In the black Impala, Bai Haorui sat cross-legged in the back seat, holding three copper coins between his fingertips. His eyes were half closed, his lips pressed into a tight line.
In the passenger seat, Sam stared down at his phone, his brow deeply furrowed. "Green River County Prison. Four deaths in three months, all sudden heart attacks." He scrolled down, keeping his voice low. "The medical examiner couldn't find any organic abnormalities. The incident reports say that before every death, the prison lights would flicker wildly, the air-conditioning system would suddenly go haywire, and the temperature would plunge below freezing."
Dean floored the accelerator, and AC/DC's "Highway to Hell" instantly blasted through the car. He glanced at Bai Haorui in the rearview mirror and grinned. "Another ghost acting up? Business as usual?"
Sam looked up. "The person who contacted us is the warden of Green River County Prison, Deacon Miller. He served with Dad." He paused, then added, "Deacon found us through the encrypted communications Dad left behind."
"An old army buddy of Dad's? Then let's head over. But it's a prison, so we'll have to figure out how to get inside," Dean said, studying the map.
Only then did Bai Haorui open his eyes. He pocketed the coins and raised an eyebrow at the driver. "Prison? Don't you two have enough FBI wanted posters already?" He took out two talismans drawn on yellow paper, their intricate patterns traced in cinnabar. "Qi Concealment Talismans. They'll suppress the yin energy and smell of blood we've picked up hunting demons, so vengeful spirits won't target us the moment we walk in."
Sam took a talisman and tucked it into his collar. "Deacon said the victims included guards and inmates. There's no pattern to their identities. When the prison renovated its segregation wing last month, they dug up something left behind by a serial killer-Mark Moody, a notorious psychopath from the seventies. Supposedly killed seven young girls and was eventually beaten to death by rioting inmates."
Dean lowered the map, tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, then turned into a roadside gas station. He jumped out to buy three burgers. When he came back, he was holding his phone and wearing a wicked grin. "Got it. There's an anthropology museum near Green River County Prison with a Native American skeleton. It's not worth much, but enough to get the three of us locked up for a few days. First thing tomorrow morning, we smash the glass, steal the skeleton, and deliberately trip the alarm. Sam, tell Deacon to find a way to have us transferred to him."
Bai Haorui rolled his eyes and pulled a peachwood sword from his backpack, its blade gleaming dark red. "Damn it. Having to get ourselves arrested just to catch a ghost. A hunter's life is looking more and more like a prison sentence."
Dean patted his shoulder, a measure of seriousness in his eyes. "Watch yourself in there. That yellow skin makes you a walking target in a white prison. If those bastards start anything, don't hold back. Beat them to death. Plenty of corners without cameras in prison. Kill them and call it self-defense."
Night deepened, and the Impala's taillights dwindled into two red dots on the highway.
At four the next morning, before dawn had fully broken, a piercing crash rang out from a glass display case in the Green River County Anthropology Museum.
Dean shouldered the Native American skeleton with brisk efficiency, while Sam and Bai Haorui deliberately smashed the security camera by the entrance with rocks. As the shrill alarm sounded, Dean, still carrying the skeleton, waved at another camera they had left intact. He wore a roguish grin, though to Bai Haorui, he looked like a husky that had just done something naughty.
When the police cars came screaming up, the three offered no resistance and obediently raised their hands. As cold handcuffs closed around his wrists, Bai Haorui couldn't help twisting his mouth. These things really dug into his skin.
Inside the police car transporting them, the radio suddenly crackled. A cold voice came through the static. "The Winchester brothers. Bai Haorui. I've been looking for you for a long time."
Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, their hearts sinking. It was Henriksen.
"This time, you're not getting away." The words ended, and Henriksen's cold chuckle came through clearly.
The iron gates of Green River County Prison opened with a heavy creak, like a sleeping beast opening its jaws. The guard at intake glanced over their records and barked into his radio, his tone full of impatience. Intake procedures in American prisons were cumbersome and rough: fingerprinting, metal detectors, changing into prison clothes. Every step felt oppressive. Their gray uniforms had been washed nearly white, with frayed collars and unidentified stains. When the metal detector passed over Bai Haorui, it went off three times because of the Five Emperor Coins in his pocket. The impatient guard pulled them out and tossed them onto the desk, cursing, "Worthless junk."
Bai Haorui's Asian face stood out sharply among the white inmates. He had barely changed when a gum-chewing white prisoner deliberately slammed into him from behind, sending pain through his shoulder. The inmate had a buzz cut and a swastika tattoo on his neck, his eyes filled with contempt and an indescribable lust. "Well, well, a pretty little yellow thing. I've tried plenty of your kind. Your skin's a lot smoother than those niggers'. Wash yourself nice and clean once you're inside, and wait for me to give you some loving."
