A Crown Forged by Rumors and Dark Gold Stirs

Zheng Qi's ferocity and brutality, Qian Er's viciousness and cruelty-like two heavy bombs dropped into a stagnant pool, the waves they raised were by no means confined to Cell 107. In the detention center, a small society where information was relatively hard to come by yet people depended heavily on word of mouth, the slightest rustle of wind or stir in the grass could ferment, twist, and spread with astonishing speed.

Although the authorities tried to contain the fallout, there was no concealing the news of the agonized screams that had come from Cell 107 that day, the three bloodied men carried out one after another, or the two new inmates subsequently taken away for separate questioning. Soon, all manner of embellished, bizarre rumors spread through the high walls like a virus.

Without exception, they centered on Lin Feng, the man initially regarded as a "jinx" and a "wimp."

"Have you heard? That new guy in 107, the one called Lin Feng, isn't a college student at all!"

"Huh? Then what is he?"

"A crime boss's princeling! His family's that Lin family down south... yeah, that one! I heard they can make people disappear with a flick of a finger!"

"Bullshit! I heard his dad's a high-ranking official in the capital! He's an illegitimate son! Those two hard cases were sent in to be his bodyguards! Why else would they risk their necks for him?"

"Tsk, tsk, no wonder... I knew it. You could tell he was no ordinary guy, the way he carried himself..."

"From now on, give them a wide berth. Whatever you do, don't mess with anyone from 107!"

The rumors grew more outrageous with every retelling, their details ever more exaggerated. In people's mouths, Lin Feng swiftly went from a cowardly scholar who had molested a female student to a shadowy big shot with an unfathomable background and countless desperadoes under his command. People always tended to look for a "reasonable" explanation for things they couldn't understand, and "he's got someone backing him" was clearly the easiest answer to grasp.

Those absurd rumors were like an invisible crown, forcibly placed on Lin Feng's head. The most immediate change they brought was a complete upheaval of his circumstances.

During exercise time, when Lin Feng strolled out of Cell 107, he no longer met isolation and contempt, but complicated looks mingling fear, curiosity, and deliberate attempts to curry favor. Inmates from other cells would instinctively slow their steps when they saw him. Some even forced out intensely unnatural, obsequious smiles, nodding and bowing to him from afar.

"Brother Feng..."

"Hello, Brother Feng..."

A few cautious, tentative greetings began to emerge. Lin Feng remained expressionless and ignored them. They felt no embarrassment; instead, as though they had received some kind of tacit approval, they became even more convinced that the rumors were true.

Inside 107, the few remaining inmates had awe and fear etched into their bones. They volunteered to take over all the menial chores, including scrubbing the filthiest toilet, which had once been Lin Feng's exclusive responsibility. His bunk was tidied spotless every day, his bowl and chopsticks were always handed to him first, and his portions were visibly larger than everyone else's.

One day at lunch, the inmate serving food-perhaps someone on rotation from another cell, who had also heard the rumors-carefully handed in the trays. There, in Lin Feng's portion, lay two unmistakable pieces of red-braised pork, alternating fat and lean, stewed until meltingly tender, while everyone else's bowls held only potatoes and scattered droplets of oil. The inmate serving the food even gave Lin Feng a fawning smile and said in a low voice, "Brother Feng, please enjoy your meal." This extra "care" was clearly against the rules, yet it had really happened.

The change even had a subtle effect on some of the rank-and-file guards. Although the rules were still strictly enforced, certain guards' attitudes softened almost imperceptibly. Where before there had been icy routine and undisguised contempt, now there was a trace of businesslike "courtesy." When they passed 107 on their rounds, their gazes no longer lingered, and there was a little less shouting.

Lin Feng watched it all with a cold eye. He was happy to enjoy the "peace" brought about by rumors and fear. It gave him more time and energy to think and plan.

Material improvements, however, were limited after all. The extra benefits available in the detention center amounted to no more than a few extra pieces of meat and a little less work. He needed more resources. He needed money. Money could make his life in here more comfortable; more importantly, it was fuel for his future revenge.

Then he remembered the "external support" function he had almost forgotten. He had previously refrained from having the death warriors scattered throughout every corner of society send money to his account because it would have been meaningless-a prisoner at the bottom of the heap, unable even to ensure his own safety inside the cell and liable to have his food stolen, could have all the money in the world, but it would be no more than flowers in a mirror and the moon's reflection in water. It might even bring greater trouble down on him.

But now things were different. He had established absolute authority in Cell 107, and no one dared covet his belongings anymore. It was time to make use of those external resources.

Through the mental link, he issued orders to the death warriors who had some freedom of movement and a source of income. The targets were Wu Tao, the hacker death warrior, and any death warriors who might be able to obtain small sums by other means (such as the alms Wang Wu the beggar collected? But it should mainly be Wu Tao).

The instructions were clear and cautious: "Wu Tao, use your abilities to transfer small sums in batches into the bank account in my name, through anonymous, encrypted, untraceable online channels. Ensure absolute security. Other units, if you have secure channels, you may also attempt transfers of extremely small amounts."

He knew the detention center had a system that allowed inmates to use money in their accounts to buy a limited selection of goods at the commissary. Although he couldn't get cash directly, it was enough to improve his life.

Wu Tao's response was swift and affirmative. For a hacker, even a low-level one, using methods such as bitcoin mixers or loading anonymous prepaid cards and then spending from them to inject small sums into a known account was no difficult task, and it was extremely hard to trace.

The effect was immediate.

Although Lin Feng couldn't check the account himself, he could tell from the changes in his spending limit each time he bought things from the commissary. More importantly, the incoming funds meant the external network was open and his orders were effective.

Soon, Lin Feng's "spending power" became apparent. He began regularly using the detention center's internal system to buy a few "luxuries"-better-quality underwear, toothpaste and toothbrushes, shampoo, and even some properly packaged snacks and cigarettes.

When Lin Feng first opened a pack of cigarettes bought through internal channels, "high-end" by the detention center's standards, the other inmates in the cell stared wide-eyed. He habitually put one between his own lips, and a subordinate immediately approached respectfully to light it for him.

He took a drag and slowly blew out a smoke ring. Amid the curling smoke, his face looked even more indistinct, and even more unfathomable.

He smoked very few of the cigarettes himself, casually giving most of them to the few trembling inmates under him. This further cemented the rumors that he had "powerful backing" and "no shortage of money whatsoever."

He even occasionally ordered prepared foods-roast chicken and braised beef. When these gleaming, fragrant foods were inspected by the guards and delivered to 107, though they weren't allowed under the rules, rumors and "greasing palms" could sometimes loosen the rules, they drew the eyes of every inmate in the cell and even the entire floor.

Lin Feng would eat a token amount, then share most of it with the people in the cell. This wasn't generosity, but a means of managing his subordinates, a display of strength.

The material improvements brought better physical condition, and greater composure of mind.

He remained a man of few words, but he was no longer the wretch curled up in a corner. He sat on the best bunk, ate the best food, used the best things, and enjoyed the invisible awe around him. Like a resting beast, he was replenishing his strength and sharpening his claws and fangs, waiting for the next opportunity.

Beyond the high walls, in corners no one knew about, digital funds were quietly flowing together.

Within the high walls, absurd rumors and real money together forged an invisible throne for him.

The foundations of revenge were being tamped firm, bit by bit, in an unexpected way. And through this silent flow of money, his connection to the outside world was also growing closer.