A person sacrifices himself to become a saint in a chaotic world of martial arts.

The county jail was not directly under the management of the county government, but was still under the management of the Zhenfu Division. However, it was considered an independent system. A world was enclosed by a high wall of blue bricks. The wall was more than two zhang high and the top of the wall was full of iron spikes, which stood upright and the tips gleamed coldly in the sunlight, as if warning anyone who tried to approach.

The security was tight, and the iron gate was so heavy that it took two people to push it open. The hinges made a dull creaking sound as they turned, as if the sound came from deep underground.

Separated from the county government office by only one alley, it felt like two different worlds. On one side was the hustle and bustle of court hearings, with the gavel slamming loudly and cries of injustice and the sound of the cane echoing everywhere; on the other side was a deathly silence and gloom, where even the sound of the wind passing through the high walls sounded low and oppressive.

The Zhenfu Division was a well-organized institution with clearly defined functions, comprising nine major offices.

The courtyard is deep and winding. To enter from the main gate, you have to pass through three courtyards. The corridors are winding and turn left and right. Nine times out of ten, strangers will get lost.

Each door had a wooden plaque hanging above it, black with white characters, the lettering neat and upright, the paint slightly faded from the wind and sun, with the edges peeling up a little. The servants coming and going each had their own duties, their steps hurried, their clothes fluttering in the wind, they would only nod to each other when they met, their eyes meeting briefly before looking away, rarely exchanging glances, each busy with their own affairs, each with their own rules.

Each office has a different scope of responsibilities, such as clerks and scribes. The office is filled with files and archives, and the wooden cabinets reach the ceiling beams. The cabinet doors cannot be closed tightly, revealing stacks of yellowed books. The smell of ink and the musty smell of paper are mixed together. When you open the books, the yellowed pages rustle and sometimes startle the bookworms hiding in the cracks.

Arrest and capture—the walls were covered with chains and shackles, long and short, thick and thin, the metal clanging against each other. Heavy chains were piled up in the corner, their dark red rust stains under the sunlight, the color left by dried blood.

Investigation and interrogation—From the depths came faint wails, muffled and indistinct, as if they were coming from behind several walls, or as if they were covered by a gag. The heavy curtain, made of coarse cloth, blocked out the view inside. Only occasionally would a constable lift the curtain to enter or leave, bringing out a damp, musty smell mixed with a faint smell of blood.

Evaluation and transfer – A thick roster is stacked on the desk, neatly arranged, with the year written on the cover. The supervisor holds a pen and marks it, his brow furrowed, the pen tip making a soft scratching sound as it glides across the paper. Sometimes he pauses to ponder, and only after a long while does he write a single line.

Accumulated Merits – The register records every achievement, the ink is both new and old, the old ones are yellowed and faded to light gray, the new ones are bright and clear, the strokes are as sharp as if cut by a knife. Turning the pages reveals the ups and downs of each constable, some rising step by step, some remaining stagnant for many years; Bows and Weapons – The weapon rack is filled with swords and spears, their blades gleaming coldly, polished to a shine with oilcloth. Beside the rack is a whetstone, its surface worn concave, and iron filings are scattered on the ground nearby, shimmering in the sunlight.

Each of the nine departments is normally staffed with a supervisor and a deputy supervisor. The supervisors of the departments are all at the deputy department level.

The supervisor's chair was three inches wider than the others, with a carved backrest featuring the common auspicious cloud pattern. The armrests were worn smooth and had a dark red sheen, marks left by years of arms resting on them.

The writing implements on the desk were also quite exquisite—a bluestone inkstone with a fine texture that made a clear, melodious sound when tapped; a small wolf-hair brush with a handle made of Xiangfei bamboo, dotted with patterns; and an inkstick with a gold edge that shimmered faintly in the light.

The servants entering and leaving had to stand at the doorway, announce their arrival before entering, cough once, state their name and purpose, and wait for a response before daring to step over the threshold. They would walk lightly, their shoes barely touching the ground, for fear of disturbing those inside and incurring a scolding.

