There were mainly three kinds of people in prison. The first kind were gang members. They made up the majority of the prison population and were also the "most indestructible" group. No matter the era or who was in power, these people would always be the majority in prison.
The second kind belonged to the more fashionable category of criminal activity. Most of them were involved in scams and fraud. They were not gang members. They had not been sent in because of what they had done, but because they had not been cautious or cunning enough and had been caught by the police or investigators.
The third kind could basically be said not to exist in Sabine City District Prison. These people had never committed any crimes. They could even leave the prison whenever and wherever they wanted.
Prison was merely one of their methods. Of course, it was also possible that they had been made use of. Most of these people served their sentences in some of the more famous federal prisons. Yet even while in prison, they could still influence the federal government's politics, economy, culture, and even military affairs.
As for the others, each had their own reasons, though there were not that many of them. People without gang backgrounds, like Little Michael, were often absorbed by gangs in prison. Many gangs also regarded prisons as their primary source of blood.
No one here was overly discriminated against. Of course, class divisions certainly still existed. If prisons could eliminate class, then... wouldn't they have succeeded long ago? Where there were people, there were classes; where there were classes, there was society. Because of his young age, Little Michael did not suffer too much harsh treatment. In a place that valued personal strength, bullying a half-grown child would only earn contempt, not respect.
But if Little Michael's father had been someone with a "license," things would have been different. After all, most people here had been arrested by people with "licenses."
Amid this strange atmosphere, lunchtime arrived. In Sabine City District Prison, lunch was followed by an afternoon nap, then free time, followed by dinner and an hour and a half of recreation. They could watch television for a while.
After that came shower time and evening rest, followed by lights-out. Every day was extremely full for everyone—at least far fuller than the days when they had been drinking themselves senseless outside.
Little Michael carried a rubber tray to the food line. Over the past few days, the prisoner serving food had given him a little more meat and vegetables than the others. Today, however, that fellow scooped a spoonful of thin, mushy sludge from the edge of the food pan and dumped it straight onto Little Michael's tray.
He glanced at the prisoner serving food. The man looked impatient. Before he could say anything, a force suddenly erupted from behind him. Someone shoved into him, making him stagger forward, and he fell hard onto the floor.
He lay in the rotten vegetable soup, somewhat at a loss. The guards responsible for watching the prisoners merely glanced over before looking away. As long as the prisoners did not riot, they generally did not interfere in conflicts between them.
Prison was a unique little society with its own distinctive social structure. Unless something major happened, no one would take the initiative to interfere.
Little Michael climbed to his feet and was just about to pick up his tray when a foot stepped onto it. He bent over and looked up. The person standing on his tray lowered his head and looked down at him. One was bewildered; the other was cold and indifferent.
No one in the cafeteria cheered or jeered. Most simply watched with faint, ambiguous smiles. If that person had not revealed Little Michael's background, someone might already have stepped in to stop him—such as those planning to recruit him into their gangs.
But now, everyone was watching the show. People with "licenses," and even their families, were instinctively hated here.
The person standing on Little Michael's tray twisted his ankle and ground the rubber tray against the floor, leaving behind a... somewhat yellowish-black footprint. A faint stench wafted from it. Little Michael's stomach immediately clenched, and then a wave of nausea sent him running to the trash can, where he vomited up some of the food that had not yet been digested from breakfast.
He had not yet realized that his good days were over. While he was vomiting, someone suddenly yanked down his pants, grabbed him, and shoved him headfirst into the trash can. Inside were scraps of food others had left behind, saliva, thick phlegm, and his own vomit. For a moment, his mind went completely blank...
When the guards pulled him out, he still had not reacted. He only felt that everything had changed in an instant.
At the same time, a piece of news began rapidly spreading throughout Sabine City and the entire state: the head of the Federal Revenue Service Investigation Team had abused his authority, nearly causing an innocent citizen to meet God.
Just as Lin Qi had initially estimated, he had not used the power of the courts to challenge the Revenue Service's law-enforcement authority. Instead, he had used the media to viciously tear away their façade. The tactic had played a crucial role.
