His consciousness rose as if surfacing from a desperate struggle against drowning in an unfathomable abyss. Everything felt heavy and viscous, with the wrenching sensation of his soul being forcibly stuffed into a cramped vessel.
Xu Qian snapped his eyes open, only to be choked by an indescribable stench—a mixture of mildew, sourness, blood, and something akin to rotting entrails. He broke into violent coughs, his stomach churning.
He found himself lying on a cold, damp wooden bed, so hard it dug into him. A stiff, thin blanket reeking of sourness covered him. Everywhere he looked, there was only suffocating darkness.
A ventilation hole about the size of a bowl, high up on the wall, let in a faint thread of daylight, just enough to outline the cramped space—less than ten square meters. The western wall was made of mottled, dark-black stone, covered in stains and slick moss. In the corner sat a reeking wooden bucket, clearly meant for answering nature's call.
The air was bone-chilling, with a cold that seeped into his marrow.
"Where... am I?" Xu Qian's mind was in chaos. His last memory was of himself, a 996 office drone, working late at his computer on some damn project before dying suddenly.
He struggled to sit up, but his whole body felt weak and sore. Pain throbbed through his head, as if he'd been on a three-day bender.
Just then, a jumble of unfamiliar memories came crashing into his mind like a flood bursting through a broken dam.
Great Xuan Dynasty... Divine Capital... Heavenly Prison... jailer... Xu Qian...
A moment later, the pain of the memories merging gradually ebbed. Xu Qian slumped onto the hard bed and stared blankly at the low ceiling, webbed with cobwebs. Only one enormous thought remained in his mind: Fuck!
He had transmigrated.
He'd gone from being an office drone in the twenty-first century to a sixteen-year-old boy with the same name, who had just taken over his gravely ill father's job as the lowest-ranking trainee jailer in the Great Xuan Dynasty's Heavenly Prison.
And this was the jailers' dormitory.
"Jailer... Heavenly Prison..." Xu Qian murmured, his voice hoarse and dry. "Other people transmigrate and become princes or royal descendants, or geniuses from some sect. At worst, they're rich young masters... What do I get? I'm sent straight to one of the most dangerous jobs in ancient times? And I might not even have a proper post—just a temp?"
He remembered that his predecessor had been on duty for the first time that day when the "Yin Sha Qi" filling the Heavenly Prison had invaded his body. Already malnourished, he'd promptly dropped dead, leaving Xu Qian to take his place.
This start was simply hell mode!
"Bang, bang, bang!"
The heavy knocking—or, more accurately, banging—on the door rudely interrupted his self-pity.
"Xu Qian! You dead or what? If you're not, hurry up and get out here for roll call! Think you're some young master? Keep dawdling and I'll dock your entire allowance for the month!" a rough, hoarse voice bellowed from outside. Impatient footsteps gradually receded.
It was the voice of Zhou Kang, the head jailer. In his predecessor's hazy memories, Zhou Kang was a hot-tempered, petty, old hand who looked after his subordinates, more or less.
Xu Qian jolted, his will to survive briefly overpowering his confusion and fear. He struggled to his feet and felt around the foot of the bed, as his memories guided him, until he found a gray, dusty jailer's uniform that reeked of sweat and mildew. He hurriedly pulled it on. The clothes were cold and stiff, rubbing painfully against his skin.
He pushed open the creaking wooden door, which looked ready to fall apart at any moment. A thicker, more complex stench rushed at him as if it were solid, nearly knocking him out.
Beyond the door was a narrow, deep stone passageway. Pine-oil torches burned in the walls, casting a dim, unsteady light that stretched people's shadows into twisted shapes. The air was saturated with an unshakable smell of blood and an oppressive atmosphere that made his heart quail.
Several figures in the same gray jailer uniforms hurried toward the depths of the passageway. Nobody spared him a glance. Everyone wore a numb expression, their eyes carrying the deadness and wariness peculiar to those long trapped in such an environment.
Xu Qian took a deep breath, only to be choked by the stench and start coughing again. He gritted his teeth and forced his still-wobbly legs to move, following the silent figures ahead.
Roll call took place in a slightly more spacious Stone Room at the entrance to Zone D. Head jailer Zhou Kang held a roster and read out names, cursing under his breath. Two dozen or so listless jailers stood below him.
Xu Qian stood at the very back of the crowd, head lowered, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible.
"...Xu Qian!" Zhou Kang called his name and glanced over, a trace of scrutiny in his eyes.
"Here..." Xu Qian answered quickly, his voice soft.
Zhou Kang frowned but said nothing more, only waving his hand. "Everyone's here! Same as always: those assigned to deliver meals, deliver meals; those assigned to clean, clean; those on guard, stand guard! Keep your wits about you! Especially you new brats!" His gaze lingered on Xu Qian and two other young men. "Keep your eyes peeled and your ears open! Not everyone locked up in this Heavenly Prison is a saint. Don't go dying without even knowing how!"
Before you continue