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

Mao, the prison warden, flew backward like a tattered sack. His body traced an arc in the air, his limbs flailing limply, like a puppet with its strings cut, before crashing heavily into the stone wall behind him with a deafening roar that shook the entire passageway. Dust fell from the stone wall, and small pebbles clattered and shattered on the ground.

He spat out a mouthful of blood, the blood mist spreading in the dim light like a blooming red flower, or spilled ink, scattering in the air and landing on the stone wall, the ground, and his own body. His two arms were twisted at an eerie angle, hanging limply at his sides like two broken ropes, countless bones broken, some places the flesh torn open, revealing white bone fragments that gleamed eerily in the dim light. A large section of his chest was sunken in, his ribs cracking and snapping like someone treading on dry wood. He stared wide-eyed at Su Bai, his eyes bulging out of their sockets, filled with horror and disbelief, as if he had seen a ghost, or some indescribable monster, his pupils trembling violently.

"You...you..." He gurgled in his throat, blood and foam gushing from the corners of his mouth, trickling down his chin and soaking his clothes in a dark red stain. "Divine Power Realm...you...you are a Divine Power Realm cultivator..."

The sixth realm of martial arts: the realm of divine power.

Those who practice martial arts to this level possess immense strength, with every movement carrying the force of a thousand pounds. A single punch can shatter boulders, break iron pillars, and breach city walls. This is a height that countless martial artists strive for their entire lives to reach, a realm that countless people dream of but can never attain, an insurmountable chasm on the path of martial arts.

The young man in front of them was only in his early twenties, with a handsome face and a well-proportioned figure. He even stood there with a somewhat relaxed posture. He was actually at the Divine Power Realm!

Su Bai withdrew his fist, looked down at the back of his hand, which was stained with a little blood, dark red and sticky, glistening faintly in the dim light. He took out a handkerchief from his sleeve; the handkerchief was plain white and neatly folded. He slowly wiped his hand, once, twice, three times. He wiped each finger clean, not even missing the spaces between them. After wiping, he turned his hand over and wiped the back of his hand again, then folded the blood-stained handkerchief and put it back in his sleeve.

The three prisoners were already deathly pale, their faces drained of all color, leaving only a deathly ashen white, like three sheets of paper pasted onto their faces. They stood there, frozen like three wooden stakes, too afraid to move, even forgetting to breathe, their chests feeling as if something was blocking them. One of them suddenly collapsed to his knees, his knees slamming against the flagstones with a dull thud, the pain making him grimace but daring not to utter a sound. He kowtowed repeatedly, his forehead striking the ground with each thud, leaving bloody marks on the flagstones: "My...my lord, spare us! My lord, spare us! We were forced! It was Warden Mao who let us out! He took money from someone, saying he'd release us, and then framed you, my lord! We didn't want to run! We really didn't want to run! We're willing to testify! We're willing to testify in court!"

The other two reacted quickly, kneeling down with loud thuds as their knees slammed into the ground. They kowtowed repeatedly, blood streaming from their foreheads, trickling down their brows, across their noses, and dripping onto the ground. They didn't bother wiping it away, just desperately kowtowing and mumbling for mercy.

Su Bai didn't even glance at them, as if those kneeling figures were merely three stones, three worms. He only stared at the slumped warden, Mao. Mao's head drooped completely, his chin resting on his chest, blood and foam still bubbling from his mouth, gurgling like a broken bellows. The foam was dribbling less and less, slower and slower, its color growing darker. His chest rose and fell weakly, once, twice, then paused for a moment, then moved slightly again, as if it might stop at any moment.

"Zheng Shijie." Su Bai suddenly spoke, his voice not loud, but it carried far in the quiet corridor, echoing back and forth between the walls, as if someone was repeating the name from afar.

