Establishing Authority

It was completely dark when the prison van stopped deep inside the Washington State Penitentiary.

Lin Feng was led off the car by two prison guards, passing through one iron gate after another, and walking along a narrow corridor. On both sides of the corridor were cell after cell, the iron doors tightly closed, with only a few rays of light shining through the small observation windows on the doors. The sound of footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, monotonous and dull, like some kind of ancient timer striking the rhythm of time.

They passed through Block A, then Block B, and finally stopped at the entrance to Block C. A prison guard took out a walkie-talkie, whispered a few words, and then the heavy iron door creaked open slowly.

We've arrived at Block C.

The air here was more polluted than in the previous areas, a mixture of sweat, disinfectant, musty smells, and the stench of rusting metal. The corridor lights were dim and yellowish, the bulbs covered with a layer of dust accumulated over the years, making the already weak light even more ambiguous.

The moment Lin Feng stepped into Block C, the previously noisy corridor suddenly fell silent.

The silence was subtle—not complete stillness, but a sudden, hushed whisper, like someone turning down the volume on a radio. All eyes were on him: the observation windows behind the iron doors on either side of the corridor, the bald men playing cards in the common area, and the tattooed man leaning against the wall smoking in the corner.

Those gazes held curiosity, scrutiny, hostility, and something most common in prisons—probing. Every new prisoner was an unexplored territory, and everyone wanted to know where he came from, how easy he was to bully, and what class he belonged to.

Lin Feng's appearance clearly caused quite a stir.

He looks so different.

It wasn't because he was tall and strong—quite the opposite, he was of medium build, neither fat nor thin, wearing a brand-new orange prison uniform, and looked no different from the other prisoners. But the way he walked, his expression, the calm to the point of indifference in his eyes, all seemed out of place in this place.

What is a typical "newcomer" like when they enter prison? They are either nervous and uneasy, with shifty eyes and hesitant steps; or they pretend to be fierce, holding their heads high and trying to use bluffing to cover up their inner fear. The seasoned veterans in prison have seen both reactions many times and each has their own way of dealing with them.

But Lin Feng is neither of those.

He walked between two prison guards, his pace unhurried, his gaze fixed straight ahead, his expression as calm as if he were taking a stroll. He didn't look around to survey his surroundings, nor did he deliberately avoid the gazes directed at him. He simply walked quietly, as if this were just an ordinary journey, no different from walking on the streets of downtown Seattle.

This calmness, ironically, made those observing him feel uneasy.

Whispers began to spread down the corridor.

"Who's that? The new guy? He doesn't look like an ordinary person..."

"Great East? How did you get in?"

"I don't know, he looks unfamiliar."

"Hey, look at the way he walks, pretty cocky."

"What's with the attitude? Everyone's the same here. They'll behave themselves in a couple of days."

Lin Feng ignored these comments and continued walking forward.

Just then, a rough, hoarse voice came from a cell on the right side of the corridor, like a stone thrown into still water:

Hey, you yellow-skinned Monkey, look here!

The voice was loud, carrying a deliberate provocation, and echoed several times in the empty corridor. All the whispers stopped at that moment, and everyone's eyes turned to the direction from which the sound came.

Behind the iron door of that cell stood a tall, black man. He was about thirty-five or thirty-six years old, nearly 1.9 meters tall, with broad shoulders and a thick waist. His bulging muscles stretched his orange prison uniform taut, and his bare arms were covered with dense tattoos—from his wrists all the way to his collar, with almost no patch of unbroken skin. His head was shaved clean, reflecting a shiny luster in the dim light, and his cloudy eyes held an arrogance and unbridled savagery cultivated from being at the top of the prison food chain for so long.

He gripped the iron gate bars with one hand, pointed at Lin Feng with the other, grinned, revealing a set of uneven, yellow teeth, and continued in an insulting tone, "Look here, you yellow-skinned Monkey. Wash your ass clean tonight, and Uncle Morgan will pamper you. Hahahaha--"

He laughed loudly, the sound echoing through the hallway with a malicious glee. His thin, white roommate beside him also laughed, though somewhat forcedly, but still trying to keep up.

