The first hurdle after entering prison was a thorough scrub-down.
Ye Wudao was stripped naked, and every place that could be examined was thoroughly checked.
He changed into a fresh prison uniform, received his toiletries, and waited to be assigned a cell.
Throughout the process, he trailed at the very back of the line like a walking corpse.
Three whole months had passed since the police took him away, the court handed down its verdict, and he arrived at prison.
These three months, he had wanted to appeal countless times. But when he thought of those flawless "false pieces of evidence" Ye Zhenshan had fabricated, he couldn't see any chance of winning.
So he put the matter out of his mind and focused on studying the system in his head.
This system had appeared out of nowhere, and to him, it was a ray of light—a glimmer of hope.
Perhaps...
Fifteen years from now, he could use this system to avenge himself.
The system's function was simple: the Martial Dao Self-Improvement System didn't make him improve himself. Instead, it made his martial arts improve automatically.
He would have to start cultivating a technique before he could find out exactly how it worked.
But when he looked around at the heavily guarded prison, the hope that had just ignited in his heart was snuffed out in an instant, and his spirits sank to rock bottom again.
Where could he cultivate a technique in this wretched place?
Forget cultivating one. It was impossible even to find a single technique.
A little over a hundred years ago, humanity had suddenly discovered that Blue Star had gained a new kind of energy. Those who practiced ancient martial arts had instantly grown immensely powerful.
From then on, the age of martial arts had officially begun on Blue Star.
Yet even after more than a hundred years of development, martial arts remained within reach of only a small fraction of people.
As the saying went, literature was for the poor, martial arts for the rich. What mattered most in martial arts cultivation wasn't talent, but resources.
In all those hundred-plus years of martial arts on Blue Star, only a handful of warriors had climbed up from the bottom.
Meanwhile, the descendants of the families and clans that already controlled vast resources could outpace everyone else through sheer advantage of resources, even if they lacked talent.
As a result, the martial power of these great families grew ever stronger, and their resources ever greater, forming a virtuous cycle.
For ordinary people, the only chance to come into contact with martial arts was to be admitted to a Martial Arts Academy.
There was no way the prison would let its inmates practice martial arts.
At worst, I'll start cultivating after I get out in fifteen years!
Ye Wudao clenched his fists and muttered through gritted teeth.
The only option he could think of was to start cultivating after his release.
At least that would leave him a sliver of hope, keeping the fire of revenge in his heart from going out.
Otherwise, fifteen years from now, everything might have changed. Whether he could even hold on until then was anyone's guess.
"Number 4567, Ye Wudao!"
Just then, a loud, forceful voice interrupted Ye Wudao's thoughts.
He looked toward the voice, then glanced at the person ahead of him.
Everyone in front had already followed the guards into the prison. He was the only one left in the line.
"Here!"
Coming back to himself, he called out loudly.
"Your bed is..."
The guard assigning the cells looked at the form in his hand and drew out the words.
Suddenly, he turned and quietly said to a guard beside him, who was holding a baton, "Warden, it looks like we're out of beds."
The warden with the baton froze and asked, "How could we be out of beds?"
The guard assigning the cells replied in a low voice, "The sewer over at the Second Prison was clogged yesterday, so they transferred a batch of inmates here."
"You weren't in yesterday, so the deputy warden handled receiving them."
The warden glanced at Ye Wudao, pressed his lips together, and said softly, "Then send him to Cell No. 1 for a temporary stay."
The guard assigning the cells twitched his mouth and whispered, "No one's stayed in Cell No. 1 for a long time. This kid's just an ordinary person. Won't they mess him up in there?"
The warden raised an eyebrow and snorted. "Then should he stay in your room?"
"Or would you rather go tell the higher-ups to expand Haicheng First Prison?"
The guard assigning the cells gave an awkward smile, turned to Ye Wudao, and called out, "Ye Wudao, your bed is Bed No. 8 in Cell No. 1."
Ye Wudao gave a bitter smile and called back, "Yes!"
He had spent three months in the detention center. There, Bed No. 8 was right beside the toilet—it was the toilet watcher's bed.
He wondered if the beds in this prison were arranged the same way as in the detention center.
Soon, a guard led him into the cell block.