Footsteps came from the other end of the corridor, hurried and frantic, clattering loudly in the empty passageway, accompanied by panting. Zheng Shijie jogged over, panting heavily. He was running so fast that he stumbled, almost tripping over the loose stones on the ground. He leaned forward, barely managing to steady himself. He steadied himself against the wall, his hands pressed against the wet stone wall, oblivious to the danger. His eyes were wide open, almost bulging out, his mouth gaped open enough to fit an egg, his jaw nearly dropping. He stared at the slumped warden in the corner, at the three hardened criminals kneeling on the ground, kowtowing frantically, at Su Bai standing there, his clothes fluttering, seemingly enveloped in an invisible light. He was completely dumbfounded, as if struck by lightning.

"Su... Prison Chief Su... this..." His voice trembled violently, like leaves in the wind, or a jay in winter, his teeth chattering.

"Go up and call for reinforcements," Su Bai said calmly, his voice devoid of any emotion, as still as a stagnant pool. "Call Li Dingfang here, call everyone else. Light the lamps, bring your weapons. Tonight, the prison is going to be purged."

Zheng Shijie froze for a moment, his mind going completely blank. Then he nodded frantically, his head bobbing like a rattle drum, his neck almost snapping. He turned and ran, but after a few steps he looked back and saw Su Bai standing there, like a thousand-year-old statue, radiating an invisible pressure that made people afraid to approach. The oil lamp light shone from behind him, casting his long shadow on the ground, stretching into the darkness, like a god or a legendary deity. He shivered, a chill running down his spine to the back of his head, and ran even faster, his footsteps fading into the distance and disappearing at the end of the passageway.

The magistrate, surnamed Zhou, was a middle-aged man in his forties, with a thin face and a long beard. He always maintained an air of importance, pacing with measured steps. He had been woken from his bed in the middle of the night, and, still half-asleep, rushed to the prison wearing only his outer robe. The robe's belt wasn't tied properly, hanging loosely on his body, revealing a section of his white undergarment, and his hair was somewhat disheveled. But when he heard Su Bai's report, saw the three serious criminals kneeling on the second basement level, and saw the half-dead jailer slumped in the corner, his sleepiness vanished instantly. His eyes widened like saucers, his pupils dilating.

"That's Mao Dayong!" He slammed his hand on the table, making the teacups jump and spill tea all over the table. The teacups rolled twice before settling down. "I've treated him well, appointing him as jailer, and he dares to release a serious criminal! This is an attempt on my life! This is an attempt on my official hat! This is an attempt on the execution of my entire family!"

Prison warden Mao Dayong was now being supported by two guards, kneeling precariously on the ground. His arms hung limply at his sides, like two dead snakes, swaying unconsciously with the movement of his body. His chest was hastily bandaged with strips of cloth, the white cloth already soaked in blood, turning dark red, and blood was still seeping out, dripping onto the ground and pooling in front of him. He kept his head down, drooping over his chest, silent, only occasionally twitching and jerking violently.

"Speak! Who ordered you to do this?" Magistrate Zhou roared, his voice trembling, whether from anger or fear, his mustache bristling. "You're just a lowly jailer, with no powerful backing, how dare you do such a thing? Who's behind you? Tell me the truth! Speak!"

The jailer raised his head, the movement slow and deliberate, as if he were using all his strength. He glanced at Magistrate Zhou, then at Su Bai standing to the side. His eyes were filled with venom, like poisoned arrows or burning embers, as if he wanted to incinerate Su Bai. A bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, a smile more painful than a grimace, his lips twisted and the muscles in his face twitching: "No one ordered me to do this… I just couldn't stand this kid… I wanted him fired… I wanted him to suffer the consequences… cough cough…"

Before he could finish speaking, he coughed up another mouthful of blood.

"Nonsense!" Magistrate Zhou slammed his fist on the table again, this time so hard that it made him grimace in pain. He rubbed his left hand repeatedly with his right, but stubbornly refused to cry out. "I'm asking you, who ordered you to do this!"