A few low chuckles escaped from the other prisoners around. That's the law of the prison—the strong bully the weak, the old guard bullies the newcomers, and nobody sees anything wrong with it. A newcomer from Great East, who didn't look particularly strong, would be a surprise if he wasn't being watched.

Everyone was waiting to see Lin Feng's reaction.

Will he be afraid? Will he lower his head and quicken his pace? Or will he angrily retort and get a scolding?

Lin Feng stopped in his tracks.

He turned his head and looked at the black man who called himself Morgan.

His gaze was calm, devoid of anger, fear, or even any emotion. It was as if he were looking at a roadside stone or a crack in a wall.

Then, he said nothing.

He turned back and continued walking forward.

When the black man named Morgan saw that Lin Feng didn't react, he assumed that Lin Feng had chickened out and laughed even more wildly. He turned around, patted his roommate on the shoulder, and used all sorts of vulgar language to describe how he planned to "entertain" this new Great East. His voice was so loud that it could be heard clearly throughout the entire corridor.

"Let me tell you, I've seen plenty of these yellow-skinned Monkey. They all act all cool when they first come in, but you'll see what happens at night—they cry worse than women..."

Before he could finish speaking, another sound suddenly rang out in the corridor.

That was the sound of leather shoes hitting the concrete floor—rapid, heavy, and carrying an undeniable sense of pressure.

Everyone saw it.

The two prison guards following behind Lin Feng suddenly stopped.

They were two burly white men, one with a full beard and the other bald, both with typical prison guard physiques—broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, with handcuffs, walkie-talkies, and rubber batons hanging from their waists. They were supposed to continue escorting Lin Feng to his cell, but they stopped after hearing Morgan's words.

The two exchanged a glance.

Then, without a word, they turned around and walked toward Morgan's cell.

Their pace was quick, but not a run; rather, it was a brisk walk with a clear goal, one that was unstoppable. The bearded prison guard's hand was already at his waist, pulling out the black rubber baton—about forty centimeters long, made of solid rubber, with one end slightly bent, the most commonly used non-lethal weapon by prison guards.

Morgan's maniacal laughter stopped abruptly the moment he saw this scene.

His smile froze, replaced by panic and confusion. He loosened his grip on the iron bars, instinctively taking a step back, his voice stammering, "Hey, hey, hey—what are you doing? What are you doing?!"

No one answered him.

Two prison guards walked to the cell door. The bearded guard took Key from his waist, found the corresponding key, inserted it into the lock, and turned it.

The iron gate was pulled open with a screeching metallic scraping sound.

Two prison guards went inside.

Then, the iron gate slammed shut behind them.

A deathly silence fell over the corridor.

Everyone held their breath and pricked up their ears.

Immediately afterwards, the first muffled thud came from the cell.

That was the sound of a rubber baton striking flesh—dull, solid, with a teeth-grinding texture. Then came a second, a third, one after another, like someone hammering a thick piece of raw meat.

Then, screams rang out.

That was Morgan's scream. It was no longer the arrogant laughter from before, but a pure, primal wail squeezed from the depths of his heart. The sound was sharp and shrill, piercing through the iron gate and walls, echoing throughout the corridor of Block C, like a wild beast cornered and howling in despair.

"Ah--! Stop hitting me! Stop hitting me! I was wrong! I was wrong! Ah--!"

But the only response he received was the dull thud of the rubber baton falling again and again.

The screams lasted for a long time.

One minute. Two minutes. Five minutes. Ten minutes.

Every second seemed to stretch out, echoing repeatedly in the silent corridor. No one spoke, no one moved, and even their breathing was deliberately suppressed. All the prisoners stood at the door of their cells, listening to the increasingly faint screams through their small observation windows, their expressions varied—some fearful, some confused, some thoughtful.

Lin Feng also stopped in his tracks.

He stood in the middle of the corridor, his back to the cell where everything was happening, without turning around. He simply stood there quietly, waiting.

Finally, the screams stopped.

Instead, a low, muffled groan came from the throat, as if a person had lost the strength to scream and could only let out a final gasp.

