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

Li Dingfang waved his hand, the movement casual yet forceful, and resumed his businesslike expression, as if the whispered conversation from a moment ago had never happened. He turned to the jailers who were still holding the prisoner and shouted, "Lock him up and keep a close eye on him."

The voice wasn't loud, but it carried an undeniable authority. It sounded as if it were being forced from the depths of the chest, deep and resonant, echoing in the spacious hall and making one's eardrums tingle slightly.

The two jailers responded with a voice tinged with fearful respect. They carried the blood-soaked prisoner deeper into the passageway. The prisoner's head slumped completely, his chin resting on his chest, like a chicken with a broken neck. His feet dragged on the ground, the skin at his ankles abraded, leaving two long, dark red trails of blood that stood out starkly against the bluestone slabs. The sound of the chains scraping the ground was slow and heavy, like the lingering echo of a death knell. The sound gradually faded, growing weaker and weaker until it disappeared completely into the darkness, leaving only a faint echo that lingered in the passageway before finally falling silent.

Hou San came closer again.

His movements were incredibly light, as light as a cat's, leaving almost no sound. His sharp face was plastered with a smile, his eyes narrowing into slits, revealing only the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes and a few yellowed teeth—a chipped front tooth that gleamed a dull yellow in the lamplight. He rubbed his hands together rapidly, the palms making a soft rustling sound, his voice filled with extreme caution and ingratiation: "Warden Su, do you think…would you like to go upstairs and rest? This underground level is cold and damp; staying here too long will be bad for your health. When Warden Mao returns, can he personally accompany you down there? He knows the area well; it'll be safer with him there."

When he said the last few words, his voice was even lower, as if he were talking about something confidential, but his eyes darted around and quickly glanced at Su Bai's face.

Su Bai glanced at him.

That glance was indifferent, as indifferent as plain water, as indifferent as if he hadn't seen anything at all. But that one glance froze the smile on Hou San's face, like a mask suddenly solidifying on his face. The corners of his mouth still maintained an upward curve, but the smile in his eyes vanished instantly, leaving only embarrassment and fear.

Su Bai didn't answer, but turned around and walked towards the staircase leading deeper into the area.

His steps were not fast, but exceptionally steady. His black boots clattered evenly on the bluestone slabs, each sound like a tapping on the hearts of everyone present.

Hou San's expression changed drastically; his sharp face instantly paled, as if all the color had been drained from it. He hurriedly caught up, jogging along, his footsteps making a rapid, loud pattering sound on the flagstones, especially clear in the empty passageway: "Warden Su! Warden Su! You can't go that way—"

"Why can't I go?" Su Bai didn't turn his head, his steps continued, his voice was as calm as if he were asking what he was having for dinner, or why the light wasn't on, so calm that there wasn't a ripple in his expression.

"This...this is the rule!" Hou San's voice trembled with anxiety, becoming shrill and grating. "Without Warden Mao's key, we can't go down!"

Su Bai walked to the top of the stairs and, sure enough, saw an iron gate blocking his way.

That door was much thicker and heavier than the one above, its iron bars as thick as a baby's arm, densely welded to the frame, the bulging lumps of iron at the welds resembling tumors. The door was covered in rust, layers of dark red rust, some areas peeling up like dried scabs. The entire door looked as if it hadn't been touched for decades, exuding an aura of long-dormant decay.

A huge brass lock, as big as an adult's fist, hung on the door. The lock was covered in verdigris, with mottled greenish-blue rust stains, as if it had grown a layer of mold. The keyhole was filled with dust and cobwebs, layers of grayish-white cobwebs, long since dried and cracked, trembling slightly in the faint airflow.

Su Bai reached out and touched the lock.

The moment my fingertips touched it, a chilling sensation shot through me, spreading up my arm like touching a block of ancient ice, or plunging my hand into the depths of winter's well water. The coolness carried a strange, eerie chill, as if something unclean was locked inside. The rust on the lock was rough and prickly, each raised rust spot like tiny sandpaper rubbing against the skin of my fingertips. The areas with the mottled verdigris felt slippery, like they were covered in moss.

