A Jailer's a Fine Job—This Jailer Position Is Mine

Moonlight streamed down from the eaves, laying a layer of cold frost across the small courtyard.

Fang Mo returned home and reached out to push open the familiar courtyard gate. The Door Hinge let out a creaking groan, painfully sharp in the silent night. He casually slid the bolt into place, then paused and looked toward the East Wing Room.

That window was pitch-black, like a silent hollow.

Every night in the past, no matter how late he returned, a dim yellow lamp would always be left burning there for him. The Old Man would sit beneath it, drinking cheap sorghum liquor with a small dish of peanuts, waiting for him to come home before nagging and scolding him a few times.

Now, the lamp was out.

Fang Mo clenched his Fists at his sides, his Knuckles turning white.

He had been an orphan in his Previous Life. In this life, that Man who was poor with words and could only express his concern with slaps and bamboo switches had been his only family.

Facing that darkness, his lips moved, his voice kept low.

"Old Man, rest in peace."

"I'll avenge you, no matter what!"

After saying that, he did not linger. He turned and pushed open the door to his own room, then dropped onto the cold Bed Board and sat cross-legged.

Grief could solve nothing. Only strength was real.

He needed to properly tally tonight's gains.

His consciousness sank into his body as Fang Mo began examining the talent known as Cold-Blooded.

This thing was unlike a cultivation art. It was more like a passive state.

He tried recalling Father's miserable death, the helplessness of having Li Mingyue's fingers around his throat, and the frustration of Wang Youan's twenty taels of silver being snatched away.

In the past, he would have either flown into a rage or been drowned in sorrow.

But now, those emotions were like ripples on the water's surface. They stirred once, then swiftly calmed, leaving the lake of his heart as still as an ancient well.

"Good stuff!"

Fang Mo nodded in satisfaction.

At critical moments, this thing was practically a divine skill!

It could keep him rational at all times, ensuring his judgment was not swayed by emotion.

Next came tonight's main event: the incomplete Heaven Devouring Demonic Art.

"Just look at that name—Heaven Devouring!"

"You can tell at a glance it's premium stuff!"

Fang Mo steadied himself, suppressed his excitement, and sank his consciousness into the Record of Punishing Crimes to carefully study the cultivation art.

Three Breaths later, Fang Mo's brow furrowed.

After the time it took to drink a cup of tea, his expression became strange.

Half an hour later, Fang Mo finally could not hold back any longer and erupted into curses.

"What the fuck is this garbage?!"

"This fucking thing deserves to be called the Heaven Devouring Demonic Art?!"

The art itself was simple and crude: forcibly absorb another person's vitality, blood, and True Essence, then refine them for one's own use.

But its conversion efficiency was criminally low!

One percent!

Absorb a hundred portions of someone else's cultivation, and only one portion remained for himself. The other ninety-nine portions fucking evaporated into thin air!

"This piece of trash deserves to be called Heaven Devouring? Calling it Shit Devouring would be flattering it!"

"I busted my ass, swinging stick after stick to earn this reward, and this is what I get?"

Fang Mo paced back and forth through the room in fury, growing angrier the more he thought about it.

Fuck it, endure for a moment and get breast nodules; take a step back and get tonsil hyperplasia!

He could not swallow this outrage!

A savage grin appeared on Fang Mo's face. His consciousness sank, and he entered the Blood-Colored World once more.

Within the Prison Suppressor of the Blood-Colored World.

Fang Mo appeared with a dark expression. He could not even be bothered to look at the Record of Punishing Crimes, directly reaching out and closing his hand in the air.

That pitch-black Wolf Tooth Club, covered in vicious Barbs, instantly materialized in his grasp.

Resting the Wolf Tooth Club on his shoulder, he looked toward the cage that was nearly transparent.

Wang Ergou's soul body lay collapsed inside like a puddle of rotten mud, without even the strength to twitch.

Sensing Fang Mo's ill-intentioned gaze, Wang Ergou's soul body instinctively trembled.

"M-My lord, you... why are you here again?"

Without another word, Fang Mo swung the Wolf Tooth Club and brought it down on his ass!

Bang!

"What the fuck do you mean by surprise?!"

Wang Ergou was struck so hard that his soul body nearly scattered on the spot, letting out a soundless scream.

"I'll make you call it the Heaven Devouring Demonic Art!"

Bang!

"I'll make your conversion rate one percent!"

Bang!

"Are you fucking messing with me?!"

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Fang Mo had completely lost it. He poured every bit of his rage over that worthless cultivation art onto Wang Ergou.

He cursed as he beat him.

"I work my ass off, putting in overtime to torture you, and all you give me is this trash?"

"Does this live up to my sweat?"

"Does this live up to this body of mine?"

"I'm telling you, this isn't over today! If I don't beat an unparalleled divine art out of you, I'll take your surname!"

Under the Wolf Tooth Club, Wang Ergou's soul body visibly grew thinner, solidified again, then grew thinner again, then solidified again.

He felt like an iron ingot being hammered over and over, enduring torture without end.

He wanted to Beg for Mercy, but Fang Mo's club was so fast that he did not even have an opening to send out a thought.

He wanted to pass out, but whenever his soul body was about to dissipate, a strange force surged from the bench and forcibly stabilized him, making him remain awake to endure the next blow.

The night passed without incident.

When the sky began to show Fish Belly White, Fang Mo within the Prison Suppressor had also grown tired of beating him.

Leaning on the Wolf Tooth Club, he panted heavily.

As his final strike fell.