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

Late at night.

The prison was so quiet that only the crackling of the oil lamp could be heard. Occasionally, a faint groan would drift from the depths, like a dream or the sigh of a ghost. The sound was intermittent, sometimes near, sometimes far, echoing in the empty corridor. Sometimes it seemed to come from the left, sometimes from the right, sending chills down one's spine. Su Bai sat in the duty room, holding a yellowed scroll of documents, his gaze frequently sweeping towards the iron gate leading to the underground outside the window. The flame of the oil lamp flickered beside him, casting his shadow on the wall, sometimes long, sometimes short, as if it were alive.

Light footsteps sounded outside the door.

The footsteps were very light, as light as a cat stepping on cotton, each step deliberately pressed down as if afraid of disturbing someone. If it weren't for the fact that the guardhouse was so quiet you could hear a pin drop, you wouldn't have noticed them at all. Then came a very light knocking, three times, two times, and then three more times—like some kind of code, the rhythm distinct, exceptionally clear in the silent night, yet as light as a mouse gnawing on wood.

"Come in." Su Bai didn't even look up, his gaze still fixed on the dossier, his voice as calm as a stagnant pool.

The door opened, and a thin figure slipped in, then quickly closed it again. His movements were incredibly fast and light; the door closed almost silently, with only a very slight creak from the hinges, like the squeaking of a mouse. The newcomer was Zheng Shijie, the jailer who had been kicked and rolled on the ground by Warden Mao during the day. A white cloth was still wrapped around his forehead, and a trace of blood seeped through it, dried to a dark red, with a ring of fresh blood around the edge, like a blooming plum blossom. The fear on his face hadn't faded, but his eyes gleamed with an unusual light—a light of both fear and excitement. His pupils were slightly dilated, flickering in the dim oil lamplight like two will-o'-the-wisps in the night.

"Surname Su...Surname Su," he lowered his voice, approaching Su Bai almost on tiptoe, his heels off the ground and his forepaws on the ground, like a thieving cat. His voice was extremely low, like a mosquito's buzz, as if afraid of being overheard by the wall, or as if afraid of being eavesdropped on, "I have something very important to report! Something extremely important!"

Su Bai put down the file, which landed on the table with a soft thud. He looked up, his gaze falling on Zheng Shijie's face. His gaze was as calm as a stagnant pool, without a ripple, yet it sent a chill down Zheng Shijie's spine, making the hairs on his body stand on end, as if he were being stared at by some ferocious beast.

"explain."

Zheng Shijie swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as he made a soft gurgling sound, which was particularly clear in the quiet duty room. He subconsciously glanced back at the tightly closed door, his eyes fixed on the crack, making sure no light was coming in or anyone was moving, before moving closer, almost touching Su Bai's ear, his voice so low it seemed to be squeezed out of his throat, each word as if flattened before being uttered: "Warden Mao... Warden Mao... he's going to the second basement level to release someone!"

Su Bai's eyes narrowed slightly, just a very slight blink. Something flashed deep within his pupils, like an undercurrent surging in a deep pool, or a bolt of lightning flashing behind dark clouds. His expression remained unchanged; not even his eyebrows twitched, nor did his breathing become erratic. He simply said calmly, "How did you know?"

"I saw it with my own eyes!" Zheng Shijie exclaimed urgently, gesturing with his hands, his fingers trembling in the air like leaves fluttering in the wind. "Tonight I was on duty, and I needed to pee in the outhouse. On my way back, I passed by Warden Mao's cell and heard some noise inside. I was on my guard, so I peeked through the crack in the door—and I saw Warden Mao packing his bundle, stuffing a few clothes and some loose silver into it. He even took out several keys from a hidden compartment in the wall! That compartment was hidden behind a portrait, normally impossible to see! The portrait was of Guan Yu, and when he moved it, dust fell off the wall! He… he was muttering to himself, saying something like, 'That brat Su Bai doesn't know what's good for him, let him suffer the consequences,' and 'Let a few out, let's see how he explains himself!'"

As he spoke, cold sweat beaded on his forehead, trickling down his brow bone and glistening in the lamplight like morning dew. His hands trembled slightly, whether from fear or excitement, his fingertips quivering and his sleeves shaking. His breathing was rapid and erratic, his chest heaving like a bellows: "Warden Su, Warden Mao is trying to frame me! If any of those serious criminals escape from the second basement level, you, the newly appointed warden, will be the first to be implicated! If the magistrate finds out, you'll lose your head! At best, you'll be dismissed and investigated; at worst, you'll be executed and your property confiscated!"

Su Bai remained silent for a moment.