The surrounding inmates burst into laughter.
Bai Haorui said nothing. He raised his head, his eyes ice-cold. The next second, he swung, his fist landing squarely on the man's jaw. The force knocked him out instantly. The white inmate's eyes rolled back, and he fell stiffly to the floor. His gum rolled out of his mouth and stuck to the ground.
The laughter stopped dead.
A guard came out, glanced at Bai Haorui, then turned to two other inmates. "Get him to the infirmary." He turned back. "Kid, you'd better behave on my turf! There won't be a next time!" Bai Haorui looked at him without a word.
After changing, the three were shoved into the same communal cell. The dormitory-style cells in American prisons were crowded and filthy, with more than a dozen iron beds crammed into one room. The air reeked of sweat, stinking feet, and disinfectant.
They had barely put down their bedding when the white inmate who had been knocked out returned with fifteen or sixteen burly gang members and surrounded them. Their leader was a vicious-looking bald man clutching a sharpened toothbrush handle, one of the most common weapons in prison.
"New boys. Looks like you don't understand the rules." The bald man spat onto the floor. "Either all three of you drop your pants and bend over right now, or you get carried to the infirmary. No, straight to the morgue."
Dean grinned and struck first. He surged forward and punched the bald man in the face. His fist cut through the air with tremendous force, and blood instantly sprayed from the man's nose. Dean had honed his fighting skills against all kinds of monsters since childhood, and every move was lethal. He slipped aside from a lackey's punch, caught the man's arm, and drove his knee hard into his ribs. The man curled up in pain, like a fish out of water that could only draw breath and never let it out.
Sam followed immediately. He wasn't as showy as Dean, but his movements were steady and powerful. One lackey lunged in to choke him. Sam caught his wrist and twisted. With a crisp crack of bone, the man let out an agonized scream. Sam was far stronger than he looked, a skill developed through years of hunting demons. There was no pity in his eyes as he broke the man's arm. Not one prison gang member deserved sympathy.
Bai Haorui fought with the most unpredictable moves, weaving lightly through the crowd. A burly man swung at him. He ducked and delivered a side kick that caught the man off guard, instantly sending him off balance and face-first onto the floor. Bai Haorui kicked him in the crotch, and his eyes rolled back as he passed out. Another man lunged. Bai Haorui turned, swinging his left fist into the man's eye. As the man screamed and clutched his face, Bai Haorui kicked him straight in the knee. With a crack, he collapsed, clutching his knee and sobbing.
All three struck ruthlessly. Dean handled the frontal assault, always facing his opponents in the cramped cell, so he barely took a hit. Their fighting was nothing like an ordinary prison brawl. There was no pointless yelling, only precise movements and vicious counters. Before them, the gang members were lambs awaiting slaughter.
By the time the screams drew the guards, bodies littered the floor. Dean raised his hands and shouted, "They started it! We were defending ourselves!"
Frowning and swearing, the guards chewed everyone out, then arranged to have the injured taken to the infirmary. Bai Haorui noticed the lead guard looking at them as though he wanted to say something but stopped himself. Deacon must have put in a word. Sure enough, the guards didn't pursue the matter. They merely dragged the bald man and his crew away, leaving the three standing there.
The other inmates' looks shifted from contempt to wariness, with a trace of sympathy that was difficult to detect. The sympathy came from knowing they had crossed the prison's largest white gang, the Aryan Brotherhood. These men avenged every slight, and their next retaliation would only be worse.
That night, the prison lights flickered. Bai Haorui stole back his confiscated Five Emperor Coins. While the guards weren't looking, he used an Invisibility Talisman and easily retrieved them. He placed the copper coins beside his bunk, where they gave off a faint blue-gray glow.
"The yin energy in this prison is heavy," he said, so quietly that only Sam and Dean could hear. "Its source is in segregation, exactly where Mark Moody's old solitary cell was. But..." He frowned. "This yin energy feels wrong. It doesn't have a serial killer's savage hostility. Instead, there's a kind of..."
Dean raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He leaned against the iron bed frame, toying with a sharpened toothbrush he had seized, his eyes unreadable.
Meanwhile, in the prison office, Deacon sighed over their files and the FBI wanted notices. He tapped his fingers against the desk. A yellowed photograph sat on it: a young John Winchester standing beside him in the jungles of Vietnam, both in uniform, smiling brightly.