Su Bai, for example, can be understood as the chief officer of the prison, which is equivalent to the deputy officer level.

The prison key hung from his waist; it was made of bronze, about the size of a palm, and quite heavy, causing his belt to sag slightly. The key's teeth were intricate and varied in length, gleaming a golden light in the sun.

The keys clinked softly as he walked, the sound muffled yet solid, a gentle tinkling, a rhythmic beat between his steps. There were three keys in total, strung together with iron rings as thick as little fingers, swaying slightly at his waist, occasionally tapping against his hip bones with a soft thud.

"Thank you for your explanation, Lord Wei. I am deeply grateful." Su Bai cupped his hands towards Wei Zhiyao, leaning forward slightly and bowing his back in a respectful arc.

He clasped his hands together at eyebrow level, the veins on the back of his hands slightly bulging, his knuckles turning white from the force. After speaking, he paused his fists between his eyebrows for a moment before slowly lowering them, his movements steady and meticulous.

"Haha, Lord Su, you're too kind. We're all doing this for our superiors, so of course we should work together." Wei Zhiyao laughed, reaching out to help him up. His palm was broad and thick, with large knuckles and slightly protruding veins on the back of his hand, like winding earthworms. His skin was rough, and his palm had calluses.

When he smiled, the fine lines at the corners of his eyes gathered together, forming a fan shape, extending from the corners of his eyes all the way to his temples. His gaze, however, remained fixed on Su Bai's face, with a hint of scrutiny. His pupils moved slightly, scanning from top to bottom, lingering the longest between Su Bai's eyebrows and eyes, with a touch of appreciation. A glint of light appeared deep in his eyes, as if he had discovered something interesting.

Wei Zhiyao helped Su Bai familiarize himself with some of the major systems, mainly the procedures and situations for the prison guards to communicate with the higher-ups—which room the monthly report was sent to, whether it was sent to the clerk's office for registration, how many people it went through, who signed for it, and who archived it, all of which had to be explained in detail.

Then it was forwarded to the Chief Constable. How long it would take and when it would be approved were all precedents. The procedures for transferring prisoners were as follows: which doors needed to be opened first, the inner prison door, then the middle door, and finally the main gate; which supervisors' signatures were required for each door, and none could be missing; which supervisor to contact in case of emergency, who to contact during the day, who to contact at night, which door to knock on, and what code words to use. The code words changed monthly. He lowered his voice and said what the code words were for this month.

He spoke in detail, his fingers gesturing in the air from time to time. He stretched out his index finger and sketched in the air as if he were depicting the power structure within the government office. Invisible lines intertwined in the air, some thick, some thin, some intersecting, and some parallel.

Then I explained to him the other powers of the prison warden—in addition to guarding prisoners, he also has the power to handle some minor prison disputes, such as prisoner fights and theft, and can punish prisoners with caning on his own, as long as he reports it afterward and records it in the book; he can allocate some prison guards, arrange shifts, who works the day shift, who works the night shift, who rests, and reward, punish, appoint and dismiss them, but the number of positions is limited and cannot be exceeded.

There is a fixed monthly salary and allowance. The amount of silver, rice, and cloth is determined by the accounting department, and the timing of the payments are all handled by the accounting department. There are also additional rewards during festivals. For example, there are zongzi (sticky rice dumplings) for the Dragon Boat Festival, with the option of filling them with dates or meat. For the Mid-Autumn Festival, there are cakes with the option of printing patterns on the crust. For the twelfth lunar month, there is a charcoal allowance, with the silver sealed in red paper and the words "charcoal allowance" written on it.

The two had another meal together and caught up on their old times.

The food was delivered by a small restaurant at the street corner. When the food box was opened, steam rose up, carrying the aroma of the food.