The jailer lowered his head and remained silent, his shoulders trembling slightly, whether from pain or laughter was unclear. The trembling grew more and more intense until his entire body began to shake.

Magistrate Zhou stared at him for a moment, his chest heaving violently, his breathing heavy and labored. Suddenly, he let out a cold laugh, a laugh filled with chill, like the north wind of winter: "You won't talk, huh? Fine, I have plenty of ways to make you talk. Guards! Take this scoundrel away and lock him in the death row, keep him under strict guard! No one is allowed to visit him without my written order!"

Several constables stepped forward and dragged the jailer, Mao, away. As he was pulled along, his feet left shallow marks on the ground, abrading the skin around his ankles. His head swayed limply, like a chicken with a broken neck. But his gaze remained fixed on Su Bai, filled with resentment, bitterness, and something else entirely—perhaps regret, perhaps fear, perhaps something else—fleeting before disappearing into the darkness.

That gaze lingered in the darkness for a moment before being swallowed up by the endless darkness.

Only after the jailer, Mao, was dragged away did Magistrate Zhou finally breathe a sigh of relief, as if a thousand-pound burden had been lifted, his shoulders slumping. He turned to Su Bai, a smile spreading across his face. That smile carried a hint of approval, a touch of relief, and a dash of apprehension—he had just heard that this young man was a Divine Strength Realm cultivator at the sixth level of martial arts, capable of killing a bull with a single punch. The smile remained, but a fleeting, indescribable glint flashed deep within his eyes.

"Chief Su, I owe you a great debt tonight." He patted Su Bai's shoulder, his hand trembling slightly as it touched his shoulder, as if he were touching something fragile, or as if he had been frightened by something. "If you hadn't discovered it in time, I'm afraid I would have lost my official hat. Don't worry, I will definitely report this to my superiors and give you a major commendation! You will be richly rewarded!"

Su Bai bowed slightly, his expression calm and composed, showing no emotion whatsoever, not even a flicker of his eyebrows: "You flatter me, sir. This is my duty." His voice was as still as a stagnant pool, showing neither joy at being "recognized for a great merit" nor trembling at the prospect of "a generous reward."

"Very well!" Magistrate Zhou nodded repeatedly, his eyes crinkling with laughter, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes deepening. "From today onwards, this prison is yours to manage. How you run it is up to you. If anyone disobeys, just report it to me! I'll back you up!"

After he finished speaking, he gave a few more words of advice, nothing more than words of encouragement and promises of a bright future, before leaving with his men. His steps were somewhat hurried, the hem of his outer robe fluttering behind him, and his footsteps gradually faded into the distance, disappearing at the end of the passageway. The accompanying constables held lanterns, their flickering lights in the darkness before finally being swallowed by the darkness.

The prison fell silent again.

It was so quiet that you could hear the crackling of the oil lamp burning, with the wick occasionally bursting into a spark; you could hear the tense breathing of people, some heavy, some shallow, rising and falling; you could hear faint groans coming from afar, as if drifting up from the deepest depths of the earth, intermittent, sometimes there and sometimes not.

Su Bai stood in the center of the hall, his gaze slowly sweeping over everyone present.

His gaze was calm, yet it seemed tangible; wherever it fell, the air seemed to freeze.

The jailers stood in a row, heads bowed, barely daring to breathe, like wilted eggplants, drooping listlessly. Some stared at their toes, wishing they could bury their heads in their chests, their necks almost disappearing; others stared at the ground, their eyes fixed on the cracks in the stones, as if trying to see flowers through them; some had beads of sweat on their foreheads, large drops trickling down their brows, across their cheeks, and hanging on their chins, but they didn't dare raise their hands to wipe them away, simply letting them drip.

Zheng Shijie stood at the very edge, his back straighter than anyone else's, like a javelin thrust into the ground. His chin was slightly raised, his face radiating barely suppressed smugness—he had just been singled out by Su Bai to fetch people, which, in everyone's eyes, was a sign that he had chosen the right side, the beginning of his meteoric rise. He occasionally glanced at the others out of the corner of his eye, a slight upturn of his lips, a smile brimming with boastfulness and mockery.