The silence weighed heavily on Zheng Shijie's heart, making it hard to breathe. His chest felt constricted, as if something was blocking it, making it difficult to catch his breath. He dared not move or speak again, standing there, unsure of what to do with his hands. He would clutch the hem of his clothes, making it crumpled, then relax, his fingers trembling uncontrollably, as if having a seizure.

Then Su Bai stood up.

His movements were so light, as light as a feather floating, yet the chair made no sound, as if he were weightless, or as if the chair itself were not a physical object. He walked to the window, stood with his hands behind his back, and looked out into the dark passageway. The lamplight shone from behind, casting his shadow on the wall, stretching extremely long and extending all the way to the ceiling, like a colossal statue of a deity, majestic and solemn, making one afraid to look directly at it. Nothing could be seen outside the window, only endless darkness, like a gigantic beast with its jaws wide open, and the occasional, faint groans that seemed to drift up from the depths of hell.

"How long has he been gone?" Su Bai didn't turn around; his voice came from ahead, still calm.

"He...he just left not long ago!" Zheng Shijie said hurriedly, his voice urgent, his neck stretched out as if trying to squeeze the words out of his throat. "I saw him go to the second basement level. He was walking very fast, like he was in a hurry to do something shady. I waited until he was far away before rushing over to report! I ran all the way here, afraid of being late! Afraid of delaying something important!"

Su Bai turned around, his gaze landing on Zheng Shijie's face. The gaze remained calm, but Zheng Shijie felt as if he were being stared at by some ferocious beast. He froze from head to toe, every hair on his body standing on end, a chill running down his back as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head. He instinctively shrank back, burying his head in his chest, but dared not look away, forced to meet that gaze head-on.

"You did well," Su Bai said calmly, his voice devoid of any emotion—no praise, no joy, nothing at all, just a statement: "If this succeeds, you will be credited."

Zheng Shijie's face lit up with ecstatic joy, as if he had found a mountain of gold and silver. He bowed repeatedly, his head bobbing like a chicken pecking at rice, his back bent so low it almost broke, his forehead nearly touching his knees: "Thank you, Warden Su! Thank you, Warden Su! I will do my utmost to serve you, Warden Su! I'll go through fire and water for you, without hesitation!"

Su Bai didn't look at him again, and walked towards the door. His steps remained steady, his black boots making no sound on the ground, as if he were walking on cotton, or as if his feet hadn't touched the ground at all. When he reached the door, he suddenly stopped, and without turning his head, said, "You stay here, don't follow me."

Before the words were even finished, the door opened and then closed again. The opening and closing was instantaneous, so fast it seemed like an illusion, so fast it felt like it had never happened at all. Zheng Shijie stood frozen in place, only seeing the figure disappear into the darkness, as fast as a ghost, as if it had never existed. He stood there blankly for a long while before daring to breathe, finally letting out a long, stale breath.

Two underground floors.

The passageway was so dark you could barely see your hand in front of your face. Darkness filled every corner like thick ink, like an abyss frozen in time. Only at the far end, by the door of a cell, a single oil lamp flickered weakly, its flame trembling precariously, like a dying moth or a candle in the wind, ready to be extinguished at any moment. The light illuminated only a tiny area, the surrounding darkness impenetrable, as if swallowed by the darkness itself. As the flame danced, one could vaguely see dark red stains seeping from the stone walls, trickling down like dried tears of blood.

The burly jailer stood before the cell door, the oil lamp casting his shadow on the wall from the side. It was enormous and distorted, like a crouching beast, or a demon crawling out of hell. The keys in his hand jingled, their sound particularly jarring in the silent corridor, each strike like a blow to the heart, echoing and lingering in the empty passage.

There were three people standing in front of him.

Three men reeked of decay. They wore tattered prison clothes, layered with dried bloodstains and grime, their original color obscured, some parts stiff as armor. Their hair was a tangled mess, clumped together, some patches covered in dried scabs, others crawling with lice. Their beards stood up in a chaotic jumble, smeared with dust, bits of grass, and dried rice grains. Yet their eyes shone with an astonishing light—the eyes of wild beasts, the eyes of beasts imprisoned for far too long, finally seeing their way out, their pupils burning with madness and desire, like will-o'-the-wisps from hell, or the gleam of a hungry wolf spotting its prey.

The leader grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth. His gums were swollen and ulcerated, oozing blood with every smile, which dripped down his chin and onto his prison uniform. His face was wrinkled like a dried orange peel, but his eyes were frighteningly bright, like two burning flames.

"Warden Mao truly keeps his word!" The leader grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth and swollen, ulcerated gums that oozed blood with every smile, dripping down his chin and staining his prison uniform with a small dark red patch. "If we get out tonight, we'll repay you handsomely in the future! We'll remember Warden Mao's great kindness and never forget it in this lifetime!"