"This lock, only Warden Mao has the key?" Su Bai asked, his gaze still fixed on the lock. His eyes narrowed slightly, the outline of the brass lock reflected in his pupils.

"Yes, yes, yes," Hou San nodded repeatedly, his head bobbing like a chicken pecking at rice, the skin on his neck jiggling with each step. Fine beads of cold sweat glistened on his forehead in the dim light of the oil lamp, like morning dewdrops. "Only Warden Mao has them. He said that the second basement level is for serious criminals, and no unauthorized personnel are allowed in. Even we underlings have never gone down there. Really, never."

As he finished speaking, his voice trembled slightly, whether from fear or something else, it was hard to tell.

Su Bai stared at the lock for a moment. That moment felt both short and long. The hall was so quiet that you could hear the crackling of the oil lamp and the tense breathing of someone.

Then he suddenly turned around, his gaze slowly sweeping over everyone present.

His gaze was calm, as calm as a stagnant pool, but when that calm gaze swept over them, the jailers seemed to be stung by something and lowered their heads.

Some stared at their toes, wishing they could bury their heads in their chests. Others stared at the tabletop, their eyes glued to the wood grain, as if trying to see something extraordinary within it. Some pretended to adjust their clothes, their fingers repeatedly fiddling with the same sash, over and over again. No one dared to meet their gaze.

Only Li Dingfang stood not far away, calmly watching him. His tiger-like eyes held an indescribable meaning—as if observing, or perhaps waiting. His gaze met Su Bai's in mid-air; he neither looked away nor challenged, but simply watched silently, like a statue.

"Alright," Su Bai said calmly, his voice devoid of any emotion, as still as well water. "Then let's wait for Warden Mao to return."

As he spoke, he walked back to the hall and sat down in the chair that Hou San had wiped clean beside the long table. The chair legs made a slight scraping sound on the bluestone slab, a sound that was particularly clear in the quiet hall. He sat very steadily, his back straight, like a pine tree planted there. His gaze was calm and unblinking as he looked at the iron gate.

Hou San paused, opened his mouth as if to say something, his lips moved a few times, his upper lip touching his lower lip, but in the end he didn't dare to speak. He awkwardly retreated to the side, rubbing his hands, even more frantically than before, a rustling sound, as if something was scratching at his heart. The smile on his face was awkward and stiff, frozen on his face, unsure whether to remove it or not.

The other guards exchanged glances, their eyes meeting briefly before quickly shifting away, as if afraid of being seen through. One coughed softly, a deliberately feigned cough. Another shifted his weight, his boots scraping lightly on the flagstones. An awkward silence fell, like a taut string about to snap.

Li Dingfang walked over and sat down opposite Su Bai.

His movements were steady; he lifted his robe and slowly sat down, the chair creaking softly. He picked up the teapot on the table; it was coarse porcelain, the spout chipped, revealing the grayish-white earthenware underneath. He poured himself a bowl of tea; the water was cloudy, with a dull yellow luster, steaming slightly, the wisps of steam rising and swirling in the oil lamplight. He then poured a bowl for Su Bai, pushing it towards him; the bottom of the bowl made a soft scraping sound on the table—a soft creak.

"Chief Su, have some tea." His voice was deep, as if it were being forced out from his chest.

Su Bai took the teacup, but didn't drink it. He simply held it in his hands, feeling the faint warmth seep through the bowl to his palm. The warmth was very weak, like a lingering ember in the cold underground level. His gaze passed over the rim of the bowl and landed on the iron gate leading underground. His eyes were thoughtful, something slowly shifting deep within his pupils, as if he were calculating something, or waiting for something.

