The Privileges of the Top Bunk
Lin Feng turned a page of Zhiyin. The smiling faces of celebrities on its glossy pages looked especially glaring beneath the detention center's dim yellow light. The paper rustled softly, almost the only sound in the excessively quiet cell that afternoon.
He really did need to improve his conditions. This body had already been somewhat frail, and after everything it had been through recently, the boiled vegetables without a trace of oil and the steamed buns hard enough to use as bricks had nearly hollowed it out. Acid kept rising in his stomach, and at night he could feel his ribs pressing painfully against him as he slept. If this continued, his body would collapse before he ever got out to put his plan into action.
But he knew even better that here, those who drew attention to themselves died quickly. Even if the rumors had already given him three heads and six arms, the real benefits had to come in inconspicuous ways.
"Use the money in the account as you see fit," Lin Feng finally said, his voice even and his eyes still on the magazine, as though he were discussing something of no importance. "You know the rules. Don't go too far. From now on, include my share when you make purchases."
The instant Scar heard this, his beady eyes lit up with the excitement of someone entrusted with a great responsibility. He bent even lower, practically bowing. "Understood! Brother Feng, you can rest a hundred percent assured! I'll take care of everything properly! I guarantee you won't have to lift a finger, and I definitely won't make things difficult for the guards! I know the rules, every one of them!"
From that day on, the standard of living in Cell 107-or rather, Lin Feng's personal standard of living-rose a notch, quietly but tangibly.
The meal bell rang.
It was the same greasy aluminum bucket, the same prisoner doling out food while cursing under his breath.
Scar rushed forward like a gust of wind, the first to reach the bucket. He snatched up Lin Feng's numbered aluminum meal basin and flashed an ingratiating smile at the prisoner serving food. "Brother, let me, let me. Don't tire yourself out."
The prisoner glanced at him, then cast a wary look at Lin Feng, who sat against the wall in the distance. Without a word, he let Scar have his way.
Holding the basin, Scar dipped the ladle into the bucket with an air of carelessness. But a closer look showed that he plunged it deep, and the gruel he scooped out was noticeably thicker, almost a solid lump of porridge. When he scraped out the vegetables, he skillfully avoided the watery broth on top and chose the solids settled at the bottom, where the occasional speck of oil and tiny scraps of minced meat could be seen.
When the basket of steamed buns came around, his greasy hand rummaged quickly through it. He deftly picked out the whitest, fluffiest one, without a single black spot of mold, and placed it firmly on the lid of Lin Feng's meal basin.
Once he had done all that, he held the basin in both hands and hurried over to Lin Feng with quick little steps, a broad smile on his face. "Brother Feng, your meal."
Lin Feng took it and picked up his spoon. The gruel still had that indescribable taste, but at least it was warm, and he could taste the substance of the starch. Now and then, there were even one or two tiny pieces of meat, offering a faint but precious aroma of fat. When he broke open the bun, steam billowed out. It was soft and fluffy, no longer the hard lump that could have scraped his throat on the way down.
He ate quietly, neither wolfing it down like the others nor struggling to swallow as he had before. He simply chewed slowly and carefully, as though savoring something.
When it was time for outdoor exercise, the sun was splendid for once.
Scar followed close behind Lin Feng at every step, like the most loyal of bodyguards. Someone came over and fawningly offered Scar a crumpled Red Plum cigarette. Scar accepted it, but first checked the tobacco carefully for dampness. Then, holding it in both hands, he respectfully offered it to Lin Feng, who was basking in the sun against the base of the wall. "Brother Feng, how about a smoke to pass the time?"
Seeing no response from Lin Feng, he immediately and deftly pulled out a match. It lit with a hiss, and he cupped the flame in his hand and held it up to Lin Feng.
Lin Feng usually just accepted it lazily and rarely actually smoked. He would hold it casually between his long fingers, watching the pale blue-white smoke curl upward as it slowly burned away. Scar stood half a step away, not smoking himself, merely watching the glowing tip as though he could draw some kind of strength from it.
