repeatedly muttering, "I didn't do anything... I just wrote a letter for Mr. Zhou... I really don't know anything..."
The other one lay face down on the stone bed, eyes glazed over, and hadn't uttered a single word for a long time.
The young jailers of the Divine Prison carried food and water past their cells, heads bowed, their steps quicker than usual, and no one spoke.
The charges against these people are obviously fabricated by some discerning individuals.
But the Divine Prison is only responsible for detaining people, not for trying cases. Once you're in, you're a prisoner.
And right after this group of people, among the fourth batch of prisoners being escorted, there was a special figure.
As two imperial guards dragged him by the arms into the first-floor corridor, he was still cursing, but his voice was old and hoarse, no longer as arrogant as it once was.
He was wearing an old robe whose color was no longer discernible, and he was only wearing one shoe; the other foot was bare and covered in mud.
His beard was white and unkempt, hanging messily down his chest; his face was deeply lined with wrinkles, indicating he was over sixty years old.
But the way he cursed still retained some of his former arrogance.
"Who do you think you are! How dare you detain me! I am Prince Duan! The Emperor's own brother! Send that dog Wei Changgeng to see me! Let him come!" He was shoved into the innermost cell on the first floor by the Imperial Guards, and the iron door slammed shut.
He lunged at the iron railing and shook it violently, causing rust chips to fall down in a shower.
Chen Du was walking down the corridor carrying a bunch of keys. He stopped in front of the cell and looked through the iron bars at the emaciated old man inside, Prince Duan Zhao Xuan.
Decades ago, there was a young prince who lived in a prison cell with a bed covered in brocade and complained that the food and wine were too poor.
Now he squats on the cold, damp stone ground, his beard white and his body covered in mud, a completely different person from back then.
"You."
Zhao Xuan raised his head, his cloudy eyes fixed on Chen Du, and suddenly seemed to recognize something, "You're that... that old jailer! Yes, it's you! The one who brought me wine back then!"
He suddenly stood up, lunged at the iron bars, his withered fingers reaching through the gaps in the bars to grab Chen Du's robes. "Let me out! I order you to let me out! Wei Changgeng is plotting a rebellion! He killed my brother, the Emperor! He wants to kill me! Let me out, and I'll give you riches and honors! I'll appoint you as a Grand General! I'll bestow upon you a noble title! I'll give you anything you want!"
Chen Du looked at him, but only looked down at the withered hands that were gripping his robes.
Those hands were trembling, the knuckles were deformed, and dirt was stuck in the nail crevices.
He spoke slowly, his voice even. "Your Highness, Prince Duan."
Zhao Xuan was taken aback, as if he hadn't expected the old jailer to dare call him by his name like that.
Chen Du continued, "This is the Divine Prison. Once you're in, you can't get out. The cell you used to live in had bad food and drink, so you broke a cup. Now you live in this cell, where there's no food or drink."
You can shout or curse, but no one will come. Here, you're a prisoner.
After he finished speaking, he hung the keychain on his waist and turned to walk towards the other end of the corridor.
Zhao Xuan cursed him from behind, calling him a dog, a slave, and wishing him a terrible death.
Chen Du didn't turn around. He walked back to the stone house, closed the door, leaned against the wall, and closed his eyes.
Prince Duan Zhao Xuan, once abducted women, seized fertile land, and plotted rebellion. Even in the Divine Prison, he lived in a brocade cell, drank wine, and waited for the emperor to show mercy.
Now that the old emperor is dead and Wei Changgeng has taken power, he, the last surviving member of the Zhao Clan, has finally become a true prisoner, to be imprisoned for eternity.
He was in Chen Du's hands, so naturally he wouldn't have an easy time.
Chen Du opened his eyes, and the corner of his mouth twitched slightly.
In this world, sometimes delayed retribution is more satisfying than no retribution at all.
However, a few days later, Chen Du stood at the entrance to the first floor, watching the tide of prisoners pouring in, and his brows furrowed slightly.
There are far too many prisoners this time. Usually, only a dozen or so are brought in every few days, but today, nearly a hundred have been crammed into the first floor alone.
The young prison guards were so busy they barely had time to breathe, their keys jingling incessantly as they opened and closed the iron gate repeatedly.
The newly arrived prisoners crowded into the cells on both sides of the corridor. Some squatted on the ground in a daze, some clung to the bars and cried out, and others had calmed down and were leaning against the stone wall with their eyes closed, resting.
Chen Du stood inside the entrance, not rushing to help, but coldly watching as these people were pushed into the cells one by one.
His Spiritual Power spread out silently, sweeping over the aura of each new prisoner.
Most of them were ordinary cultivators, with cultivation levels between the Third Realm and Sixth Realms. When suppressed by the power of suppression, they couldn't even stand up straight.
But some of them made him feel uneasy.
There were seven or eight people who did not bear the Suppression Marks of the Divine Prison.
According to the rules, all newly imprisoned prisoners, regardless of their cultivation level, must be branded with the Suppression Mark of the Divine Prison upon entering the prison to suppress their True Essence and render them unable to resist.
But these seven or eight people were clean and had no marks on them.
What's even stranger is the shackles on their feet. At first glance, they seem no different from those of other prisoners, but upon closer inspection, the material of those shackles is incorrect.
The true Divine Prison Shackles are forged from Thousand-Year Cold Iron, gleaming with a ghostly blue light, and engraved with array patterns.
The shackles on these people were jet black and shiny, with a smooth, mirror-like surface, clearly made of ordinary refined iron. The array patterns on them were merely engraved marks, without any flow of spiritual energy. They were fake.
Chen Du remained calm and continued to observe. The people were assigned to different cells; some went to the first floor, while others were pushed and shoved down to the second floor.
They walked incorrectly. Real prisoners, weighed down by the force of repression, walked with heavy, unsteady steps, as if carrying a mountain on their shoulders.