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

Su Bai met his gaze, her expression unchanged, and simply nodded slightly.

Ma Chenggong stared at him for a few moments, his eyes gleaming with an inexplicable light in the dim light, as if he were pondering something. Suddenly, he burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the corridor, making everyone's ears ring. He clapped his hands, turned to the jailers, and shouted, "Alright, stop hitting him! Drag him back! All of you, shut up, don't embarrass yourselves in front of Lord Su!"

The jailers responded and hurriedly dragged the man off the ground. Some grabbed his arms, others his legs; the man was dragged along like a dead dog, his head drooping, the back of his head hitting the bluestone slab with a dull thud. A long trail of blood was left behind as he was dragged. Jailer Ma glanced back at Su Bai, his smile carrying an inscrutable meaning—as if he were watching the opening act of a good show. Then he strode off in another direction, his boots thumping on the ground, his burly figure quickly disappearing into the dim light.

Zhao Jinhong finally breathed a sigh of relief, as if a heavy burden had been lifted. He took out his sleeve and wiped the sweat from his forehead; the beads of sweat glistened in the oil lamplight. He cautiously approached Su Bai, lowering his voice, which was filled with extreme caution: "Lord Su, please don't take it to heart. This man is called Ma Chenggong… He's been in this prison for over ten years, knows everyone here, and while he has a bit of a temper, he's still quite sensible. You've just arrived, so don't hold it against him yet, later…"

"I know. He's one of Prison Chief Mao's men?" Su Bai interrupted him, his gaze sweeping over the still-wet bloodstain on the ground. The bloodstain had spread into a small patch on the bluestone slab, dark red to almost black, with the edges already beginning to dry. He then looked in the direction where Ma Chenggong had disappeared, a thoughtful look flashing in his eyes.

Zhao Jinhong didn't speak, but simply nodded slightly, a complex emotion flashing in his small eyes.

Su Bai smiled. The smile was very faint, almost imperceptible, but the corners of his mouth did curve upwards slightly.

This show of force came really fast.

No sooner had Zhou Changqing left than he encountered Ma Chenggong, who was carrying out torture right in front of him.

Was it a coincidence, or was it intentionally arranged?

"Let's go," Su Bai said to Zhao Jinhong, withdrawing his gaze and speaking calmly as if nothing had happened. "Continue leading the way."

Zhao Jinhong nodded repeatedly, his round head bobbing like a chick pecking at rice. He led Su Bai forward, quietly describing the layout of each area as they walked—the row on the left were the Class A cells, the row on the right were the Class B cells, and around the corner at the end were the water room and the outhouse—but his voice held a hint of caution, as if afraid of saying something wrong. Su Bai listened silently, memorizing the layout, every corner, every door, and the location of every oil lamp along the way.

The passageway stretched deeper and deeper, the light growing dimmer. A few skylights occasionally pierced the darkness, letting in pale rays that fell on the flagstones like a layer of frost. The musty smell intensified, damp and clinging to the skin. Faint, groaning sounds drifted from an unknown direction, like wind whistling through dilapidated doors and windows, sometimes near, sometimes far.

At a fork in the road, Zhao Jinhong stopped. There were three paths: one continued forward, one turned right, and the other led down a staircase. He pointed to the staircase on the left, which stretched downwards into the darkness, its bottom invisible, with only gusts of cold wind rising from below. He lowered his voice, a hint of apprehension in it: "Lord Su, going down this way leads to the first underground level. And further down… is the second level. My official duties end here; it's inconvenient for me to accompany you any further. As for the handover, once you've met with Warden Mao, he will take care of it for you."

As he spoke, he handed over a keychain with both hands. The keychain gleamed a dark yellow in the dim light, with more than a dozen keys strung together, some as big as a palm and others only as long as a finger. Each key was rusty and clearly had been used for many years.

Su Bai took the key, weighed it in his hand, and found it to be quite heavy. The cool, metallic texture pressed against his palm.