Scar even managed, through some unknown secret channel, to procure several plain-colored but clearly new towels, a bar of soap bearing the Lux logo, and a bottle of the most common Dabao SOD Lotion. The items were inexpensive, but inside the detention center, they were the height of luxury.
He wrapped the items in a clean plastic bag and arranged them neatly in the little basket at the head of Lin Feng's bed, which he had made himself from a plastic lunch box. Lowering his eyes deferentially, he said, "Brother Feng, take a little care with yourself. When your body feels comfortable, your mind feels comfortable too."
Lin Feng did not refuse.
During washing time that evening, he mixed hot water with cold, carefully worked the Lux soap into a lather, and washed his face and wiped down his body. Its faint, rich fragrance spread through the cell, which was filled with the stench of sweat, feet, and mildew, strikingly out of place yet pleasant.
The other prisoners watched in secret, their expressions complicated. There was envy and jealousy, but even more awe and incomprehension. No one dared say anything, and no one dared come over and ask to use a little. Scar guarded his "treasure trove" like the most vigilant of misers, glaring back at anyone who looked once too often.
Lin Feng enjoyed the limited comfort purchased with money and fear. The hot water washed away the sticky sweat stains, leaving the lingering scent of soap and the moisturized feel of lotion on his skin. That was immensely important for maintaining basic dignity and physical health. All of it came from the number transferred into Scar's account, and that number came from the "strangers" outside the cell who moved without a sound yet could pinpoint his wife and intimidate her into compliance.
Scar now admired Lin Feng with wholehearted devotion and a willingness to lay down his life. He was increasingly convinced that Lin Feng's background was unfathomably deep. The people outside could pinpoint his wife, produce tens of thousands without blinking, and even monitor the entire process of her depositing the money! What kind of power was that? Compared with someone like Lin Feng, all the fighting and killing Scar had done outside, all his turf wars and protection money, were no better than a child playing in the mud, unfit to be seen in public.
During outdoor exercise, he would occasionally shoot the breeze with acquaintances from other cells, seemingly complaining but actually showing off. "Ah, our Brother Feng, he has standards! Nothing to be done about it, he has people above him and he's used to it... Money? That's a small matter. It's the thought that counts, understand?" This only made the mysterious aura around Lin Feng shine brighter, and the rumors grew wilder and stranger.
Even the guards making their rounds seemed to be a little more lenient with Cell 107. Sometimes, when they saw Scar lighting a cigarette for Lin Feng, or noticed that Lin Feng's towels and soap were clearly beyond the permitted allowance, they would only glance over, grunt, and give the iron door a token knock. "All of you, behave!" Then they would walk away as though they had seen nothing. It was unclear whether the newly arrived supervisor, Sun Zhengming, had quietly put in a word, or whether they had heard the rumors themselves and decided one less problem was better than one more.
Lin Feng quietly ate food a little better than everyone else's, used his soap, and read his magazines. In the eyes of all the prisoners, this "Brother Feng" grew ever more unfathomable. Being able to obtain perks was nothing unusual, but being able to enjoy them so calmly and matter-of-factly in such an environment, as though he had been born to it-that composure and confidence were what truly made his depths impossible to fathom and kept others from provoking him lightly.
The days passed one by one, and the money in the account slowly dwindled, exchanged for comforts that were trivial but real. A subtle balance held in the cell: Scar was the loyal housekeeper, and the other prisoners were a silent backdrop.
Lin Feng lay on the top bunk, watching the light change in the sky outside the window.
He was waiting.
Waiting for the next summons.
Waiting for Zheng Qi's time in solitary confinement to end.
Waiting for more, more crucial news to come from beyond the walls.
Life within the high walls seemed like a pool of stagnant water, but because of his presence, turbulent undercurrents were already surging beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment to burst forth.