This probably counted as a special historical legacy.
Generally speaking, prisons had to be located somewhere remote.
Taking in the crowded urban district around him, Fu Qian could almost imagine how prosperous it must once have been.
It was easy to imagine how, during a period of prosperity, the town had expanded ever outward, swallowing up this once-desolate place and letting criminals buy homes in the inner ring.
Unfortunately, as everything fell into decline, it had become impossible to maintain even a place like this.
The contrast between its former bustle and its current desolate silence was striking. Add in the unusual idea of a place of confinement amid the busy district, and it was certainly somewhere artists would be drawn to. It even seemed to have attracted some true masters.
Among all the colorful murals and graffiti, one painting in particular caught Fu Qian's attention.
It used only red and green, and even its palette matched the graffiti he'd glimpsed from the breakfast shop. Yet it had effortlessly rendered an exceptionally vivid image.
Vines and blood.
The unsettling red looked like rotten flesh beneath peeling wall plaster. But what twisted through it like a thicket wasn't blood vessels. It was vines, as if drawing nourishment from the flesh.
Though it covered only a few meters of wall, the vines still seemed lush and abundant.
And they didn't merely lurk within the wall of flesh. They stretched toward some unseen spot in the prison, clustering into a towering... Flower of Corruption?
In that moment, Fu Qian felt his artistic talent had been recognized.
The artist behind this painting actually shared an outlook similar to his own.
He drove slowly past, absorbing the artistic impact, but didn't stop. Instead, he went straight to the old prison entrance.
This place had retained