"Lord Su..." Zhao Jinhong hesitated, his lips moving as if something was stuck in his throat. In the end, he couldn't help but lean closer and whisper in an extremely low voice, almost like a whisper: "Be careful on the two floors below."

Su Bai glanced at him, but didn't press further. He simply nodded and said, "Thank you for your trouble, Lord Zhao."

Zhao Jinhong cupped his hands in a respectful bow, then turned and strode away. His round, chubby figure receded further and further into the dimly lit passageway, his footsteps growing fainter until he finally vanished completely into the darkness from which he had come.

Su Bai stood alone at the crossroads. To his left were stairs leading upwards to the next few floors, where a faint light could be seen; to his right was a deep, dark passageway, its destination unknown, a gaping maw of darkness; and in front of him were stairs leading downwards, disappearing into even deeper darkness, with no end in sight, only gusts of cold wind blowing up from below.

The wind carried a stronger stench of decay than elsewhere, along with a faint, almost imperceptible smell of rust, as if it were seeping up from very, very deep underground.

He touched the waist badge at his waist; the bronze badge was cold and smooth. He took a deep breath, and the air filled his nostrils with the smell of decay. He stepped down the first step.

The steps were steep and slippery, each covered in thick moss, soft and yielding underfoot, like stepping on something rotten. He walked slowly, making sure each step was firmly planted before moving on. After about twenty or thirty steps, the space suddenly opened up before him—a small hall, its walls illuminated by oil lamps casting a dim, yellowish glow. Several worn-out tables and chairs sat in the hall, their surfaces pockmarked, scratched, and stained. Hanging on the walls were various instruments of torture—chains, shackles, branding irons, whips, bamboo skewers, and several others he couldn't name, casting grotesque, distorted shadows under the lamplight, as if they were alive.

Several people were gambling around a table, which was piled with coins and crumpled playing cards. They were shouting loudly, some banging on the table, others cursing, making quite a scene. Hearing footsteps, the noise stopped abruptly, and the group of people all looked up, their eyes fixed on Su Bai.

The man in the lead was none other than Ma Chenggong, whom they had just met. He leaned back in his chair, one leg propped up on the table, a handful of copper coins in his hand, about to flick them with his thumb. Seeing Su Bai come down, he grinned, revealing his yellow teeth, which stood out starkly in the dim light.

"Oh, so Warden Su really came down?" He tossed a copper coin onto the table, sending it tumbling across the surface. He stood up, clapped his hands slowly, as if brushing away non-existent dust. "What, trying to inspect things before the handover formalities are even finished?"

The other jailers also stood up, their gazes sweeping over Su Bai from head to toe and back again, filled with scrutiny and wariness. Some crossed their arms, some rested their hands on the hilts of their knives, and some wore smirks of amusement.

Su Bai stood in the center of the hall, the dim light shining from all directions, casting a long shadow on the ground. He met these gazes with a calm expression, his eyes appearing exceptionally deep in the light and shadow.

"The waters run deep in this prison," he said slowly, his voice not loud, but clearly audible in the confined space, even echoing, "In that case, I should go down and take a look as soon as possible, so I can know just how deep the waters are."

Upon hearing this, Ma Chenggong's smile froze for a moment. For a fleeting instant, something flashed in his eyes, but it quickly vanished. He then returned to normal, even laughing more heartily. His laughter echoed through the hall, startling the oil lamps on the wall, causing them to flicker. He strode over, his boots clattering on the floor, and pointed to the descending stairs in front of Su Bai.

The entrance to the staircase was in a corner of the hall, dark and gaping, like a gaping wound.

"Alright, Warden Su has guts! Please—"

He stepped aside, made a gesture of invitation, and bowed excessively, his posture overly respectful, yet his eyes gleamed with an ambiguous light, as if waiting to see some kind of joke.

Su Bai glanced at him, a faint glance that made Ma Chenggong's smile freeze for a moment. Then, without hesitation, Su Bai lifted his foot and walked towards the staircase leading deeper into the area.

