After Old Huang and Scarface left, the only sound in the passage was the crackling of the torch burning its oil.
Fang Mo didn't hurry back to the break room. Holding the Water-Fire Cudgel, he turned his gaze toward the darkness deeper inside Block C prison.
Humming a little tune, Fang Mo swaggered deeper into Block C, walking with a swagger that said he didn't give a damn who he crossed.
"I think I'm guilty~"
The bizarre tune echoed through the gloomy passage of Heavenly Prison, giving it a peculiar charm.
The farther he went, the fainter the mold and stench of blood in the air became.
It wasn't because the place was clean. Something heavier and more oppressive pressed those smells down into the cracks between the bricks, keeping them from drifting free.
The torchlight along both sides of the passage changed from dim yellow to a ghastly white.
The torches burned some unknown beast oil. They gave off no heat as they burned, only cold light.
Fang Mo stopped humming.
He felt strange.
He was only a nobody at the middle stage of the Qi and Blood Realm, yet his Cold-Blooded talent was like a high-precision radar, constantly feeding his brain reports of everything unusual in the surrounding area.
Quiet.
Too quiet.
In the area around Room Nine in Bingshen, he could still hear prisoners wailing, chains dragging, and even jailers shouting curses.
But deeper inside Block C prison, somewhere around the area past Number Sixty, every sound had vanished.
The cells on both sides still had black iron bars, but the bars were three times thicker than those farther out.
Every bar was carved with densely packed runes. They weren't still; they drifted almost imperceptibly, giving off a dim red glow.
Fang Mo lightened his steps.
He moved with extreme caution, like a mouse that had wandered into a tiger's territory.
"Fifty-eight... fifty-nine... sixty."
Fang Mo stopped outside cell Number Sixty.
The darkness here was thick as ink.
Even the Cold Flame Torch on the wall couldn't penetrate the cell by so much as a foot.
Fang Mo narrowed his eyes, trying to make out what was inside.
Just then—
"Thump."
A faint sound, yet as heavy as a hammer pounding against his chest, came from the endless darkness within.
Every hair on Fang Mo's body stood on end!
It was a heartbeat.
Not his.
It was the heartbeat of the thing inside.
Then two scarlet lanterns lit up in the darkness.
They weren't lanterns.
They were a pair of eyes.
There was no human emotion in those eyes, no brutality, no killing intent—only an indifference that looked down upon all living things.
Like a man spotting an ant by the roadside.
Fang Mo felt as if his blood were about to freeze.
The qi and blood within him cowered in the depths of his Dantian like quails facing a natural enemy, trembling so violently he couldn't summon even the tiniest trace of it.
Strong.
Absurdly strong.
This was absolutely not something he could touch at his current level.
Without the slightest hesitation, Fang Mo didn't even take another look. He turned around at once and backed away, one step at a time, his posture seeming casual even as every muscle in his body stayed taut.
Only after he had left the reach of that terrifying pressure and returned to the area where Old Huang and the others were did Fang Mo feel the cold sweat on his back soaking through his Jailer Uniform, woven from Black Iron Wood.
"Damn it."
Fang Mo cursed inwardly.
"So this is the foundation of Heavenly Prison?"
"If there's a monster like that deep in Block C, what about Block B? Block A?"
"And what about Block Xin prison at the very bottom?"
Fang Mo licked his dry lips. The fear in his eyes gradually receded, replaced by even hotter greed.
That thing held countless divine abilities, cultivation techniques, and talents!
"Just you wait."
"One day, I'll hang every last one of you from a streetlamp... No, I'll 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 thing very well: haste made waste. And it especially wouldn't get him anywhere with an old monster like that.
Pick a fight with it now, and he'd be delivering takeout—not just bringing the meal, but serving himself up as the main course.
Keep his head down.
Grow stronger.
As long as he lived long enough to outlast those old monsters—or reached the point where his divine arts were complete—Heavenly Prison would become the backyard of him, Fang!
Fang Mo retreated all the way to the jailers' break room.
By now, the jailers who had been drinking and gambling in the hall had dispersed. Only two or three on duty remained, dozing with their heads on the table.
Fang Mo didn't disturb them. He found a sheltered corner and sat down against the cold, hard stone wall.
It was cold here, but full of people. At last, the sense of being watched by some terrifying presence faded completely.
He folded his arms, laid the Water-Fire Cudgel across his knees, and pretended to close his eyes and rest.
In truth, his mind had already sunk deep into his body.
"Little ones, it's time for me to eat, too."
Blood Colored Sky, dark-red earth.
Prison Suppressor.
Fang Mo's figure coalesced beneath the tower.
The air here still carried that intoxicating scent of rust, letting his tightly wound nerves relax completely.
He leisurely walked over to the newly appeared cage.
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