The flame of the oil lamp flickered, stretching and shortening the shadows. The shadows on the wall danced, sometimes bright, sometimes dim, sometimes large, sometimes small, like a group of ghosts. From some distant direction, faint groans drifted, sometimes near, sometimes far, intermittent, like the wind passing through dilapidated doors and windows, or like the whispers of ghosts.

Time passed silently, second by second.

The hall fell silent, so quiet that the occasional crackling of the burning oil lamp could be heard, the wick bursting and sparks flying. And from some unknown direction came faint, intermittent groans, sometimes near, sometimes far, like the wind passing through the dilapidated doors and windows, or like the whispers of ghosts.

Time passed little by little.

The flame of the oil lamp flickered, stretching and shortening the shadows of the people. The jailers returned to their positions, but no one gambled anymore, and no one spoke. They only occasionally stole glances at Su Bai, who sat motionless, before quickly looking away.

After an unknown amount of time, footsteps finally came from above the steps.

The footsteps were heavy and deep, each step making a dull thud on the stone steps, like someone hammering something. The sound grew closer and clearer, echoing through the silent passageway.

Hou San jumped to his feet, his movement so sudden that the bench beneath him scraped loudly. A look of relief spread across his face, like a drowning man grasping at a straw, and he blurted out, "It's Warden Mao! Warden Mao's back!"

Sure enough, a moment later, the burly figure of Warden Mao appeared at the hall entrance. He strode in, the hem of his black robe fluttering with each step, his boots clattering on the ground. His gaze swept over Su Bai, who sat motionless, and a smile appeared on his dark face, a wide grin revealing his signature yellow teeth.

"Oh, so Warden Su is really waiting here?"

He walked up to Su Bai, looking down at him. His imposing figure blocked the light behind him, casting Su Bai in shadow. He pulled a key from his waist, weighed it in his hand, and the key clinked together, making a clear, ringing sound that was particularly loud in the quiet hall.

"Want to go down and take a look?"

Su Bai raised her head to meet his gaze. Those eyes were calm as still water, without the slightest ripple, like a bottomless ancient well. He spoke slowly, his voice soft, yet each word clear: "Yes."

The jailer stared at him for a few moments, a flicker of something in his eyes—surprise, amusement, or something else—fleeting. Suddenly, he burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the hall, making everyone's ears ring. He tossed the key onto the table, where it landed with a dull thud, rolled twice, and stopped in front of Su Bai.

"Alright! Warden Su has guts! Let's go down and take a look!"

Everyone in the hall looked at the key, then at Su Bai, their gazes varying – some surprised, some curious, some wary, some gloating, and some with an inexplicable expectation.

Su Bai stood up, his movements unhurried. He reached for the key; it was heavy in his hand, the cold metallic texture against his palm sending a chill down his spine. The key was large, with deep serrations and dark stains, whether rust or something else, he couldn't tell.

"Please." Warden Mao stepped aside, gestured towards the iron gate, bowed excessively, and wore a meaningful smile, as if he were watching the opening of a good show.

Without hesitation, Su Bai walked towards the door. His footsteps echoed clearly in the silent hall.

Behind him, Li Dingfang's voice suddenly rang out: "Warden Su—"

Su Bai paused, stopping in his tracks. He didn't turn around immediately, but simply stood there, his back to everyone.

Li Dingfang stood up, a complex expression flashing across his resolute face. He opened his mouth, his lips moving, but nothing came out. His tiger-like eyes swirled with too many emotions—worry, helplessness, and a hint of expectation. In the end, he only gave Su Bai a deep look, then silently sat back down, picked up the teacup in front of him, and drank it all in one gulp.

Su Bai didn't turn around, but he heard every unspoken word in that call. He lifted his foot and continued walking forward.

He walked up to the iron gate and inserted the key into the lock.

The keyhole was deep, and the key made a slight scraping sound when inserted. He twisted it hard, and there was a crisp "click" as the lock spring snapped open. The sound was exceptionally clear in the silent passageway, as if some kind of seal had been broken.

The lock is open.

The iron gate opened.