The cells in Haicheng First Prison were laid out strangely. The first cell wasn't Cell No. 1, but Cell No. 2.
Cell No. 1 was at the very back of the block, the last room.
"Number 4567, take your toiletries and go in."
"Memorize the prison rules within three days. We'll test you then."
The guard opened the door to Cell No. 1 and spoke to him. Then he unlocked Ye Wudao's handcuffs.
Ye Wudao entered Cell No. 1, and the door shut behind him.
He stood by the cell door and looked around.
The layout was similar to the detention center's: four bunk beds, eight beds in all.
Bed No. 7 and Bed No. 8 were both close to the toilet door.
What was strange, though, was that there were only three people in Cell No. 1.
He couldn't understand why they had assigned him Bed No. 8.
Ye Wudao looked at the three people in the cell and bent forward in greeting. "Hello."
But no one answered him.
The man in Bed No. 1 was an old man with graying hair. He lay on his bed without acknowledging Ye Wudao.
The man in Bed No. 2 was middle-aged, with a black eyepatch over his right eye. He sat on his bed and ignored him too.
The man in Bed No. 3 was also an old man. A long scar ran across his face, from the corner of his eye to the corner of his mouth.
The old man in Bed No. 3 did look at him, but only for a moment. He said nothing more.
Ye Wudao didn't bother trying to greet them again. He went straight to his own Bed No. 8 and neatly arranged his things.
With nothing else to do, he picked up the book titled "Prison Rules" and started reading.
Suddenly, the light in front of him dimmed as a figure appeared before him.
"Kid, you're just an ordinary person. How'd you end up in this cell?"
"What did you do?"
A hoarse voice came from above him.
Ye Wudao looked up. It was the scarred old man from Bed No. 3.
"I didn't do anything. I was framed," he replied softly, looking at the old man.
The old man smiled faintly, and the scar on his face twisted like a centipede crawling across it.
"Whoever framed you must be pretty capable!"
"The laws of the Blue Star Federation are strict these days. You'd need to be quite powerful to pull strings through so many layers."
Ye Wudao pressed his lips together, lowered his head, and muttered, "He is."
"The Ye Family, one of the top ten families in Haicheng City."
It had taken him the three months in the detention center to learn just how powerful the Ye Family behind Ye Zhenshan was.
And it was precisely because he understood the Ye Family's power that he had chosen to give up on appealing.
He knew there was no chance of winning.
"The Ye Family?"
"Was it that old bastard Ye Haipeng who framed you?"
"Impossible. He's a Houtian Peak martial artist. Why would he frame an ordinary person like you?"
The old man sat down on the unoccupied Bed No. 7 across from Ye Wudao and crossed his legs.
Ye Wudao froze. He had never heard of anyone named Ye Haipeng in the Ye Family.
He shook his head and replied, "I don't know the Ye Haipeng you're talking about. Ye Zhenshan was the one who sent me here."
The old man raised an eyebrow. "I see! So it was that good-for-nothing son of Ye Haipeng."
He paused, then looked at Ye Wudao with a smile. "Do you want revenge?"
At those words, Ye Wudao abruptly raised his head and said in a low voice, "Of course I do!"
But then he lowered his head again. "But I can't take on the Ye Family."
The old man burst out laughing. "Ha! What's the Ye Family, anyway?"
"Ye Haipeng is only at Houtian Peak!"
"Once you reach the Xiantian Realm, dealing with the Ye Family will be as easy as turning over your hand."
Ye Wudao froze at that and asked, "Houtian? Xiantian? Are you talking about martial arts?"
The old man smiled faintly. "Kid, become my disciple. I'll help you reach the Xiantian Realm, then you can go out and wipe out the Ye Family!"
"How does that sound?"
Ye Wudao's eyes lit up, and he was just about to speak.
But the middle-aged man suddenly sneered, "Old Ghost Hu, you're only at Houtian Great Accomplishment yourself. How do you have the nerve to claim you can help him reach Xiantian?"
The old man's face darkened instantly. He glared at the middle-aged man and growled, "One-Eyed Dragon, are you looking to die?"
The middle-aged man stood up, rolled his neck, and sneered at the old man. "You think you can take me?"
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