That same day, Michael was placed under restrictions preventing him from leaving Sabine City. He was also confined to his residence. The director of the Sabine City Federal Revenue Service personally stepped in and temporarily bailed Michael out. If he remained in the Police Station, the reporters would only find more angles from which to attack the Revenue Service, such as, "If he did nothing wrong, why was he being detained at the Police Station?"
He had to get Michael out. At the very least, this would keep those foolish citizens from being led around by the media.
At Michael's home, the director lost his temper unusually fiercely. "You were too impulsive. Do you know that Headquarters spent more than half an hour chewing me out over the phone today?"
A little after seven that morning, a large group of reporters had swarmed around Lin Qi like flies sniffing out rot—or rather, like bees drawn to the scent of flowers. Starting with the Nurse and doctors, they had even used their own imaginations to fabricate one sensational article after another. Two federal-level media outlets were among them. Before nine o'clock, nearly all seventeen federal states already knew about it, and public opinion had begun to ferment.
In truth, countless incidents like this happened every year. But this time, there was clearly someone pulling the strings behind the scenes. The Federal Taxation Bureau had begun paying attention and warned the director that if he could not calm the matter quickly, the Supervisory Department might send a special investigator to Sabine City for a secret investigation.
By then, Michael would not be the only one in trouble, and it would not be as simple as being "exiled" to some remote place. They would not only lose their jobs; they might even go to prison.
For people with "licenses," going to prison was worse than being killed. Inside, they would be brutally humiliated by those they themselves had sent there. They would live a fate worse than death.
Michael lowered his head and said nothing. His temper was bad, but he was not stupid. He already knew what consequences his impulsive, foolish actions had caused. It was too late to say anything now. He might as well wait until the director finished venting before discussing how to clean up the mess.
The director continued berating him for a while before finally sighing. "I want to protect you, but the people above want to throw you out to calm public anger..."
Michael abruptly raised his head and looked at the director, a trace of disbelief in his eyes. He was at least a mid-level official. They were really abandoning him just like that? The director avoided his gaze and shook his head with a bitter smile. "You picked the wrong opponent, you know?" Before Michael could answer, the director continued, "I thought Lin Qi would sue you. If he really did that, things would have been simple. Once the issue involved law-enforcement authority, Headquarters would stand on our side, no matter what you had done."
"But I heard that he already forgave you in front of the media, even said a few good things about you, and gave up on suing you. Do you know how much trouble you're in now?"
Michael might not have understood it yet, but the director understood perfectly. The more magnanimous Lin Qi appeared, the angrier the media and public became—even if some of their anger was directed at Lin Qi for not daring to stand up and fight for his own rights.
Most of their fury, however, was aimed at Michael and the people behind him. Amid the media frenzy, Lin Qi's concession would be interpreted as him not daring to oppose the Revenue Service. At its core, the problem was that the various federal agencies had been granted too much power.
Over the years, the question of whether the federal departments had excessive law-enforcement authority had been discussed hundreds or thousands of times. Yet every discussion had ended without resolution. This time would surely be the same, but someone still had to take responsibility.
Michael was the most suitable person for that role.
"I'll do my best to save you, but if something happens..." He patted Michael on the arm. "Don't blame me for not trying hard enough. Actually, the best solution now is for you to ask Lin Qi for help. If the two of you can appear together in front of the media, there might still be a turning point!"
The reader group exploded. Many readers said they did not understand. Really, it was nothing.
Since I entered this line of work, more than twenty reader groups have been blown up. Starting with a certain fan-fiction series, everyone would have been showing mercy if they only blew up one group a year. At the most efficient, three groups were blown up in two months.
When I brought this up with fellow authors, the more we talked about it, the funnier it became.
Other authors' readers had countless abilities. They could give the author plot outlines, help the author write, save money to give the author gold and silver, and even travel thousands of miles to deliver... things. They truly could do anything.
But here, my readers had not learned a single one of those amazing skills. They had only learned how to blow up reader groups—and they were professionals at it.
This group only lasted half a year before you sank it. I hope you'll keep up the good work and blow up another one! New group: 1126568849.
Before you continue