Wildfire Rises, Wenning Is About to Fall

At first, a wildfire was not enough to burn everything away.

In the beginning, it was only a few unnoticed sparks, fleeting crimson pinpricks scattered through the air.

But once they encountered dry grass and air parched by long drought, they would become flames. When those flames began rolling across the prairie, they would become a wildfire that consumed all.

Even a heavenly downpour would likely be of no avail.

Zhang San and Old Ox were thrown into the prison of Wenning County.

"Gentlemen, we have neither old grudges nor recent enmity."

The jailer smiled broadly. "You ended up in your brother's hands only because someone else caught you. We merely handle matters according to the court's rules."

"We understand. We understand perfectly."

Old Ox laughed and joked along, but Zhang San said nothing.

He had once been a yamen runner in Shanyin County, so he knew prison affairs all too well.

Without a word, they would first give newcomers twenty strokes. They called them "warm-up strokes."

Once those twenty strokes had warmed the body, the jailer would demand money. That money had an auspicious name too: "toll money." If one agreed, there would be no further trouble.

If one refused, there would be another twenty strokes, called "rule strokes."

If one agreed but failed to deliver the money afterward, thirty more strokes would be waiting, called "memory strokes."

The prison's water-and-fire cudgels were round on one end and flat on the other, with iron bound around the flat end. If they struck in earnest, twenty blows could take half a life.

After those forty strokes before and after, one would be considered officially entered into prison. From then on, the jailer had endless tricks to play.

In short, with money, you were a living immortal here. Without it, before