The door hinges creaked shrilly, as if they hadn't turned in years. The sound echoed through the silent passageway, sharp as fingernails scraping against the bluestone slabs, making one's teeth ache. A cold, damp wind rushed in from behind the door, carrying a heavy stench of decay—a mixture of the sweet, pungent smell of rusty blood, the foul stench of excrement, the nauseating stench of rotting flesh, and some other indescribable fishy odor. It was like an invisible hand thrusting straight to the head, stinging the eyes and causing dry heaving.

Su Bai remained expressionless and stepped over the threshold. His black boots landed softly on the stone slab on the other side of the threshold with a "tap".

Footsteps followed behind; it was Warden Mao. His burly frame squeezed through the door, his shoulders almost brushing against the doorframe. He held the oil lamp high, the flame flickering violently in the cold wind, casting his shadow on the stone wall, distorted beyond recognition—sometimes elongated like a writhing black snake, sometimes flattened like a lump of mud plastered on the wall.

The stairs descended, each stone step damp and covered with a layer of slippery moss. Each step produced a slight splattering sound, as if stepping on something sticky, the slick texture palpable beneath the feet. Dark red water seeped from the stone walls on either side, trickling down in streaks that gleamed eerily in the dim light, like blood seeping from the walls. The deeper one went, the stronger the stench grew, almost tangible, like a thick fog clinging to the skin. The groans became clearer, sometimes near, sometimes far, some high-pitched and shrill, others low and intermittent, as if seeping from the walls, or the screams of vengeful spirits from the earth.

"Watch your step, Chief Su." Chief Mao's voice rang out from behind, tinged with sarcasm. "It's much more slippery down here than up here. A few days ago, a clumsy jailer slipped and rolled down these steps, breaking his neck. When they brought him back up, his head was twisted to the back, and his eyes were wide open."

Before he could finish speaking, Su Bai stepped on something soft and yielding, like stepping on a wad of rotten cotton. He looked down and saw a dead rat, rotten to the point where only its skin and bones remained. When he stepped on it, its internal organs were squeezed out of its ruptured abdominal cavity, and white maggots were still wriggling, gleaming palely in the dim light.

Su Bai moved his foot away expressionlessly and continued walking down the steps. The sole of his black boots left a sticky stain on the stone steps.

We've finally reached the bottom.

Before them stretched a long corridor, even more sinister than the one above. On either side were rows of cells, separated by thick wooden bars, the wood stained with knife marks and black bloodstains, some parts studded with dried bits of flesh. Each cell held a person—or rather, someone who had once been a person.

Su Bai's gaze slowly swept over them.

In the first cell, a prisoner was suspended in mid-air by chains, his arms twisted behind his back, his shoulders dislocated, dangling at an eerie angle like broken branches. His legs had been severed cleanly below the knees, the cuts branded with red-hot irons, covered in dark red scabs, the edges of which curled up to reveal pink flesh beneath. Hearing footsteps, he struggled to lift his head, his eye sockets empty—his eyeballs had been gouged out, leaving only two bloody holes, the edges still clinging to dried blood. He opened his mouth, making a hoarse sound; his tongue was gone, only half a severed stump churning weakly in his mouth, saliva mixed with blood dripping from the corners of his mouth onto the tattered cloth on his chest.

In the second cell, a chain pierced a man's collarbone, suspending him against the wall. The skin and flesh around his collarbone were rubbed raw by the chain, revealing the stark white bone. All ten of his fingers had been skinned, exposing the bare white bone; the knuckles twitched slightly, like a small, still-living animal. A large piece of skin had been peeled off his chest, hanging like a tattered garment at his waist, revealing his ribs—neatly arranged, rising and falling gently with his breath. His heart was still beating; through the thin pericardium, one could see it contracting and expanding rhythmically, a shockingly bright red. He wasn't dead yet; his eyes stared blankly at passersby, his gaze empty like a corpse, yet his lips moved silently, as if uttering something.