Hou San huddled in the crowd, wishing he could shrink into a needle and hide in the gaps. His sharp face was filled with terror, as pale as a sheet of paper, devoid of any color. Cold sweat poured down his forehead, large beads of sweat streaming down his cheeks, over his pointed chin, and dripping to the ground. He didn't know what to do with his hands. One moment he was clutching the hem of his clothes, making it crumpled and his knuckles white; the next moment he was relaxing, his fingers trembling incessantly, as if he had contracted some kind of illness, or like a withered branch in the wind.

Su Bai's gaze lingered on his face for a moment.

That moment was very short, so short that it was only a blink of an eye, so short that it could be almost ignored. But Hou San felt as if he had been slashed by a knife, his whole body was chilled to the bone, from head to toe, his legs went weak, his knees buckled, and he almost couldn't stand up. He swayed and barely managed to steady himself.

"Raise your heads, everyone." Su Bai spoke, his voice not loud, but it struck everyone's hearts like a hammer, echoing in the empty hall and making their ears ring.

The jailers looked up at him.

Some looked terrified, like startled rabbits, their eyes trembling; others looked away, their gaze shifting and uncertain, avoiding eye contact, quickly looking away after a single glance; some had a fawning look in their eyes, their smiles more like cries, their lips tugged into a stiff arc; and a few others had a defiant look in their eyes—these were Mao the jailer's cronies, used to his tyranny, their chins slightly raised, their eyes and brows filled with resentment, their nostrils practically pointing to the sky.

Su Bai's gaze swept across each of their faces. He looked slowly and carefully, as if memorizing every face, every glance, every expression. His gaze moved from left to right and back again, like an invisible knife slicing across each person's face. Wherever his gaze fell, everyone instinctively lowered their heads, as if a thousand-pound weight had been placed upon them. Only a few of his confidants still managed to meet his gaze, their chins held even higher, but they couldn't hold on for long before averting their eyes, their defiance replaced by fear.

"Mao Dayong has been arrested for illegally releasing a serious criminal. The evidence is conclusive." He said calmly, as if he were commenting on the weather, the light, or something trivial. "From today onwards, I will be in charge of this prison. I have a few words to say beforehand, so listen carefully."

He paused.

The meal was short, but the air in the entire hall seemed to freeze. No one dared to breathe, no one dared to move, and even the flame of the oil lamp seemed to have stopped flickering.

Then his gaze suddenly sharpened, like two drawn swords, their blades gleaming coldly, piercing into everyone's eyes. Wherever his gaze fell, some people subconsciously took a half step back, their feet scraping softly on the bluestone slabs.

"First, those imprisoned in this jail are criminals, not livestock. From today onward, no more abuse of torture is allowed, and no more arbitrary beatings or scoldings are permitted. How to conduct the trials and how to sentence them is the magistrate's business. You are only responsible for guarding them, and you are not allowed to take any action on your own."

Several jailers' expressions changed, and they lowered their heads. These were the same jailers who usually enjoyed beating people for fun and listening to prisoners scream in agony. Now, their faces were ashen, as if they had swallowed flies or bitter herbs, too bitter to speak.

"Second," Su Bai continued, his voice still calm, yet carrying an undeniable authority, each word as if carved into a stone slab, "the wine and meat in the duty room are to be removed from today onwards. No drinking, no gambling, no sleeping or dozing off while on duty. During night shifts, someone must patrol and no slacking off is allowed."

Hou San's face turned pale, as white as a sheet of paper, even paler than before, almost transparent. He usually loved to drink and gamble in the duty room; half the wear and tear on the table there was caused by him, and half the wine stains were from his spills. This was practically killing him, worse than death.

