This Feeling Is Called Poverty

Fang Mo stepped over the high threshold of the heavenly prison, coated with years of grime, and a damp, moldy smell unique to this place assaulted his senses.

While this scent might be nauseating to others, to Fang Mo at this moment, it was inexplicably comforting.

Dressed in the jailer uniform, stained with a bit of mud and the stench of blood, he moved unhindered through the dim corridor.

A few unfamiliar jailers he encountered along the way, seeing his disheveled state, didn't dare to ask too many questions, though their eyes held a hint of surprise.

Fang Mo ignored their gazes and headed straight through Block B, making for the resting area of Block C, Room Shen prison.

In the center of the hall, by the square pear wood table that had seen generations of use, Old Huang and Old Liu, who should have long since finished their shifts and gone home to their wives or to visit brothels, were seated like two guardian deities.

Their eyes were bloodshot, and though the tobacco in their pipes had long gone out, they still puffed on them idly.

Hearing footsteps, they jolted like cats whose tails had been stepped on and turned their heads simultaneously.

Upon seeing that it was Fang Mo, and that his limbs were intact and his head was still on his neck, the gloom on their faces instantly vanished, replaced by a wild joy of having survived a disaster.

"Xiao Mo!"

Old Huang, overcome with emotion, scrambled over. He didn't mind Fang Mo's dirtiness, grabbed his arm, and felt him all over. Only after confirming all his parts were accounted for did he let out a sigh of relief.

"How is it? Did you find the thing?"

Old Liu, beside him, though not as outwardly flustered, had a sharper glint in his narrowed eyes than Old Huang.

Fang Mo chuckled inwardly.

These two old foxes weren't concerned about his life or death.

They were clearly afraid that if this matter wasn't handled cleanly, the fallout would eventually reach them.

After all, the earth-shattering case of a minor officer's death in the Punishment Department was something that couldn't be kept secret in the Divine Capital.

And in the heavenly prison, news traveled even faster than legs could run.

His face instantly broke into that signature, harmless, brilliant smile, and he casually patted the back of Old Huang's still trembling hand.

"Uncle Huang, Uncle Liu, rest your minds."

Fang Mo lowered his voice, putting on a mysterious air, "I found the thing, but, well..."

"But what?" Old Liu was so anxious he almost crushed the pipe in his hand.

"It was snatched away," Fang Mo spread his hands, his face a mask of helplessness and regret.

"Snatched away?" Old Huang blinked, then surprisingly patted his chest with relief.

"It's good that it was snatched away, good! As long as it wasn't lost on our watch, then we have an explanation. That was a fight between immortals; it's good enough if we little devils can keep our lives."

Old Liu, however, wasn't so easily fooled.

His eyeballs rolled in their sockets, and he leaned closer to Fang Mo, his wrinkled old face almost touching Fang Mo's nose.

"Xiao Mo," Old Liu's voice dropped very low, tinged with probing, "Did you get a clear look at what was inside?"

Fang Mo's smile faltered slightly.

He didn't answer immediately, instead appraising Old Liu with a meaningful gaze.

His flickering eyes seemed to weigh the pros and cons, or perhaps he was looking at a fool who courted death.

This old man, greedy and never satisfied.

That was a forbidden demonic drug, the Blood Spirit Pill, and you dare to covet it?

"Uncle Liu," Fang Mo sighed, his tone so sincere it could make one cry, "Regarding this matter, your nephew truly doesn't know. The scene was too chaotic at the time; I was only focused on playing dead to save my life."

He paused, then his tone shifted, his face breaking into a fawning smile:

"However, Uncle Liu, you've been managing this heavenly prison for so many years, with connections everywhere across all walks of life. Such avenues are surely beyond what a hotheaded youngster like myself can compare to. Perhaps... you could go and investigate?"

Fang Mo patted his chest, speaking with great bravado, "By rights, whoever sees it should get a share. If you, Uncle Liu, can uncover something concrete, and if there truly are any benefits, your nephew won't take his share! Consider it your hard work fee, and also your nephew's filial respect!"

These words, though beautifully spoken, were like a red-hot iron branding iron, directly roasting Old Liu.

Old Liu's old face instantly froze.

He cursed inwardly: This little brat, he looks honest and naive, but his belly is full of wicked schemes!

If I had the ability to contend with the Punishment Department and those experts who snatched the goods, would I still be stuck in this dark, damp heavenly prison as a lowly jailer?

Would I still be haggling with a junior like you here?

This is pushing me to my death!

"Cough cough..." Old Liu coughed awkwardly, waving his hand with a forced smile, "My dear nephew jokes. You jest. With these old bones, how could I possibly have such abilities? Since the matter is concluded, then it's good, it's good."

Just as the atmosphere turned somewhat strange.

The light in the prison hall suddenly dimmed.

Fang Mo felt a chill run down his spine, a physical chill, as if a mountain of flesh had blocked all light and heat.