First Job: Scrubbing Floors

Early the next morning, Xu Qian woke shivering from the cold.

The dormitory was like an ice cellar; even his breath came out in white mist. Curled beneath a stiff, thin blanket, he struggled for quite a while before his powerful will to survive (and the pressure on his bladder) finally got him out of bed.

He had not slept peacefully the previous night. In his dreams, he was either being chased by dark green venomous phlegm or seeing the bloody words "Eternal Descent into Avici" appear on the walls. When he woke, his head felt heavy, and he was more exhausted than after three straight days of overtime.

At roll call, Zhou Kang's gaze paused on his face for a moment. He seemed to have noticed Xu Qian's listlessness, but said nothing, merely assigning duties as usual.

"Xu Qian," Zhou Kang said without looking up from the roster, "go to the Torture Chamber today and help clean it."

The Torture Chamber?

Xu Qian's heart skipped a beat. He instantly recalled yesterday's overpowering stench of blood and the suffocating oppression in the air. That place was even more uncomfortable than Block C.

[Well, I've been promoted from food-delivery guy to Torture Chamber janitor. Not much of a career leap, but the flavor has clearly gotten heavier.]

He ranted frantically inside, but did not dare show the slightest hint of it on his face. Xu Qian obediently replied, "Yes, Captain Zhou."

Several old jailers nearby revealed expressions of either gloating or sympathy. Cleaning the Torture Chamber was no pleasant assignment.

Following an old jailer assigned to lead the way, Xu Qian passed through several heavily guarded iron gates and arrived at the Torture Chamber area deep within the Heavenly Prison.

The air here was almost stagnant. The smell of blood, sweat, and a strange odor like a mixture of rust and scorched flesh was so thick it seemed almost tangible, weighing heavily on one's chest.

The lighting was dimmer than in the prison blocks. Only scattered wall torches provided illumination, casting the shadows of all manner of savage instruments of torture onto the walls, where they bared their fangs and claws.

The old jailer led him to the door of an innermost torture room that had just been used. Pointing at a bucket, brush, and pile of rough straw paper by the door, he said in a muffled voice, "This one. Wipe it clean inside and out, wash away the bloodstains. When you're done, dump the water in the designated place." Then, as if afraid of picking up something unclean, he hurried away.

Xu Qian stood alone outside that half-open iron door, which radiated a heavy sense of ill omen. Only after several rounds of psychological preparation did he grit his teeth and push it open.

"Creeeak—"

The hinges gave a teeth-grating screech.

An even fiercer, fresher stench of blood slammed into his face like a heavy hammer, nearly making him vomit on the spot. He clamped a hand over his mouth and forcibly suppressed the heaving in his throat.

The torture room was not large. At its center stood a stone platform fixed to the floor, covered in layer upon layer of dark brown stains. The ground around it was an even greater mess. Dark red blood had seeped into nearly every crack between the stones; in some places, it had pooled into small puddles that had not yet fully congealed. Spattered blood could also be seen on the walls.

Beyond the stench of blood, the air held a residue of extraordinarily cold, baleful energy. Xu Qian felt as though he had instantly fallen into an ice pit, his very thoughts threatening to freeze stiff. Was this the "baleful aura" Zhou Kang had mentioned? And the baleful aura here seemed to carry intense pain and despair, far more violent than the kind permeating the prison blocks.

[Good grief, this had to be the "Supreme VIP Deluxe Package" level of torture, right? Last life, I was a programmer. This life, I'm a cleaner—and a cleaner in the limited-edition, extra-gory horror movie version!]

The little man in Xu Qian's heart was already pounding the ground and wailing, but reality demanded that he finish this job. Zhou Kang's scolding and docked wages would be the least of it. If he got assigned to an even more "exciting" post, then he would truly be done for.

Resigned to his fate, he rolled up his sleeves, picked up the brush hard enough to use as a weapon, hefted the heavy bucket, and began his grand undertaking of "scrubbing floors."

Icy water splashed over the bloodstained ground, mixing with the blood and turning into an eerie pink liquid that flowed in all directions. The brush scraped across the stone with a rasping sound. Between the stench of blood and the assault of baleful aura, Xu Qian's stomach kept protesting. All he could do was take deep breaths again and again—only to choke on the even stronger smell—and try to numb himself.

He did not dare look at the suspiciously shaped grooves in the stone platform or the rusted clasps, nor did he dare imagine what horrific events had taken place here not long ago. He imagined himself as a ruthless floor-scrubbing machine, with eyes only for the grime that needed cleaning.

Yet the erosion of the baleful aura was all too real. That icy energy wormed into his body through every opening, leaving his hands and feet cold, his head spinning, and even causing auditory hallucinations. It was as though countless wronged souls were shrieking miserably in his ears.

[I can't do this... If I stay any longer, I won't be killed by prisoners—I'll be turned into an idiot by the baleful aura in this damned place first... Was that how the original owner died too?]

Just as he felt he could no longer hold on, with darkness washing over his vision in waves, an extremely faint warmth suddenly arose from his chest.