This Job Is Too Hot to Handle!

Fang Mo laughed for quite a while before finally reining it in.

He stretched lazily, and every joint in his body crackled like fried beans.

Rolling out of bed, he felt so light he could hardly believe it. He swung his fists, stirring the air with tiger-like force, brimming with explosive strength.

A night of hard work had been worth it!

After splashing some water on his face, he snapped off a tender willow branch from the backyard, dipped it in green salt, and casually scrubbed his teeth.

There was no toothpaste flavor, only bitterness filling his mouth, but it did clear his head.

"Grrrrumble—"

His stomach growled at the worst possible moment. After tamping all night, he was already starving.

Fang Mo felt the few pitiful Silver Shards in his robe. After Wang Youan, that miserly old bastard, had stripped him clean, this was the breakfast money he had generously bestowed upon him.

Stepping outside, the cool morning air washed over him.

Morning in the Divine Capital carried its distinctive Smell of Cooking. Breakfast stalls had already been set up along the streets, their food Steaming Hot.

"Boss, one bowl of lamb soup and two Cooked Cakes!"

Fang Mo found an empty seat. Before long, a huge bowl of lamb soup, floating with bright green scallions and fragrant enough to fill the air, was brought over.

He broke apart a crisp Cooked Cake, soaked it in the scalding soup, fished out a piece drenched in broth, and stuffed it into his mouth.

Mm, that hit the spot!

He had only eaten half a bowl when the light beside him dimmed. A burly figure sat down with a gust of wind, making the bench groan under the unbearable weight.

"Boss, give me double what this kid's having!"

With that drake-like voice, who else could it have been but Wang Youan?

Fang Mo looked up and forced out a fawning smile.

"Uncle Wang, why are you up so early today too?"

Wang Youan snorted and Patted the greasy table with his Fan-like hand, making Fang Mo's soup bowl wobble three times.

He pulled a small porcelain bottle from his robes, removed the stopper, poured some gray powder into his own bowl of lamb soup, and stirred it with his chopsticks.

The moment the powder entered the soup, its original meaty fragrance was instantly overwhelmed by a strange medicinal smell.

Wang Youan lifted his bowl, blew on it, and said without looking up, "Early? The sun's already shining on your ass!"

"Kid, let me teach you something. Those of us working in the Heavenly Prison rotate in two shifts, twelve hours each. Roll call and shift changes are at 5:45 AM. If anyone's late, the warden on duty won't care who they are when he swings his whip."

"Remember that. When an officer whips you, don't say I never warned you!"

Fang Mo had half a Cooked Cake hanging from his mouth, his eyes wide as saucers.

5:45 AM?

Wasn't that just past five in the morning?

The sky would barely be light!

Twelve hours on, twelve hours off?

Wasn't that being nothing but a goddamn workhorse?

With a miserable face, he asked, "Uncle Wang, then who exactly is my superior? I'm new here, so I ought to pay my respects at the dock first."

Hearing this, Wang Youan paused mid-sip and raised his eyes, squeezed into slits by fat, to glance sideways at Fang Mo.

Unhurriedly, he wiped the oil from the corner of his mouth with his sleeve, then casually Patted the dust on his chest.

"Your father was a Jailer in Cell Block C, Room 9 of the Heavenly Prison. Passed down to you, naturally you'll be one too."

He paused, a smug look appearing on his face as his voice rose several notches.

"Not to boast, but the warden of Cell Block C, Room 9 is none other than your Uncle Wang!"

Fang Mo: "..."

Black lines filled his face, and he nearly spat out the lamb soup in his mouth.

Seriously? You could even show off like this?

So my boss was this miserly old bastard?

While they were talking, Wang Youan had already swept through two huge bowls of lamb soup and four Cooked Cakes like a whirlwind.

He let out a loud, satisfied belch, casually wiped his mouth with his greasy hands, then shouted at the stall owner in a booming voice.

"Boss, the bill!"

The stall owner was a lean Man. Hearing him, he hurried over with a smile plastered across his face. "Warden Wang, thirty coins altogether."

Wang Youan's eyes widened as he pointed at Fang Mo beside him.

"What are you looking at me for? He's paying!"

With that, he slapped his backside and got to his feet, quick and decisive.

Fang Mo silently took out the few copper coins he had warmed in his robes, mentally greeting Wang Youan's ancestors for eighteen generations.

After paying, the two of them headed for the Heavenly Prison, one after the other.

The streets of the Divine Capital gradually grew livelier, but the direction they traveled became increasingly secluded, with fewer and fewer pedestrians.

A faint, chilling aura began to permeate the air.

Wang Youan, who had been so carefree just moments ago, now put away his flippant demeanor, his expression turning grave.

He walked beside Fang Mo with steady steps, his gaze constantly sweeping over the street corners and alleyways around them.

"Kid."

Wang Youan suddenly spoke, keeping his voice low.

"Once we enter the Heavenly Prison today, stick close to me. Talk less, watch more, and learn more."

Fang Mo's heart tightened, and he hurriedly nodded. "Uncle Wang, I understand."

Wang Youan shook his head, a solemn expression appearing on his face.

"No, you don't."

He stopped, turned around, and stared straight into Fang Mo's eyes.

"Your father's post is an iron rice bowl passed down through the generations, but there are plenty of people in this world who want to hold an iron rice bowl."

"Your bowl of rice may face some twists and turns!"

Twists and turns?

Fang Mo's heart sank hard.

His father had only just died, his body not even cold yet, and someone was already eyeing his position as a Jailer?