Four dishes and a soup, two meat and two vegetable dishes—the braised pork glistened with oil, the skin trembling, the fat translucent, and the lean meat shredded; the stir-fried cabbage was emerald green, with water droplets still clinging to the leaves, glistening in the light; a vinegar fish, its body scored, drizzled with a dark brown sauce, its eyes bulging and its gills bright red; a plate of tofu, snow-white and delicate, sprinkled with chopped green onions, some green, some white; and an egg drop soup, with chopped green onions floating on the surface, and the egg drop strands as thin as cicada wings.

Wei Zhiyao picked up a piece of green vegetable with her chopsticks, put it in her mouth and chewed slowly. As she chewed, she suddenly recalled how Su Bai looked when he first entered the Zhenfu Division—skinny and small, inconspicuous in the crowd, wearing a loose-fitting constable's uniform with the cuffs rolled up twice, revealing a slender wrist, but with a stubbornness that refused to admit defeat, and a light in his eyes, staring straight at everything, as if he wanted to remember everything.

As Su Bai listened, a faint smile appeared on his lips. The smile spread from the corners of his lips to the depths of his eyes, and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes relaxed slightly.

He raised his glass in a toast, the glasses clinking softly, the wine swaying slightly, creating ripples. Outside the window, the sunlight gradually slanted westward, casting long shadows on the table, moving inch by inch from the center to the edge, climbing the wall, and finally sliding down, darkening the room and spreading shadows in the corners.

As the chief inspector, Wei Zhiyao was busy with official duties and naturally could not accompany Su Bai all the time.

He glanced at the sky; the light outside the window had turned a dim yellow. He put down his chopsticks, which landed on the rim of the bowl with a crisp sound that was particularly clear in the quiet room.

He wiped his mouth with a handkerchief, a neatly folded square of fine white cloth with clean edges. After wiping, he folded it again, aligning the four corners, and tucked it into his sleeve. He stood up, straightened his official robes, tugged at the hem, smoothed out the wrinkles, and tightened his belt. The belt was made of cowhide, and the buttonholes were worn loose, so he tightened two more buttons.

He patted Su Bai's shoulder, his hand sinking slightly on it. The warmth of his palm seeped through his clothes. His fingers tightened slightly as he massaged Su Bai's shoulder. "If there's anything, just come to me."

Having said that, he turned and left, his footsteps fading into the distance. The soles of his boots tapped against the blue bricks, one tap, one tap, the sound growing fainter and fainter until it finally disappeared at the end of the corridor. Only the echoes lingered in the empty corridor, buzzing and refusing to dissipate for a long time.

After saying goodbye, Su Bai went to see Ning Yuechan again.

Ning Yuechan's house was in the backyard of the Zhenfu Division. To get there, one had to pass through two moon gates. Withered vines climbed the stone frames of the moon gates; the vines were dry and would break at the slightest touch.

After passing a rockery, the rocks were jagged and protruding, with weeds growing in the cracks, their leaves withered and yellow, shivering in the wind.

A pomegranate tree stands outside the window, its leaves mostly fallen, leaving only a few withered yellow leaves trembling in the wind, their stems almost broken, swirling on the branches. Sometimes, when the wind picks up, a leaf will drift down, spinning as it falls to the ground. The ground is covered with a layer of withered leaves, thick and thin, whole and broken, rustling softly underfoot, a delicate and continuous sound.

Su Bai knocked on the door, his knuckles tapping on the door panel three times, neither too loud nor too soft, with even intervals.

A voice called out from inside, "Come in," its tone cool and slightly rising at the end, carrying a hint of languor and casualness.

As she pushed open the door, the hinges creaked softly, revealing Ning Yuechan sitting at the desk, flipping through something—a notebook with a blue cover, its edges curled and pages yellowed. Hearing the noise, she looked up, her gaze shifting from the notebook, her eyelashes fluttering slightly.

Upon seeing Su Bai approach, Ning Yuechan's eyes lit up, the light shining from the depths of her eyes like a candle flame suddenly ignited by the wind. Her pupils dilated slightly, reflecting Su Bai's image in her dark pupils.

