Fang Mo complained with his mouth, but his body was honest. As the orb representing the Iron Bone talent merged into him, he felt a tingling, itching, swelling sensation spread through his bones once more, as though countless ants were crawling through his marrow.
Then, a wondrous sight unfolded.
The silver bones that had already reached their limit absorbed this second Iron Bone talent, yet showed no signs of rejection. Instead, like a parched sponge soaking up water, they greedily devoured it whole.
Deep within the silver sheen, tiny golden threads began to emerge, fine as hair yet dazzling beyond compare.
"Hm?"
Fang Mo's eyes lit up.
How was this a duplicate? This was enhancement material!
"If it can be enhanced, then let's not waste it."
Fang Mo turned his gaze back to Gu Yichuan, who was in the cage, barely drawing breath.
The man had been a menace while alive, but in death, every part of him was a treasure. Now that he had been fully punished, according to the rules of the Record of Punishing Crimes, he would either have his soul scattered—or...
"Recycling waste is the foundation of environmental protection."
Fang Mo swept his hand, and an invisible force of rules descended.
Gu Yichuan's soul, which had been on the verge of dispersing, solidified once more under the power. What was more, his ragged prison garb transformed into a black uniform trimmed with red, with a large character for "guard" printed on the chest.
His eyes, however, had grown hollow and numb. Only when he looked at Fang Mo did they reveal an absolute submission that came from the depths of his soul.
Gu Yichuan climbed to his feet, his movements stiff but precise.
He walked over to Fang Mo, prostrated himself, and slammed his forehead against the dark red ground.
"Your subordinate Gu Yichuan pays his respects to my lord."
Fang Mo nodded with satisfaction.
The prisoners in Prison Suppressor were growing more numerous by the day. Relying on Wang Ergou alone as an unofficial hand was indeed becoming a bit much.
Now that Gu Yichuan, a professional, had joined them, managing the place would be much easier.
After all, when it came to tormenting people, trumping up charges, interrogating suspects, and forcing confessions, this former Junior Officer of the Punishment Department was an expert.
"Get up."
Fang Mo waved his hand, his voice as indifferent as a heavenly edict.
"From now on, you'll follow Ergou. You may be stronger than him, but around here, seniority is the rule. He's the senior disciple, and you're the junior."
"And one more thing."
Fang Mo pointed to the six souls of the Punishment Department captains in the nearby cage, still trembling with fear.
"These were your old subordinates in life. You know them, and you know your way around. Go on, give them a proper welcome. Don't let them think they'll be left alone down below."
Gu Yichuan did not hesitate.
He rose to his feet, clasped his hands, and respectfully accepted the order. "Yes, my lord. I'll make sure they understand what it means to be—truly welcomed."
With that, he turned and walked toward the row of cages.
Wang Ergou watched from the side, his eyelids twitching.
What a ruthless man.
Gu Yichuan had been vicious when alive, but who would've thought he'd be even harsher on his own people as a ghost?
Fang Mo paid no further attention to the two newly appointed jailers' workplace handover.
His mind stirred as he sensed a faint disturbance from the outside world.
It was a warning that someone was approaching the cell.
"Time's about up."
Fang Mo closed his eyes, and his figure slowly faded from the blood-red space.
"I'll deal with the rest of you tonight."
The three monks were left with a sinister grin that carried a deeper meaning.
Real World, Heavenly Prison, Cell Bingshen No. 7.
Fang Mo abruptly opened his eyes.
The first thing he saw was a complete mess.
Blood covered the floor, the walls were full of dents, and three corpses lay in a gruesome state.
Without the slightest panic, he swiftly dragged back Yuantong, whom he had kicked away, and arranged him in a cross-legged sitting position.
Then he straightened Yuanji, whose throat had been pierced, and pressed his hand over the gaping hole in his neck.
Finally, he placed the old monk whose back entrance had been blown out in the middle.
Once he had finished, he straightened his clothes, brushed nonexistent dust from his sleeves, and put on an expression of compassion, tinged with a trace of regret.
Footsteps sounded from the far end of the passage.
Old Huang's stooped figure appeared beneath the dim lamplight.
"Xiao Mo? Xiao Mo, are you still in there?"
There was a hint of hesitation and unease in Old Huang's voice.
The Block C, Room Shen prison was far too quiet.
He had clearly heard a fight inside just moments ago, so why had it gone silent all of a sudden? Had something happened to the boy?
Fang Mo turned around and called out to Old Huang, "Uncle Huang! I'm here!"
Hearing the vigor in his voice, Old Huang felt half the worry leave his heart.
He hurried over and looked Fang Mo up and down with his old eyes. Only after confirming the boy still had all his limbs did he finally relax.
"You scared me to death."
Old Huang patted his chest, still shaken.
"The brothers outside heard some noise from this way just now, then it suddenly went quiet. So I thought I'd come take a look..."
Before he could finish,
Old Huang's gaze passed over Fang Mo's shoulder and fell on the scene inside the cell.
Before you continue