Behind him, the gazes of the prison guards were like nails piercing his back, cold and hard. Ma Chenggong's heavy breathing was clearly audible, along with his soft, low laughter.

The stairs descended, one step, two steps, three steps...

Darkness surged in like a tide, engulfing him.

Su Bai's footsteps echoed softly on the stone steps, reverberating through the narrow passage. He didn't turn around, yet he could feel the gazes fixed on his back, as if trying to see right through him. Ma Chenggong's look just now clearly indicated he was waiting to see some kind of show—was he waiting to see him make a fool of himself, or waiting to see what would scare him away?

The steps grew steeper and slipperier. The air grew increasingly humid, the dampness clinging to the skin like a thin film. Oil lamps were spaced far apart on the walls, their flames weak, the size of soybeans, their light barely illuminating a radius of about three feet. Most of the area remained hidden in darkness, indistinct, like clumps of thick, unyielding ink. Su Bai slowed his pace, his gaze sweeping over the walls on either side—a layer of frost-like substance covered the blue bricks, gleaming eerily in the dim light. He reached out and touched it; a chilling coldness, like touching ice, and a sticky, slippery feel sent a shiver down his spine.

He withdrew his hand and continued walking down.

One step, two steps, three steps.

The underground level is much colder than the upper level.

The chill wasn't just ordinary coolness; it was a bone-chilling cold, as if it seeped up from the depths of the earth, climbing up his trousers and seeping into his very bones. Su Bai exhaled, his breath condensing into a thin white mist in the air before vanishing in an instant.

After climbing about forty or fifty steps, a clearing finally appeared before them. It was a larger hall than the one above, about three zhang square, with a dozen or so oil lamps lit on the walls. The flames were brighter than the one above, illuminating the space and dispelling much of the darkness. In the center of the hall stood a long wooden table, its surface pitted and stained with knife marks and dirt. Piled up were files, account books, teacups, and several dishes of leftover peanuts—the peanut shells scattered on the table and floor, crunching underfoot. Several jailers sat on either side of the long table; some were dozing, emitting soft snores, while others huddled together talking quietly, occasionally letting out a suppressed laugh. Hearing footsteps, all of them simultaneously raised their heads, their reaction as quick as if they were waiting for someone to arrive.

"Who is it?"

A weasel-faced jailer abruptly stood up, his movement so sudden he nearly knocked over the bench beneath him. His hand was already reaching for the sword at his waist, his fingers gripping the hilt tightly, his entire body taut like a fully drawn bow. But upon seeing Su Bai's attire—not an official robe, but a respectable blue gown, clean and bright, with the brand-new jailer's badge hanging at his waist—his hand recoiled as if burned. The wariness on his face instantly transformed into an unnatural smile, a smile that looked utterly awkward on his sharp features.

"This...may I ask if you are the new jailer, Su?"

Su Bai nodded, his gaze sweeping over the group of people present. There were five jailers, all in their thirties or forties, with varied appearances, but all with wary and scrutinizing eyes, like a pack of alert dogs examining a new face that had intruded into their territory. One of them, the older one, was about fifty years old, with graying temples and deep, knife-carved wrinkles on his face. He sat in the farthest corner, furthest from the oil lamp, holding a teacup. He glanced at Su Bai briefly, a flicker of something passing through his cloudy old eyes, before lowering his head again to stare at the tea in the bowl, as if it were none of his business.

"Oh dear, Warden Su, what brings you down here alone?" The weasel-faced jailer hurriedly came forward, bowing and scraping as he led the way, his back bent at almost a ninety-degree angle, his face plastered with a wide smile that narrowed his eyes to slits. "My surname is Hou, my name is Hou San, and I'm the head of this basement level. Please, please have a seat—"

As he spoke, he hastily wiped a chair next to the long table with his sleeve. The sleeve was already so dirty that its original color was indistinguishable, and the wipe only added a gray streak to the chair surface. He was being overly attentive, and his small eyes gleamed with shrewdness, as if he were weighing something.