Her gaze swept over Su Bai, from top to bottom and then from bottom to top, finally settling on him. She paused slightly—he had actually reached the sixth level of Martial Arts, the Divine Power Realm!

But the problem is!

She didn't get the resources!

Ning Yuechan's lips moved slightly, her upper and lower lips touched lightly, then separated, as if she wanted to say something. Her throat bobbed, but she ultimately did not speak.

She lowered her eyelashes, casting a small shadow beneath her eyes that trembled slightly with her breath. She shifted her gaze away from that realm, as if it were merely an illusion, pretending not to have seen it, and turned to chat with Su Bai about the prison.

Her fingers unconsciously rubbed the corner of the table, her fingertips sliding back and forth, polishing the wood smooth and giving it a dull luster—the marks left by years of caressing, marks that had penetrated deep into the wood, giving it a warm, smooth feel.

Especially concerning Zhou Changqing's family and the deputy prison warden Mao Ya.

When she spoke of Zhou Changqing, her brows furrowed slightly, and shallow vertical lines appeared between them, very close together, as if carved by a knife, the lines concealing her innermost thoughts. When she spoke of Mao Ya, her voice lowered, her originally clear voice becoming deep and heavy, as if squeezed from her throat. She glanced out the window, where a withered branch of a pomegranate tree struck the window frame with a snap. After scanning the area and confirming that no one was around, she looked away, her gaze filled with wariness.

"Mao Ya has been working in the prison for almost twenty years. He's a veteran who rose through the ranks step by step," Ning Yuechan said, tapping her fingers lightly on the table. The two taps, clear and crisp, were particularly loud in the quiet room. "In the prison, many people, from top to bottom, were trained by him. Among the jailers are his apprentices, three or four of whom he personally taught; in the clerk's office are his fellow townsmen, who are said to be distant relatives; even the cook has received favors from him, lending him money and helping him with errands. With so many people, I'm afraid there will be some trouble."

She told Su Bai to be careful, her gaze falling on Su Bai's face, her eyes filled with concern, her gaze slightly trembling as if she had something left unsaid; there was also a hint of worry, her brows furrowing even more deeply, the vertical lines between them deepening. The wind blew past the window, and the withered branches of the pomegranate tree struck the windowpane with a soft thud, which was particularly clear in the quiet room, making one's heart skip a beat.

Su Bai nodded, his expression calm and composed, his gaze serene as still water, indicating that he would definitely pay attention. He picked up the teacup on the table and took a sip. The tea was cold, with a slightly bitter taste that melted on his tongue, sliding down his throat, the coolness reaching his stomach and esophagus.

He only asked one question: what level of cultivation Mao Ya possessed.

When he asked this question, he put down his teacup, the bottom of which hovered about an inch above the table, his fingers still holding the rim, waiting for the answer.

Ning Yuechan paused slightly, her eyelashes trembled, and her gaze flickered before she answered, "The Realm of Softness and Hardness." After she finished speaking, her gaze fell on Su Bai's face, trying to discern something from his expression, her eyes fixed on him.

After listening, Su Bai put down his teacup, which landed on the table with a soft thud. The remaining tea in the cup swayed, creating a ripple that spread outwards from the center, then bounced back against the cup wall and gradually subsided.

His lips curled up slightly, a very faint smile, but the slight twitch of his lips made his whole body relax, his shoulders slumped slightly, his back was no longer so tense, and even his breathing became lighter.

Upon learning that he was at the Hard-Soft Realm, Su Bai was completely relieved.

He leaned back in his bamboo chair, which creaked slightly as the bamboo strips bent gently. His gaze fell out the window, where the withered branches of the pomegranate tree swayed in the wind, their shadows flickering on the window paper like ink marks, sometimes dark, sometimes light, sometimes clustered, sometimes scattered.

A tinge of dusk fell on the distant horizon, the twilight deepened, and the clouds were tinged with orange-red, spreading out layer by layer, from deep orange to light orange, and then to a pale gray, gradually darkening as night enveloped everything from all directions.