In the southern district of Rong City, there was a vast and silent area. The terrain here was flat and open, like a stage deliberately reserved by nature.
Upon this plain stood a newly built prison. It lay there quietly, like a sleeping behemoth, holding countless criminals who had committed crimes as Cultivators.
Sunlight, like golden threads, passed through the fine gaps in the prison's iron bars and gently spilled onto a bed indoors, outlining a solitary figure.
A burly, bald man lay quietly on the bed, as though he had merged with the silent surroundings.
Suddenly, footsteps came from the corridor. Shoes struck the floor in a steady rhythm, and the sound drew nearer from the distance.
The footsteps echoed through the corridor, each step seemingly carrying an invisible pressure.
The prison guards responsible for watching the criminals began their patrol. Their eyes were sharp as eagles', sweeping over every corner without missing the slightest abnormality.
After completing their patrol, they turned around in unison and left, leaving behind only a string of footsteps fading into the distance.
When the prison guards' footsteps had completely vanished at the end of the corridor, the bald man lying on the bed slowly opened his eyes.
He turned his head slightly toward the doorway and muttered, "We've all already been locked up, yet these prison guards are still watching us so closely. They're being overly cautious."
His voice was extremely deep, echoing through the silent room.
Time flowed away unnoticed, like a murmuring stream.
At last, it was time for recreation.
Somewhat harsh broadcast noise suddenly rang out from the walls of the room, breaking the oppressive silence indoors.
Immediately afterward, the prison guards slowly opened one cell door after another, producing a series of clicking sounds.
Before serving their sentences, none