In the third cell, a prisoner was nailed to a wooden stake, his limbs outstretched, rusty nails driven into his palms and the backs of his feet. The area around the nails was swollen and black, and pus flowed down the stake. His abdomen had been cut open, and his intestines were pulled out and coiled at his feet like a pile of gray, rotten rope. He wasn't quite dead yet; gurgling sounds came from his throat, and his eyes occasionally twitched.

In the fourth cell, a prisoner was covered in boiling oil, his skin wrinkled up like a tattered rag burned by fire, his facial features blurred, with only his two nostrils still twitching weakly.

The fifth room, the sixth room, the seventh room...

Every cell was hell. The stench of blood, decay, and excrement mingled together, thick and unbearable, like a heavy, tattered blanket pressing down on one's nose and mouth. Groans, howls, and maniacal laughter rose and fell, some high-pitched like a pig being slaughtered, some low like a cow mooing, some intermittent like a broken bellows, weaving a symphony of hell in the corridor. Occasionally, the clanging of chains dragging on the floor could be heard, emanating from some unknown cell.

Su Bai walked forward without changing his expression, his gaze calmly sweeping over the devastation as if he were looking at a pile of rotten wood or roadside weeds. His steps were unhurried, his black boots making a steady clattering sound on the bluestone slabs, his breathing as steady as ever, without even a furrow of his brow.

The jailer followed half a step behind him, holding the oil lamp high, his eyes fixed on Su Bai's face. He wanted to see fear, disgust, even the slightest hint of panic on that young face. But there was none. His face was expressionless, as calm as a stagnant pool, like an ancient well, where even the largest stone thrown in wouldn't cause a ripple.

The jailer's heart skipped a beat, as if something had sunk. His smile deepened—but it held a hint of ruthlessness; his eyes twitched slightly, and his jaw clenched and then relaxed.

"Warden Su, you've got guts!" He laughed heartily, his voice echoing through the corridor, momentarily silencing the groans from the cells on either side. "What's this basement level? Just some appetizers. Keep going, that's where the real good stuff is! I guarantee Warden Su will be amazed!"

He strode forward, his imposing figure appearing exceptionally large in the narrow passageway, his shoulders almost brushing against the wooden railings on either side. The oil lamp in his hand flickered violently, its flame turning bright and dark, casting a long, leaping, and twisting shadow on the wall behind him.

Su Bai followed. As they passed the cells, some prisoners looked up at him, some continued to groan, and some suddenly reached out their dark hands to grab the wooden bars, making a rattling sound. Su Bai kept his eyes straight ahead and his steps remained unchanged.

At the end of the passageway stood another iron gate. Thicker and heavier than the first, its iron bars as thick as an adult's arm, densely welded to the frame, the welds rusted and resembling dried bloodstains. A huge iron padlock hung on the gate, rusted but noticeably newer than the first—much of the verdigris had worn away, and the keyhole was smooth and shiny, clearly indicating frequent use.

The jailer pulled another key from his waist. It was larger than the first one, about the length of a hand, with deep teeth marks and dark stains. He inserted it into the lock and twisted it hard, causing the veins on his arm to bulge.

With a snap, the spring snapped open, the sound particularly crisp and loud in the silent passageway, like the sound of bones breaking.

"Chief Su," he said, pushing open the door. The iron door creaked sharply, even more jarringly than the one above. He stepped aside, bowing slightly, and gestured for him to enter. His smile was enigmatic, his eyes and brows conveying a meaningless undercurrent. "Please—"

Behind the door was an even narrower passageway, so narrow that only one person could pass at a time. The cells on either side were larger, with thicker wooden bars, each as thick as a bowl, densely studded with iron nails. The air was thicker with an even stronger stench of blood, almost choking, along with a faint sweet, fishy smell—the lingering scent of burning human fat, like charred pork, but with an added eeriness.

Su Bai had just taken a step when his brow twitched almost imperceptibly. The movement was so light and quick that it would be completely unnoticed unless one was staring intently at his face.