As he spoke, he clasped his hands in a fist salute, causing the chains to rattle. His eyes shone with an astonishing light, like two will-o'-the-wisps in the dim lamplight, their depths burning with a long-suppressed madness and desire. His face was wrinkled like a dried orange peel, yet now it was flushed with an unnatural rosy hue due to excitement.

The jailer waved his hand, a smile playing on his dark face, his eyes crinkling into deep wrinkles, but a sinister glint shone in them, like a poisoned knife or a venomous snake lurking in the shadows: "Enough with the nonsense. Once you get out, run north. Cross those two mountains and you'll reach the neighboring county. Someone will be there to meet you. Remember, run as far as you can, and ideally, never come back. If you get caught, don't blame me for not warning you—no one will be able to save you then."

As he finished speaking, his voice became extremely low, as if squeezed out from between his teeth, and every word carried a chilling edge.

"Of course!" another man chuckled, his voice hoarse like a broken gong, as if something was stuck in his throat, or like a rusty iron gate turning. "It's just a pity I can't personally kill that new jailer—I heard he came down here today? And crippled Third Brother with one palm? Third Brother was at the third level of martial arts, and he was just crippled by him with one palm? I really want to see what that kid looks like, see if he has three heads and six arms!"

As he spoke, he stuck out his tongue and licked his chapped lips. His tongue was yellowish-brown and dry, like a piece of bark.

The jailer's face darkened, his eye twitched, and the muscles in his jaw tensed taut. "Enough nonsense! If you want to live, get out of here! If you dawdle any longer, it'll be dawn! When the shift change comes, none of us will be leaving!"

He inserted the key into the last lock, a rusty lock that made a slight scraping sound as the key went in. He took a deep breath, the veins on his arm bulging like earthworms crawling beneath his skin, his muscles bulging and forming a large lump. He twisted hard, his entire arm trembling.

A snap.

The spring snapped open, the sound echoing loudly in the silent passageway, like bones breaking or chains snapping. It lingered for a long time before fading away, each sound striking a chord in one's heart.

Just then, a voice came from the other end of the passageway, as calm as if saying that the weather was nice today, or as if asking if they had eaten dinner yet.

"Hey, Warden Mao, still busy so late?"

The sound wasn't loud, even somewhat understated, but in the quiet second basement level, it sounded like a thunderclap.

The jailer shuddered, as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over his head, chilling him to the bone. He whirled around abruptly, the movement so violent that the keys at his waist rattled, the sound particularly jarring in the silence.

In the lamplight, a figure was slowly walking towards them.

The man moved unhurriedly, his steps steady, his black boots making a uniform clattering sound on the bluestone slabs, each sound like a blow to the jailer's heart, one after another. Dim light shone from the side, illuminating his face in half-light, yet the expression on his face was terrifyingly calm. It was Su Bai.

The jailer's pupils suddenly contracted, shrinking to the size of pinpoints, almost becoming black dots. His smile froze for a moment, stiffening like a mask, his muscles contorted. Then it returned, becoming increasingly obsequious and natural, almost excessively so, giving one goosebumps: "Oh, Jailer Su! Why did you come down here? It's the middle of the night, and it's damp down there; be careful not to hurt yourself. If you need anything, just let me know; why come down in person? Just send someone to tell me, and I'll come up to see you!"

As he spoke, he subtly took a step back, his imposing figure blocking the three prisoners like a wall of flesh. His steps were light and slow, as if he moved unintentionally, yet that step perfectly blocked Su Bai's view.

Su Bai walked closer and stopped.

His gaze passed over the jailer and landed on the three men behind him. The three men were also staring at him, their six eyes filled with vigilance, ferocity, and a hint of excitement—like hungry wolves spotting lone prey, or like trapped beasts seeing fools coming to their deaths. One of them even licked his lips, revealing a sinister smile.

"What is this?" Su Bai asked, his voice still calm, as if he were asking about something trivial, as if he were asking why there was a stain on the wall.

The smile on Prisoner Mao's face froze.

In that instant, a fierce glint flashed in his eyes, like lightning streaking across the night sky, illuminating the killing intent hidden deep within. It then vanished, sinking back into the depths of his eyes, but the killing intent didn't disappear; it merely concealed itself, like a venomous snake retracting its fangs.

He suddenly sighed, a sigh that carried a hint of helplessness, a hint of regret, and something else that was hard to define—perhaps regret, perhaps remorse, or perhaps neither.

"Warden Su, why are you doing this?"

He raised his head and looked at Su Bai. His eyes were no longer filled with feigned respect, flattery, or obsequiousness; only naked killing intent remained, like two drawn swords, their blades gleaming coldly: "I wanted to make you back down so we could all live in peace. But you insist on pursuing me, so don't blame me."