"John, your sons really are just as good at stirring up trouble as you," he murmured. Then he made a call. "Ms. Mara, sorry for the trouble, but I need your help with something."
At breakfast the next morning, the prison cafeteria's food was almost impossible to swallow: oatmeal cooked into a gluey lump, bread as hard as stone, and milk that smelled like swill. Pinching his nose, Bai Haorui forced down a mouthful of oatmeal and nearly threw up.
Dean, however, ate with relish. He leaned toward Bai Haorui's ear and whispered, "I'm going to start something in a minute. Pick a fight and try to get thrown into segregation."
Bai Haorui raised an eyebrow. "What are you planning?"
"To check out Mark Moody's cell." Dean grinned. "See whether it really is him."
Near the end of breakfast, Dean deliberately dumped a bowl of oatmeal over an Aryan Brotherhood member's head. The man had just opened his mouth when Dean punched him. His mouth instantly filled with blood, and he screamed. The guards rushed over and dragged Dean off to segregation without another word.
Segregation was the prison's most sinister place. The corridor was narrow and dark, its bars covered in rust, its walls beaded with water. The air smelled damp and moldy. Mark Moody's cell stood at the far end, the number on its door already illegible.
When Dean was locked inside, the cell was empty except for a hard plank bed and a toilet with peeling paint. That night, the lights in segregation suddenly went out. The temperature plummeted, and Dean couldn't help shivering. He saw the shadow on the wall begin to twist.
A blurred human shape floated toward the next cell, and a scream came from inside. Dean pounded on the iron door, shouting, "Open up! Open the door!" But there were no guards anywhere nearby. He could only watch helplessly as the inmate next door clutched his chest and collapsed, his face turning blue, exactly like the previous victims.
Early the next morning, Dean was returned to the communal cell, his expression thunderous.
"How did it go?" Sam immediately came over.
Dean shook his head, his voice hoarse. "It's Mark's ghost. I saw him. His shadow was moving on the wall."
Frowning, Bai Haorui took a Breaking Illusion Talisman from his pocket. The night before, he had secretly gone to the entrance of segregation and stuck it to the wall. Now the paper was only slightly yellowed, not burned. "That's not right," he said with certainty. "I tested it yesterday. Mark's yin energy isn't strong enough to sustain four consecutive killings. If it really were him, this talisman would have burned to ash."
"I saw him with my own eyes!" Dean raised his voice, a barely perceptible trace of irritation in it.
Sam watched them argue without speaking. While on cleaning duty, he sought out an elderly, gray-haired inmate named Randall. Randall had been in prison for thirty years and knew everything about the place.
Sam offered him one of the cigarettes they had taken from the Aryan Brotherhood. Randall gave him a wary look, accepted it, and leaned toward the match in Sam's hand to light it.
"I hear Mark Moody's ghost is causing trouble?" Sam asked quietly.
Randall took a drag. Smoke drifted from his mouth, obscuring his eyes. He shook his head and lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "Don't ask about Mark. Be careful... be careful the 'nurse' doesn't come looking for you."
"The nurse?" Sam froze.
Randall said nothing more. He simply stubbed out his cigarette and slowly walked away, his back hunched.
Just then, two people in FBI uniforms entered the prison, with Henriksen in the lead. Holding a document, he addressed Deacon with a cold smile. "Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, and Bai Haorui. They're suspects in a series of murders. I want to question them now."
"Oh, yes. I remember they were brought in a couple of days ago. Give me a moment to ask. What is it? Have they done something serious?" Deacon feigned confusion while signaling the guard beside him, who turned and left.
"You don't need to know. Just bring them out and hand them over!" Henriksen's face remained cold.
They sat in silence for about twenty minutes before the guard who had left hurried back. "Sir! Those three were put in solitary yesterday for fighting, and nobody knows where Lainer put the key. Getting a new one made could take a week!"
"Useless! What the hell do you people do all day?" Deacon turned to Henriksen with a smile.
Riksen took a deep breath and stared into Deacon's eyes. "I hope you know what you're doing. Expect to hear from your superiors!" With that, he strode out.
Sam was assigned to clean the prison library. Though called a library, it was really a storage room piled with old files. Dust filled the air, and sunlight filtered through the grimy windows onto yellowed records, casting long stretches of light and shadow.
Sam searched through prison records from the seventies, his fingertips coated in dust. At last, in a dust-covered file, he found the name: Dolores Glockner.