The iron gate was opened again.

Two prison guards emerged. Fine beads of sweat glistened on their foreheads, and their breathing was slightly rapid, but their expressions remained calm, as if they had simply completed a routine task. The bearded guard tucked his rubber baton back into his waistband, wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve, and then gestured with his chin toward Lin Feng, indicating for the other guard to continue leading the way.

Behind them, two more prison guards emerged from the cell—apparently they had entered through the entrance at the other end of the corridor sometime earlier—carrying a stretcher.

Morgan was lying on a stretcher.

He has become a completely different person.

His entire body was covered in blood, his orange prison uniform stained dark brown, with tears in several places revealing swollen, purplish skin underneath. His arms were bent at an unnatural angle—clearly, the joints had been broken. His face was a bloody mess, almost unrecognizable; one eye was swollen shut, the other half-open with a vacant gaze, pupil dilated, and his lips moved weakly, emitting faint, indistinct breaths.

His chest was still rising and falling, but the amplitude was small and the frequency was fast, as if the air in his chest cavity was being squeezed out little by little.

More air is exhaled than inhaled.

He lay on the stretcher like a fish thrown ashore, making its last struggle.

Everyone present could see that he was not going to survive.

Even if he were taken to the hospital immediately, given his injuries, his chances of survival would be extremely slim. And everyone knows the state of medical care in prison.

The stretcher was carried along the corridor towards the exit. As it passed Lin Feng Lin Feng, he finally turned his head and glanced at the barely recognizable body on the stretcher.

His expression remained calm.

There was no pity, no pleasure, no fear.

It's like watching something that has absolutely nothing to do with you.

Then he turned back and continued walking forward with the prison guard.

The corridor remained quiet.

But the nature of that quietness has changed.

It was no longer the curiosity and disdain of onlookers, but a deep, fear-laden silence. Every gaze directed at Lin Feng's Back View carried an indescribable layer—a wariness born from a reassessment.

Morgan had been in this prison for five years and was a notorious troublemaker in Block C; even the guards sometimes couldn't be bothered with him. But today, just because he said a few words to the new Great East, he was beaten to the point of near death.

The two prison guards who attacked didn't say a word, offer any explanation, or give any warnings; they just started attacking.

what does that mean?

This means that this new student from Great East is not someone you can mess with.

This implies that there is some kind of power behind him—some kind of energy that would make a prison guard beat a prisoner to death without hesitation.

In places like this, power is everything.

The prisoners who had been whispering and waiting to see a good show just moments before all fell silent.

Lin Feng was led to a solitary cell at the far end of Block C. The prison guard opened the door and gestured for him to go in. He went inside and looked around the space, which was about six square meters in size— Zhang Tie, a table, a toilet, and a sink. It was similar to the temporary cell he had seen before, except for a small window that hung high on the wall, offering a glimpse of the gray night sky outside.

The prison guard stood at the door and said in a much more polite tone than before, "If you need anything, press the call bell on the wall."

Lin Feng nodded. "Thank you."

The prison guard closed the iron gate, but didn't leave immediately. He stood at the door for a few seconds, seemingly hesitating whether to say something, but ultimately remained silent and turned to leave.

The footsteps faded into the distance.

The corridor returned to silence.

Lin Feng walked to the bedside and sat down. He reached out and felt the firmness of the mattress, then lay down, put his hands behind his head, and stared at the dim light bulb on the ceiling.

From the next cell came extremely low voices, so low that, in the overly quiet air, they still barely reached his ears:

"... Did you see that? That Great East..."

"Shut up... don't say anymore..."

"Didn't you see what happened to Morgan? Those two were after him, trying to kill him..."

That's why I told you to shut up! Stop talking!

The conversation abruptly stopped.

Lin Feng's lips twitched slightly, as if he wanted to laugh but didn't.

He closed his eyes, his breathing steady, as if nothing had happened.

Outside the high window at the end of the corridor, a dark cloud drifted across the night sky, obscuring the already dim moon.

Inside the prison, a new order is quietly taking shape.