The other guards also stood up, some cupping their hands, some nodding, their expressions varied, but all seemed a little unnatural—some had shifty eyes and dared not look directly at him; some had a half-smile on their lips; and some stared blankly at Su Bai, as if looking at something rare.

Su Bai didn't sit down, but stood in the center of the hall. The dim yellow light shone from all directions, casting his long, distorted shadow on the ground. His gaze slowly swept over his surroundings, taking everything in.

This hall was much larger than the one above, with several dark corridors extending outwards, their destinations unknown. The walls were adorned with more and more gruesome instruments of torture—chains as thick as arms, shackles so heavy they seemed capable of snapping a person's neck, branding irons blackened by heat, bundles of bamboo skewers tied together, and several unidentifiable objects with hooks and spikes, gleaming dimly in the lamplight, their shadows cast on the wall like a chaotic dance of demons. The stench of decay was even stronger than before, a smell that seemed to seep from the cracks in the walls and beneath the floor tiles, so viscous it could almost be grasped by hand. Mixed with it was a faint, almost imperceptible smell of rust and blood, the fresh scent of blood, as if it had just been left behind.

"Squad Leader Hou," Su Bai withdrew his gaze, looking at the overly obsequious jailer before him, his eyes as calm as a deep pool, "who are the people imprisoned on this underground level?"

Hou San chuckled twice, a high-pitched laugh that seemed to be squeezed out of his throat. He rubbed his hands together, the rough palms making a rustling sound. "Reporting to Warden Su, the underground level holds all the important prisoners. Murderers, arsonists, notorious bandits, and a few who have offended powerful figures—they're all on this level. As for the second underground level…" He lowered his voice abruptly, almost whispering, and glanced unconsciously in a certain direction—a passageway in the corner of the hall, deeper and darker than the others—his eyes filled with undisguised apprehension. "That's where serious criminals are held. No one can go down there without Warden Mao's personal approval."

"Oh?" Su Bai's eyebrows twitched slightly, a subtle movement almost imperceptible on her face, yet it made Hou San's eyes flicker. "So, if I want to go down and take a look now, do I need Chief Inspector Mao's approval?"

Hou San's smile froze for a moment, as if someone had grabbed his throat. He gave a dry laugh, a dry, uninspired laugh: "Well... Warden Su, you're new to the job, so you should be able to go anywhere. But this second basement level has always been personally managed by Warden Mao, and only he has the key. If you want to go down, you'll probably have to ask him for the key first..."

As he spoke, he gave a quick wink to the jailers behind him—a wink that flashed by so fast it didn't escape Su Bai's notice. The jailers understood; some looked down at the table, some turned to look elsewhere, and some pretended to straighten their clothes. The atmosphere suddenly became tense, like a taut string.

Su Bai observed all of this, but remained outwardly calm, simply asking, "Where is Prison Chief Mao now?"

"Well..." Hou San rubbed his hands together, faster and faster, his face showing a troubled expression, his eyebrows and eyes almost squeezed together. "Warden Mao was just upstairs a moment ago, but now... maybe he's gone to eat? Or maybe he's gone to take care of something else? I'm not really sure."

Before the words were finished, a noise suddenly came from a passageway deep inside the hall.

It was the sound of chains dragging on the floor, a clear, rattling sound that echoed in the silent passageway. Interspersed with suppressed groans, the sounds muffled and intermittent, as if someone had covered their mouth. Someone was speaking in hushed tones; the words were indistinct, but the tone was fierce, like shouting and cursing.

Su Bai looked in the direction of the sound and saw a faint flicker of light at the end of the passageway. The orange-red light danced in the darkness, as if someone was carrying a lantern and walking this way.

Hou San's expression changed, his sharp face instantly turning several shades paler. He hurriedly said, "Warden Su, please have a seat, I'll go take a look—"

Before he could finish speaking, the firelight drew near. A figure emerged from the passageway, carrying an oil lamp in his left hand. The lampshade was stained, and the light flickered dimly. Behind him followed two jailers, each supporting a blood-soaked man. The man's head was bowed, his disheveled hair obscuring his face, making it impossible to discern his features. His prison clothes were tattered, hanging in strips that revealed a crisscrossing network of wounds beneath—some new, some old, the old scabbed over, the new still bleeding. His feet dragged on the ground, the toes carving two thin, bloody tracks into the flagstones, a gruesome sight.