Not right.

The stench of blood carried a faint hint of killing intent. That killing intent was almost imperceptible, like a fine needle hidden behind the heavy stench of decay, yet it made his brow furrow and his scalp tingle slightly—this was the intuition of a martial artist, an instinct honed through countless brushes with death, a gut feeling for danger.

His gaze swept across the cells on both sides without making a sound, his peripheral vision quickly passing over every door and every fence.

In the cell on the left, a prisoner was nailed to a stake, a stake as thick as an arm piercing through his chest and down his back, the exposed top of the stake covered in dark brown scabs. He was long dead, his body shriveled like dried meat, his eyes sunken, just two black holes.

In the cell on the right, a prisoner lay motionless in a pile of straw, his limbs chained. His back was covered in whip marks, the skin torn and bleeding, some areas festering, yellowish-white pus seeping out and soaking the straw beneath him. His head was tilted to the side, his face buried in the straw, making it impossible to tell whether he was alive or dead.

Further ahead, the third cell...

Su Bai's gaze fell on the door, lingering for a fleeting moment. That moment was so brief, almost nonexistent, yet something flickered deep within his pupils.

The lock on that door was only loosely attached.

The latch wasn't fully engaged; it hung loosely on the doorframe, swaying slightly in the cold wind and making a very faint tinkling sound. The sound was drowned out by the groans and wails filling the air, almost inaudible. But Su Bai heard it.

He didn't stop, but continued walking forward with steady steps and normal breathing. His right hand, however, hung down slightly, and his five fingers curled gently inside his sleeve.

The jailer followed half a step behind him, holding an oil lamp. The light cast their shadows on the ground, overlapping like a tangled blot of ink. The jailer's shadow was much larger than Su Bai's, completely enveloping him in darkness.

"Warden Su, look at this cell—" Warden Mao pointed to the cell on the left, about to say something.

Just then, something unexpected happened!

The door to the third cell was suddenly kicked open! The heavy wooden gate creaked open, and a dark figure rushed out, accompanied by a strong smell of blood and decay!

The shadowy figure moved with astonishing speed, like an arrow shot from a bow, reaching Su Bai in the blink of an eye! In the dim light, the man was covered in blood, his tattered prison clothes clinging to his body, revealing lean yet muscular muscles. His hair was disheveled, obscuring most of his face, but his eyes shone with an alarming intensity, filled with madness and murderous intent, like a demon crawling out of hell! His hands were shackled with iron chains, half-broken chains still attached, rattling loudly. Yet, his fingers were pressed together like knives, the tips aimed straight for Su Bai's throat!

This strike was swift and ruthless, accompanied by the sound of wind cutting through the air; it was clearly the strength of a martial arts master at the third level! Moreover, it was a killing move from the start, showing no mercy!

"Go to hell!" the man hissed, his voice hoarse like a broken gong, like fingernails scraping against rough stone, with gurgling sounds of phlegm in his throat.

A cold glint flashed in Su Bai's eyes.

He didn't hide.

He simply raised his hand and lightly struck out with his palm.

This palm strike seemed casual, even somewhat careless, its force weak and feeble, as if it hadn't exerted any strength at all, like casually swatting away a fly. But when the palm landed on the person's chest, it produced a muffled "bang," like an iron hammer hitting rotten flesh, or a heavy object falling into mud, dull yet powerful.

The man let out a piercing scream as he was sent flying like a rag doll. His body arced through the air before slamming into the wooden bars of the cell with a deafening roar that shook the entire fence, sending splinters of wood raining down. He bounced back, crashing heavily to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust and rotten straw.

He spat out a mouthful of blood, mixed with fragments of internal organs, dark red foam splattering everywhere. His chest was caved in, countless ribs broken, some piercing the flesh, white bone fragments exposed, stained with blood. He stared wide-eyed at Su Bai, his eyes filled with horror and disbelief, his lips moving as if to say something, but only more blood foam gushed from the corners of his mouth.