The photograph in the file had faded. The woman pictured wore a nurse's uniform, her hair gray and a black patch covering her left eye. According to the records, she had been the nurse responsible for inmates' medical care at Green River County Prison in the seventies. But the notes section was crammed with tiny writing: in 1972, inmate Tom Reed died after receiving an injection for a "minor illness"; in 1974, inmate Jake Wilson also died of a sudden heart attack; in 1976, three inmates died one after another within a single week...
And the record of the 1978 prison riot stated clearly that Dolores Glockner had been dragged into Mark Moody's cell by furious inmates and beaten to death. The riot had broken out because the prisoners discovered that Dolores had been injecting them with unauthorized drugs-a poison that could cause cardiac arrest.
Sam took the file to Randall.
The sight of the photograph made Randall shudder violently. He took a drag of his cigarette and finally spoke, his voice thick with suppressed anger. "She wasn't a nurse at all! She was a devil!"
Randall's voice was hoarse, weathered by the years. "I was only twenty then. Got locked up for stealing a car. I had a high fever, bad enough to make me delirious. She gave me an injection, but when the needle went in, I knew something was wrong. That wasn't fever medicine. I struggled and knocked over the vial, so she locked me in a dark room for three days and three nights."
He paused, his eyes full of pain. "She framed Mark! He didn't kill those girls. Dolores did! Mark found out her secret, so she pinned the murders on him!"
"So it was her!" A chill entered Bai Haorui's voice. "She cloaked herself in goodness while doing evil, and even after death, she still thought she was 'carrying out heaven's justice.' A hypocrite like that has ten times the resentment of a serial killer!"
The truth had finally surfaced. But they had no time to celebrate, because it was time for yard exercise-and the Aryan Brotherhood's retaliation arrived right on schedule.
The yard was a bare expanse of concrete surrounded by tall wire fencing. A big bald man led more than thirty white inmates in surrounding the three. They carried sharpened toothbrush handles and shards of glass, their eyes full of murderous intent.
"Time to settle the score from last time." The bald man licked his lips, his gaze vicious.
Dean grinned and loosened his wrists. "Been waiting for you. I've been getting rusty these past few days. Hope you can give me a little exercise."
With that, Dean charged first, straight toward the bald man's fist. He sidestepped a slash from a glass shard and drove his fist into the man's ribs, drawing a muffled grunt of pain. Moving like lightning, Dean caught another man's wrist, wrested away his sharpened toothbrush handle, and plunged it into his stomach. His cold eyes held the pleasure of release.
Sam covered the flank. Two inmates lunged from the side. He ducked, caught both their arms, and heaved, slamming them into each other and knocking them unconscious. His strength was immense and his movements steady. Every strike brought someone down.
Bai Haorui's fighting remained unpredictable. He drew his peachwood sword, its blade gleaming dark red. The thick, heavy wooden blade could hurt ordinary people too. An inmate swung at him, and Bai Haorui smashed the sword's pommel into the back of his head, knocking him out instantly. Then he lashed another man across the face with the blade, leaving a bloody welt.
The three worked together flawlessly. They weren't brawling. They were hunting. Before them, the inmates were nothing but a disorganized mob.
Soon, groaning inmates covered the ground. Dean pinned the bald man down, his face pressed against the concrete, blood filling his nose and mouth.
Dean crouched and patted his face, his tone contemptuous. "Remember this, little bitch. If you ever end up in my hands again, you won't get off this easy."
Bai Haorui walked over and lifted the bald man's chin with the tip of his peachwood sword, a cold sneer curling his lips. "You want to bully people with skills like that? Trash."
Sam stood to one side, watching the chaotic yard without a ripple in his eyes.
When the guards rushed over, this was the scene they found: more than thirty inmates lying on the ground, wailing, with the three standing in their midst, their clothes only slightly dusty.
The three immediately told the guards they wanted Deacon. In his office, they tossed the file onto his desk and said firmly, "It isn't Mark haunting this place. It's the nurse, Dolores Glockner. To destroy her, we have to find her remains and burn them. That's a hunter's rule. Only burning the remains can completely destroy a vengeful spirit."
Deacon studied the records, his expression grave. After a moment's silence, he looked up. "All right. The ventilation ducts lead outside the prison. I'll give you two hours." He paused and gave them a phone number. "This is Mara, the lawyer. She'll help you find where Dolores is buried."
Mara Carter was Green River County's best lawyer, known for her meticulousness and fairness. When Deacon called, her first reaction was that it was absurd. A haunting? It was pure fantasy. But hearing his certainty and recalling those bizarre deaths, she ultimately agreed. Her fingers flew across the keyboard as she pulled up cemetery records from the seventies.