The lantern bearer was a middle-aged man with thick eyebrows, piercing eyes, a straight nose, a square mouth, and a robust build, towering over the average person by half a head. He wore a faded soap shirt, meticulously washed, and a prison warden's badge hung at his waist—a bronze one, slightly smaller than Su Bai's, its edges worn smooth. Upon seeing Su Bai, he paused, his gaze sweeping over Su Bai, from his face to the brand-new badge at his waist, then back to his face, before striding over.

"Is this the new Warden Su?" He clasped his hands in a fist and palm salute, the movement precise and powerful, his voice loud and clear, echoing in the hall. "I am Li Dingfang. I was interrogating prisoners downstairs just now and did not greet you properly. I hope Warden Su will forgive me."

Su Bai glanced at him.

This is Li, the jailer who's supposedly not very involved. But judging from his demeanor, he seems different from what Zhao Jinhong described. This man carries an air of world-weariness, his brows revealing competence, and his eyes are clear and upright; he doesn't seem like someone who doesn't care about things. Although he also carries a bloody aura, he's not as arrogant and domineering as Ma Chenggong; instead, he possesses a calm and professional demeanor.

Su Bai cupped his hands in greeting and said calmly, "Inspector Li, you're too kind. I'm new here and just wanted to look around and get acquainted with the place."

Li Dingfang nodded, his gaze lingering on Su Bai's face for a moment, a flicker of something passing through his tiger-like eyes. He suddenly turned and took a few steps to the side, distancing himself from the jailers, to a corner of the hall, out of the reach of an oil lamp. He lowered his voice and said, "Warden Su, may I speak to you in private?"

Su Bai understood and followed.

The shadows enveloped the two men, with only the faint light of an oil lamp in the distance illuminating their silhouettes. Li Dingfang's gaze swept warily around, making sure no one was approaching—the jailers, though standing still, avoided looking in their direction, and Hou San even turned away, pretending to tidy up the files on the table—before continuing to speak.

"Head Warden Su," his voice was extremely low, as if squeezed from the depths of his throat, so that only the two of them could hear, "did you see Head Warden Mao when you came downstairs just now?"

Not yet.

Li Dingfang's face darkened slightly, and his thick eyebrows furrowed into a knot. He remained silent for a moment, as if considering his words, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, before he said in a low voice, "Head Warden Su, there are some things I shouldn't say, but since you're new here, it's better if you know some things."

He paused, glanced around to make sure no one was approaching, and then continued, his voice even lower: "In this prison, the top three floors are under my jurisdiction, and the bottom two floors are under Warden Mao's jurisdiction. Although he says he's in charge, in reality, even I'm not allowed to go down to the bottom two floors. Over the years, not a single prisoner who has been locked up on the bottom two floors has come out alive. Warden Mao doesn't allow anyone to inquire about it; everyone, from top to bottom, avoids him."

Su Bai's heart skipped a beat, but he didn't show it on his face, only asking, "What about the previous jailer?"

Li Dingfang shook his head, a gesture tinged with helplessness and mockery. He gave a short, low laugh: "That jailer? He barely comes to the prison a few times a year, and when he does, he just sits upstairs, drinks a few cups of tea, flips through a few files, and never goes down to the bottom. He never cares about what's going on down there, nor can he. As for Warden Mao..."

He paused, his gaze becoming deep, as if he were recalling something.

"He's been in this place for over a decade, and all the men under his command are his own creations. Everyone, from top to bottom, gives him a wide berth. His word carries more weight than the jailer's. Nobody else can change his mind. Jailer Su," he stared into Su Bai's eyes, his tiger-like gaze carrying a hint of profound meaning, "some things aren't what you think. It's not about who's the boss..."