"You...you..." He gurgled in his throat, his eyes wide open, almost bulging out, filled with fear and resentment. He tried to raise his hand to point at Su Bai, but his hand only rose halfway before falling limply to the ground. His head lolled to the side, and he lost consciousness.

Su Bai withdrew his hand, looked down at his palm, then at the mangled mess of the assassin on the ground, his brow furrowing slightly—not out of fear, but because of the filth. A trace of dark red, sticky blood stained the edge of his palm. He pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve and slowly wiped it, once, twice, three times.

"Ouch! Ouch!" Warden Mao jumped up abruptly, his burly body flaring like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. His dark face flushed crimson, and veins bulged on his forehead. He pointed at a nearby guard and launched into a tirade, spitting all over the guard's face. "What the hell are you doing guarding the door? Huh? How did this person's lock open? What are you good for?! Are your eyes on your asses?!"

The jailer, a thin, middle-aged man, was so frightened his legs went weak, and his face was as pale as a corpse. He knelt on the ground with a thud, his knees hitting the bluestone slabs with a dull thud. He kowtowed repeatedly, his forehead pounding against the ground with each strike, each one heavier than the last, until blood trickled down his brow: "Warden, spare me! Warden, spare me! I... I made sure it was locked! It was really locked! I locked it myself, I even tugged at it twice, it was really locked tight!"

"Bullshit!" Warden Mao kicked him in the shoulder, a kick so hard and powerful that he rolled sideways for two or three meters before crashing into the wall and coming to a stop. "If he were locked up, would he have escaped? If he were locked up, would he have almost hurt Warden Su? Are your eyes just for show? Or are you saying you took bribes and deliberately let him out?"

The jailer lay sprawled on the ground, trembling violently. Blood from his forehead mingled with the dust, covering his face. He dared not utter another sound, simply lying there, his hands digging desperately into the cracks in the stone floor.

The jailer, Mao, hurled a few more insults, the most vile and offensive language imaginable, his spittle flying and veins throbbing on his face. Having finished, he took a deep breath, turned to Su Bai, and his angry expression instantly transformed into an apologetic smile—a change of expression faster than turning the pages of a book, more swift than a Sichuan opera face-changing act. His smile was ingratiating, obsequious, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes crinkling into chrysanthemum petals: "Jailer Su, you've been frightened! These men under you are clumsy and incompetent, they can't even manage a simple gate. I'll definitely punish them severely! Don't worry, I will! A beating, a deduction in pay, solitary confinement—you name it, I'll punish them!"

As he spoke, he turned and kicked the jailer again: "Get the hell out of here and fix the door! I'll deal with you later! Get out!"

The jailer felt as if he had been granted a pardon and ran away as fast as he could, his legs still weak and he almost fell over again.

Su Bai watched all this quietly, his face still expressionless. He only glanced at Prison Chief Mao, a very faint glance, as if he hadn't seen anything at all, as if he were just looking at a stone or a piece of wood.

But that one glance made the jailer's heart skip a beat, as if something had rammed into his chest.

Those eyes were so calm, so calm, as if they had known this would happen all along. As calm as that slap just now, which was merely swatting a fly, without even lifting an eyelid. There was no surprise, no anger, no lingering fear in those eyes—nothing at all, only an unfathomable calm.

The jailer's smile froze for a moment, his lips twitched slightly, then widened again, almost excessively so, like a mask of smiles plastered on his face: "Jailer Su, you see... it's filthy down there, reeking of blood. Staying too long will harm your health. Why don't we go up first? I'll have someone make some hot tea so you can rest. Once they've cleaned it up, you can take your time looking around. There will be plenty of opportunities down there later; there's no rush."

Su Bai did not answer immediately.

