The atmosphere in the Prison Overseer's residence at Block C, Room Shen prison was even stranger than yesterday.
Someone had clipped all the leaves off that precious clivia at some point, leaving a bare stalk jutting out of the pot, looking rather comical. Li Yan sat in the seat of honor. Although he still wore that smiling-tiger expression, the dark circles beneath his eyes and the bloodshot eyes themselves betrayed his sleepless night.
The Sun Bue Head in the Red-Lacquered Wooden Box on the desk had already been disposed of, replaced by a cup of tea that had long since gone cold.
Fang Mo did not salute when he entered. Wearing his brand-new jailer's uniform, which looked somewhat out of place at this moment, with the Blood Soul Blade hanging at his waist, he brazenly pulled out a chair and sat down.
"You wanted to see me, Prison Overseer?" Fang Mo asked, knowing full well the answer.
Li Yan looked at the young man. In just two short days, the Sha Qi about him had grown so heavy that even the Calming Incense could not suppress it. Mo Qianshan had not died, Zhang Tao's private soldiers had been slaughtered, that shipment of illicit weapons had vanished into thin air, and then several great estates in the Divine Capital had received those deadly ledgers.
It had all happened too fast, too ruthlessly, too utterly.
Li Yan was no fool. In thirty years of getting by in the Heavenly Prison, what sort of desperate outlaw had he not seen? Yet Fang Mo was the only one with such cunning and methods at so young an age, who acted without the slightest restraint. He even wondered whether that taciturn Fang Dashan had been possessed by some demon back then to have fathered such