Fang Mo stepped over the tall threshold of Heaven's Prison, its surface coated in years of greasy grime, and was met by the damp, moldy stench unique to this place.
The smell might have turned other people's stomachs, but to Fang Mo, it brought an indescribable sense of security.
Dressed in a Jailer Uniform stained with a few flecks of mud and the reek of blood, he moved unimpeded through the dim corridor.
The few unfamiliar jailers he passed saw his bedraggled appearance but didn't dare ask questions. They only looked at him with some astonishment.
Fang Mo paid them no mind. He went straight through the District of Yi and headed for the rest area of Block C, Room Shen prison.
In the center of the hall, beside the pearwood table that had passed through who knew how many generations, Old Huang and Old Liu sat like two door gods. They should have clocked out long ago and gone home to cuddle their wives or visit the brothels.
Their eyes were bloodshot. The pipes in their hands had already gone out, but they still puffed away at them from time to time.
At the sound of footsteps, the two men jolted like cats whose tails had been stepped on, then turned around in unison.
When they saw that it was Fang Mo—and that all his limbs were intact and his head was still on his shoulders—the gloom on their faces vanished in an instant, replaced by the wild joy of men who'd just escaped death.
"Little Mo!"
Old Huang was so excited he came stumbling over, nearly crawling. He didn't care that Fang Mo was filthy; he grabbed his arm and felt him up and down. Only after confirming that all the parts were still there did he let out a long breath.
"How'd it go? You found the thing, right?"
Old Liu didn't lose his composure as badly, but the sharp glint in his narrowed eyes shone even brighter than Old Huang's.
Fang Mo gave a quiet, derisive laugh.
Those two old foxes—how could they possibly care whether he lived or died?
They were clearly afraid that if this mess wasn't settled properly, the flames would eventually reach their own backsides.
After all, the death of a Junior Officer in the Punishment Department was a case so huge that it couldn't possibly stay hidden in the Divine Capital.
And in a place like Heaven's Prison, news ran faster than it had legs.
His face instantly bloomed into that trademark, radiant, harmless smile. He casually patted Old Huang's still-trembling hand.
"Uncle Huang, Uncle Liu, don't worry."
Fang Mo lowered his voice and put on a mysterious air. "I found it, but..."
"But what?" Old Liu was so anxious he nearly crushed the pipe in his hand.
"Someone took it." Fang Mo spread his hands, his face full of helplessness and regret.
"Someone took it?" Old Huang froze, then patted his chest in obvious relief.
"Good! Good that they took it! As long as it wasn't lost while it was in our hands, we can at least give an account of ourselves. That's Immortals fighting each other. For little devils like us, just staying alive is a blessing."
Old Liu wasn't so easy to fool.
His eyes darted around in their sockets twice. He edged closer to Fang Mo, until his deeply wrinkled old face was almost pressed against Fang Mo's nose.
"Little Mo," Old Liu said in a very low voice, testing the waters, "did you see what was inside?"
The smile on Fang Mo's face faltered slightly.
He didn't answer right away. Instead, he studied Old Liu with a meaningful gaze.
His eyes flickered as though he were weighing the pros and cons—or perhaps looking at a fool who didn't know when to quit.
That old bastard was greedy enough to swallow an elephant.
It was a forbidden drug of the Demonic Path, the Blood Spirit Pill. What made him think he could covet it?
"Uncle Liu," Fang Mo sighed, his tone so sincere it could make someone cry.
"I really don't know about that. It was such a mess at the time that I was too busy playing dead to save my own skin."
Then he shifted gears, a flattering smile spreading across his face.
"But Uncle Liu, you've spent all these years building connections in Heaven's Prison. You've got friends from every walk of life. Your network is surely beyond what a greenhorn like your nephew could manage. Why don't... you go make a few inquiries?"
Fang Mo thumped his chest and spoke with grand generosity. "By rights, anyone who finds this thing should get a share. If you can dig up the whole story, and there really is some benefit in it, I won't take my share! Consider it a little something for your trouble—a token of my respect for you!"
The words sounded lovely, but they were like a red-hot branding iron, putting Old Liu right on the spot.
Old Liu's face instantly stiffened.
He cursed inwardly: That little brat looks honest, but he's rotten to the core!
If I had what it took to fight the Punishment Department and those experts who snatched the goods for a share, would I still be stuck working as some lousy jailer in this dark, damp prison?
Would I still be standing here arguing with you, you young whippersnapper?
He was pushing him straight to his death!
"Ahem..." Old Liu gave an awkward cough and waved his hand with a forced smile.
"My dear nephew, you're joking. You're joking. These old bones of mine don't have that kind of ability. If the matter's settled, then that's good. That's good."
Just as the atmosphere was growing strange,
the light in the prison hall suddenly dimmed.
Fang Mo felt a chill run down his back—a literal chill, as though a mountain of flesh had blocked out all the light and warmth.
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