He lowered his head, looking at the unconscious assassin on the ground. The man's chest was horrifyingly caved in, two or three inches deep, surrounded by a ring of purplish-blue bruises. Blood was still bubbling from his mouth, the bubbling becoming less and less, slower and slower. It was clear he was not going to survive; only his chest was still rising and falling weakly, once, twice, then pausing for a moment, then moving weakly again.

"The third realm of martial arts," Su Bai suddenly spoke, his voice indifferent, as if commenting on the pleasant weather, "How could someone like this be locked up in a place like this? A martial arts master at the third realm could easily become a镖头 (bodyguard/escort) or 守対卫 (bodyguard/bodyguard) outside, living a life of luxury. How did they end up in this prison, locked up in this sunless underground place?"

The smile on Warden Mao's face froze for a fleeting moment, but Su Bai caught it. He then burst into laughter, louder than before, as if trying to cover something up: "Warden Su has a good eye! You recognized him at a glance as a Martial Dao Level Three! This man is a notorious bandit, with over a dozen lives on his hands, a ruthless killer. He was already at Martial Dao Level Three when he was arrested, and it took a lot of effort to subdue him. He was originally to be escorted to the capital and handed over to the Ministry of Justice for judgment, but he went mad on the way, biting anyone he saw, like a rabid dog, so that's why he's locked up here."

"Has he gone mad?" Su Bai stared into the man's eyes—even in his unconscious state, madness and murderous intent lingered in them, his pupils still slightly shifting beneath his eyelids. Yet, within that madness, there was clearly a trace of lucidity, a trace of fear, a trace of resentment. It wasn't true madness; it was the look of someone driven to the brink of despair.

"Yes, yes, he's terribly insane," Warden Mao nodded repeatedly, bowing and scraping. "He bites anyone he sees, injuring several guards. Today, for some reason, the lock opened, and he bumped into Warden Su. Damn it! He deserves to die! I'll find out who's guarding this cell and skin him alive!"

Su Bai remained silent for a moment. That silence weighed heavily on Mao Laotou's heart, making it hard for him to breathe.

Then Su Bai suddenly turned around and walked back the way he came. His black boots clicked on the bluestone slabs, the sound even and steady, like the sound of a wooden fish in a temple.

Warden Mao hesitated for a moment, then quickly followed, holding the oil lamp and leading the way. He bent over, extending a hand as if to support someone important: "Warden Su, walk slowly, watch your step, it's slippery down there—there's a step over there, please go this way—"

Su Bai didn't turn his head, his voice as calm as still water, coming from the front: "I've seen enough for today, come again another day."

Come again another day.

These four words, falling into Prison Chief Mao's ears, were like four nails driven into his heart. His smile remained unchanged, still obsequious and fawning, but a shadow of gloom flashed in his eyes, like dark clouds obscuring the sun, gone in an instant.

Come again another day?

He gritted his teeth, the muscles in his jaw tensing and relaxing repeatedly. Then he smiled even more ingratiatingly, almost to the point of servility: "Alright, alright, whenever Warden Su wants to come, just give the word. These men are ready! Always waiting for your arrival!"

The two walked uphill, one after the other, retracing their steps. As they passed the cells, the prisoners made various noises—some groaned, some howled, and some reached out their dark, calloused hands to grip the bars. Su Bai remained focused, his pace unchanged.

Mao, the jailer, followed behind, his gaze fixed on Su Bai's back, something churning in his eyes like boiling oil.

Behind them, faint groans still echoed through the passageway. The unconscious assassin lay in a pool of blood, blood still flowing from his chest, staining the straw beneath him a dark red. The pool of blood slowly expanded, spreading little by little, soaking more and more straw.

His fingers twitched, then fell back down.

The oil lamp was taken away by Warden Mao, plunging the passageway into darkness. Only a faint light emanated from some distant cell, flickering like a will-o'-the-wisp.

For three days, Su Bai did nothing.

He simply listened quietly to learn about the situation and summoned the various prison guards below to ask them some questions.

Then, the three of them, Sun and Hou, were assigned to do some odd jobs.