The three people behind him also moved.

Their footsteps were light, yet carried the clanging of chains, a sound particularly jarring in the silent passageway. The three men spread out in a fan shape, surrounding Su Bai. Their footsteps moved across the bluestone slabs, producing a slight scraping sound, like wild beasts approaching their prey. Six eyes were fixed on Su Bai, as if staring at a dead man, their pupils burning with madness and murderous intent.

Su Bai looked at him, her face still expressionless, only slightly raising an eyebrow—so slightly it was almost imperceptible, but that slight movement made the jailer's heart tighten inexplicably: "Oh?"

The jailer grinned, a ferocious and cruel smile revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth, with bloodstains on his gums from biting them open earlier. He slowly moved his shoulders and turned his neck from side to side, the bones cracking like firewood breaking or a rusty machine starting to turn again.

An invisible aura rose from his body.

The oppressive aura was like an invisible wind, or an invisible boulder; a sense of unease instantly spread, as if the air in the passageway had solidified, making it hard to breathe. The oil lamp's flame flickered violently, as if blown by a gale, shining brightly and dimly, almost going out. But this second basement level was deep underground; where did the wind come from?

"Head Warden Su, you were able to cripple Third Brother with a single palm strike, so you must be a martial artist yourself." He laughed, his laughter full of confidence, even tinged with arrogance and condescension. "But do you know what realm Third Brother was at? The third realm of martial arts. To cripple him with one palm strike, you must be at least the fourth realm, perhaps even the fifth. But do you know what realm I am?"

He raised his hand, slowly closing his fingers to form a fist.

The veins on his fist bulged, like green earthworms wriggling beneath his skin. His muscles were knotted, forming bulges as if cast in iron. Each finger was as thick as a carrot, its knuckles protruding and cracking loudly in the silent passageway. His fist slowly clenched, tighter and tighter, until it resembled two lumps of iron.

"The fifth realm of martial arts, the realm of hardness and softness." He spoke each word slowly and deliberately, each syllable like a hammer striking an anvil, sending shivers down one's spine and making one's eardrums ring. "A martial artist who reaches this realm achieves a perfect balance of hardness and softness, cultivating both internal and external strength. A single punch can shatter bluestone and break iron chains. Do you think you can withstand that?"

After he finished speaking, he stared intently at Su Bai's face, trying to see fear, panic, and regret on that face.

But he didn't see it.

Su Bai watched him quietly as he finished speaking. His young face remained expressionless; not even his eyebrows twitched. His eyes were as calm as two ancient wells, without a ripple.

Then he suddenly laughed.

The smile was faint, almost imperceptible, just a slight upturn at the corners of his mouth, barely perceptible, a mere, gentle curve. Yet, that slight upturn made the jailer's heart clench, as if an invisible hand had gripped his heart tightly, causing his breath to catch in his throat for a moment.

"The Realm of Hardness and Softness?" Su Bai repeated softly, his voice devoid of any emotion, as if reciting an insignificant word, as if pronouncing an unfamiliar name. "Not bad."

He raised his hand and slowly clenched it into a fist.

That fist was a size smaller than Mao Laotou's, and it didn't look particularly special, even a bit ordinary. The skin was fair, the knuckles were distinct, and faint blue veins could be seen under the skin. It looked like the hand of a scholar, like the hand that holds a pen.

"Then take a look," he said, his voice as calm as if he were chatting casually, as if asking how the moonlight was tonight, "what kind of realm is this?"

Before he finished speaking, he moved.

There was no warning, no foreshadowing, not even a ripple in the air. He simply took a step forward, one step, and threw a punch.

That punch looked light and fluffy, even somewhat casual, like shooing away a fly or dusting off a piece of clothing, like doing something utterly mundane. The sound of the punch was almost nonexistent, just a very faint whistling, barely audible.

But Prison Chief Mao's expression changed drastically!

He felt an overwhelming force surging towards him, so strong, so fierce, so intense that he couldn't even breathe. It felt as if a huge boulder weighing ten thousand pounds was pressing down on his chest, squeezing the air out of his lungs! His vision went black, his ears were ringing, and the hairs on his body stood on end!

He exerted all his strength, crossing his arms to protect his chest, his internal energy surging wildly, unleashing the full power of the Hard and Soft Realm! His muscles bulged, each one like a lump of iron, veins popping out like green snakes crawling under his skin, making him look like an iron statue!

Then the punch landed on his arm.

boom!

A muffled thud, like a hammer striking rotten flesh or a heavy object falling into mud, was dull yet powerful, carrying a texture that made one's teeth ache. The sound echoed in the corridor, making one's eardrums tingle and causing dust to fall from the walls.