The morning mist had yet to clear from South City Prison.
Yi Yang arrived early, dressed in his Acting Patrol Commander's uniform, the Black Iron Token of South City Prison hanging at his waist. His steps were unhurried, his back slightly stooped. By the time he reached the main gate, yesterday's two Patrol Guards were already standing ramrod straight.
The duty room no longer smelled of wine, meat, and sweat.
In the courtyard, several jailers were carrying breakfast inside: rice porridge, pickled vegetables, and coarse flour flatbread. It was nothing special, but at least it was on time.
Had this lot learned their lesson?
Yi Yang tucked his hands into his sleeves and ambled through the gate.
The thin-faced Patrol Guard hurriedly lowered his head.
"Good morning, sir."
The stout Patrol Guard bowed as well, bending at the waist much more smoothly than yesterday.
"Morning."
Yi Yang answered with a single word, still wearing that mild, good-natured expression.
But as soon as he passed through the first courtyard gate, his ears caught whispers beneath the western corridor.
"Just keep up the act for a couple of days. Master Zhang said to humor him on the surface for now."
"In a few days, this old man will have to slink away with his tail between his legs."
"Exactly. He lucked into Sunbright Tower, and now he thinks the prison belongs to the Yi family too?"
"Shh, keep it down. Don't let anyone hear."
"He's sixty. You think his ears are sharper than a dog's?"
Several men laughed in hushed voices.
Their laughter held contempt, malice, and the confidence of men whose backing remained intact.
Yi Yang kept walking, his expression utterly unruffled. Zhang Debiao had handed over the keys and moved out of the chief jailer's duty room, but his roots