Bingshen Depths, Unseeable Thing

After Old Huang and Scarface left, the only sound left in the corridor was the crackling of torches burning grease.

Fang Mo didn't rush back to the break room. He carried the Water-Fire Cudgel, his gaze fixed on the deeper darkness of Block C prison.

Humming a little tune, Fang Mo swaggered forward with a cocky, carefree stride, heading deeper into Block C.

"I think I have a sin~"

The tune was bizarre, echoing through the gloomy Heavenly Prison corridor, carrying a strange charm of its own.

The further in he went, the fainter the musty smell and bloody smell in the air became.

It wasn't that the place was clean, but that something heavier and more oppressive had pressed those smells into the gaps between the floor tiles, not daring to drift out.

The candle flames on both sides of the corridor shifted from dim yellow to pale white.

It was some unknown beast oil, burning without heat, only cold light.

Fang Mo stopped humming.

His current feeling was strange.

He was just a small fry at the mid-stage of the Qi and Blood Realm, yet the Cold-Blooded talent acted like a high-precision radar, constantly feeding his brain information about the anomalies in his surroundings.

Quiet.

Too quiet.

Ahead, in the Bingshen Room Nine area, you could still hear the prisoners' wails, the dragging of chains, even the jailers' shouts and curses.

But here, in the deeper part of Block C prison, roughly from Number Sixty onward, all sounds vanished.

The cells on both sides still had Black Iron Wood bars, but the thickness of the bars was three times that of the ones ahead.

Every single bar was densely covered in runes. Those runes weren't static; they crawled almost imperceptibly, emitting a faint Dark Red glow.

Fang Mo lightened his steps.

Every move he made now was extremely cautious, like a rat that had strayed into a tiger's territory.

"Fifty-eight... fifty-nine... sixty."

Reaching the entrance of Cell Number Sixty, Fang Mo stopped.

The darkness here was as thick as ink.

Even the Cold Flame Torch on the wall couldn't pierce even a single foot into the cell.

Fang Mo squinted, trying to make out what was inside.

Just then.

Thump.

An extremely faint, yet heavy thud, like a hammer striking the heart, came from the endless depths of the darkness.

The hairs all over Fang Mo's Whole Body stood on end in an instant!

That was a heartbeat.

Not his heartbeat.

It was the heartbeat of the thing inside.

Then, two scarlet lanterns lit up in the darkness.

Those weren't lanterns.

Those were a pair of eyes.

Those Eyes held no human emotion, no brutality, no killing intent—only an indifference that looked down on all living things.

Like a person glancing at an ant on the roadside.

Fang Mo felt his blood was about to freeze.

The Qi and Blood power inside his body, like a quail encountering its Natural Enemy, curled up deep in his Dantian, trembling, unable to mobilize even a shred.

Strong.

Ridiculously strong.

This was definitely not an existence he could touch right now.

Fang Mo didn't hesitate for a moment. He didn't even take another look. He turned around directly, and with a posture that seemed leisurely but had every muscle in his body tensed, he stepped back, one step at a time.

Only after retreating out of that terrifying oppressive range and back to the area where Old Huang and the others were, did Fang Mo feel the Cold Sweat soaking through his Jailer Uniform woven from Black Iron Wood.

"Damn it."

Fang Mo cursed inwardly.

"So this is the foundation of the Heavenly Prison?"

"There's a Monster like that deep in Block C prison? What about Block B prison? Block A prison?"

"And the deepest Block Xin Prison?"

Fang Mo licked his dry lips. The fear in his eyes gradually faded, replaced by a more fervent greed.

That was countless divine abilities, techniques, and talents!

"Just wait."

"Sooner or later, I'm going to string every last one of you up on lampposts... no, hang you in my Prison Suppressor!"

"When that day comes, I'll tell you to go east, and you won't dare go west!"

Fang Mo understood one truth well: haste makes waste, and you definitely couldn't rush an old monster like this.

Going to provoke them now would be like delivering takeout—not only bringing the meal but offering yourself as the dish.

Lie low.

Grow.

As long as he lived long enough to outlast these old bastards, or until his own skills reached perfection, this Heavenly Prison would be his, Fang Mo's, personal backyard!

Fang Mo retreated all the way back to the jailers' rest hall.

By now, the few jailers who had been gambling and drinking had dispersed, leaving only two or three on duty, dozing off with their heads on the tables.

Fang Mo didn't disturb them. He found a corner out of the draft, sat down against the cold, hard Stone Wall.

It was chilly here, but the human presence was strong, and the sense of crisis from being watched by some terrifying existence finally faded completely.

He crossed his arms, laid the Water-Fire Cudgel across his knees, and pretended to rest with his eyes closed.

In truth, his mind had already sunk deep within himself.

"Little ones, it's time for me to eat, too."

Blood Colored Sky, dark red Great Earth.

Prison Suppressor.

Fang Mo's figure coalesced beneath the tower.

The air here still carried that intoxicating scent of rust, which greatly relaxed his taut nerves.

He strolled unhurriedly over to the newly appeared cage.