The ventilation duct opened into a patch of woods behind the prison. Mara was already waiting when they crawled out. She wore a black suit and held a document, skepticism on her face.
"Dolores Glockner's remains are buried in Green Valley Cemetery, not Hillside Cemetery, where Henriksen thinks they are." Mara handed Sam the document. "Henriksen has had people watching the prison entrance. I deliberately contacted him and said you were Deacon's people and that he was helping you escape. He should be heading over there with his men right now."
Sam accepted the document and gave her a grateful look. "Thank you."
Mara shook her head, a trace of shock in her eyes. "I didn't believe in any of this, but... the prison's death records are too strange. I hope you succeed."
Green Valley Cemetery lay on a hillside surrounded by old locust trees. Night lay heavy, and moonlight filtered through gaps in the leaves onto the gravestones, casting long shadows. Bai Haorui took out his Five Emperor Coins and held them between his fingertips, silently reciting an incantation. The coins spun between his fingers, giving off a faint blue-gray glow.
"Over there." Bai Haorui pointed to an old locust tree. "That's where the yin energy is strongest."
They ran over and began digging. The damp, cold soil clung to their hands. Before long, they reached rotten coffin boards. The coffin was so decayed that it crumbled at a touch. A skeleton lay inside, a fragment of black eyepatch still resting over its left eye socket.
It was Dolores.
Bai Haorui took out a lighter and lit the yellow paper and peachwood branches they had prepared. The moment the flames rose, a pungent, scorched smell filled the air. Bai Haorui recited the Spirit Deliverance Spell, his voice low and solemn. "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Evil shall meet its punishment, goodness its rightful end. Heaven's cycle turns, and retribution never fails."
The flames burned higher, reducing the skeleton to ash.
At the same time, the lights in the warden's office began flickering wildly. Dolores's vengeful spirit appeared before Deacon, wearing a tattered nurse's uniform. Black vapor poured from her empty left eye socket as her hands closed around his throat. Deacon's face turned purple. He struggled desperately but couldn't move.
Just as he thought he was going to die, the spirit suddenly let out a piercing scream. Her figure gradually became transparent and dispersed into the air like smoke.
Deacon slumped in his chair, gasping, his shirt soaked with cold sweat.
When the three returned to the prison, Henriksen was bringing his men back from Hillside Cemetery. Knowing he had been played, he drove straight to the prison to demand the prisoners.
Deacon had his people keep them occupied in the office while secretly sending the three out of the prison. Before they parted, he handed Dean a gun. It was worn, with a small "J" engraved on it.
"This belonged to John." Deacon's voice was hoarse. "He left it with me when he left Vietnam. I'd planned to have you tried in the local court and get those warrants cleared, but Riksen won't let go. There's nothing I can do. Go for now. I'll figure something out later."
Dean took the gun, running his fingers over the engraving as an ache rose in his chest.
The three climbed into the Impala. Dean hit the gas, and the car roared out of Green River County.
Inside the prison, Henriksen stared at Deacon's innocent, chagrined face and clenched his fists, his eyes cold. "The Winchester brothers. Bai Haorui. I will catch you."
The black Impala traveled down the highway, the setting sun bathing its body in warm gold. A faint scent of mugwort drifted through the cabin.
Dean toyed with John's old gun, gently rubbing his finger over the trigger. Sam leafed through the prison records, his brow slightly furrowed. Bai Haorui reclined in the back seat, holding three Five Emperor Coins between his fingertips. They spun between his fingers with a clear ringing sound.
The car was quiet, with only AC/DC's music echoing inside.
"Are we really doing the right thing?" Sam suddenly asked, his voice low. "Breaking the rules, breaking into prison, even... fighting violence with violence."
Dean was silent for a moment, then tucked the gun inside his jacket, his eyes resolute. "Rules? Since when does this world have absolute rules?" He paused, watching the scenery race past the window. "We handle the things normal rules can't. If we can protect innocent people, what's breaking a few rules?"
Bai Haorui leaned back, a faint smile curling his lips. He stopped spinning the coins and spoke calmly. "Taoism says there is no fixed law. Rules are dead. People are alive." He gazed down the road ahead, his eyes deep. "The nurse wore the guise of goodness to do evil. We wear the guise of evil to do good. What do you make of that?"
The three fell silent. Only the music echoed through the car. The setting sun shone through the windows onto their faces, casting long shadows.
After a while, Dean suddenly floored the accelerator, and the car surged forward. He turned to look at the two in the back seat and grinned. "Screw the damn rules! Let's go! Time to find the next case!"