"Third," Su Bai's gaze fell on the few defiant individuals, fixing them like nails, rendering them immobile, "those who are disobedient can leave. Those who don't want to work here can also leave. Those who stay must abide by my rules. Anyone who breaks the rules—"

He didn't continue.

He simply raised his hand and gently placed it on the wooden table beside him.

The wooden table was made of elm, three inches thick, with clearly visible wood grain and rings telling its age. Several cigarette burn marks were on the table, traces of years of gambling; there were also a few oil stains, marks of food and drink. His hand landed on it, very lightly, very slowly, as if caressing something precious, or perhaps testing something.

A snap.

The three-inch-thick elm wood table split open in the middle, a crack as thin as a hair. Then, the crack rapidly widened, extending to both sides like a gaping mouth. Immediately afterward, with a few more cracking sounds, the entire table broke in two, crashing to the ground with a dull thud that shook the earth. Dust billowed up, splinters flew, some landing on Hou San's face, leaving thin scratches, but he dared not move, not even dare to raise his hand to touch them.

Several jailers took a step back in fright, their faces ashen, as if they had seen a ghost or the King of Hell. Those who had been defiant in their eyes had completely lost their defiance, leaving only fear and awe; their eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets, and their mouths were agape.

Su Bai withdrew his hand, patting the wood shavings from his palm with a casual and natural motion, as if brushing off some dust, as if completing a trivial task. He said calmly, "Did you understand?"

"I...I understand!" Everyone nodded repeatedly, their voices varying in pitch, some high, some low, some fast, some slow, some as if they were being squeezed out of their throats.

Su Bai's gaze swept across, from left to right and back again, his eyes like a knife, scraping across everyone's face once more: "Did you understand?"

This time, the voices were much more unified and louder, almost shouting, echoing throughout the hall: "Understood!"

"Alright." Su Bai nodded. "From today onwards, Zheng Shijie will be promoted to deputy warden to assist me in handling daily affairs. Li Dingfang will continue to oversee the underground floor. The rest of you will continue with your duties. Now, everyone, disperse."

The crowd dispersed as if granted a pardon. Their steps were hurried, as if ghosts were chasing them, as if they would be caught if they were a step too slow. The few cronies of the jailer walked with unsteady steps, as if they were walking on cotton, stumbling and almost tripping over the threshold, only managing to steady themselves by holding onto the door frame.

Zheng Shijie stood frozen, stunned for a moment. His mind went blank, then a surge of wild joy flooded his face, his eyes narrowing into slits, the crow's feet at the corners of his eyes crinkling. He knelt on the ground with a thud, his knees hitting the bluestone with a dull thud, but he felt no pain. He kowtowed repeatedly, his forehead striking the bluestone with each blow harder and louder, until the skin on his forehead was broken and bleeding, but he didn't care: "Thank you, Warden Su, for your promotion! Thank you, Warden Su! I... I will do my utmost, even unto death! I will go through fire and water without hesitation!"

Su Bai glanced at him, but didn't tell him to get up. She simply said, "Just do your job."

After saying that, he turned and walked towards the duty room. His steps were steady, and his black boots made a steady clattering sound on the bluestone slabs, echoing in the quiet hall, one clatter after another, like the sound of a wooden fish in a temple.

Behind him, Li Dingfang stood not far away, watching his retreating figure with a complex expression. In those tiger-like eyes, there was shock, awe, and a hint of anticipation; something stirred deep within them. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, his lips moved a few times, but nothing came out. He simply gazed deeply at the receding figure, then turned and left, his steps light, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Su Bai entered the duty room and sat down in a chair. The chair creaked slightly, a sound particularly clear in the quiet night. The oil lamp on the table was still burning, its flame flickering and casting his shadow on the wall, sometimes bright, sometimes dim. He looked out the window, his gaze piercing through the darkness, through the iron gate leading underground, landing somewhere unseen, lost in thought.

From the corridor outside the window, the hurried footsteps of prison guards could be heard, a cacophony of activity. Zheng Shijie's shrill voice could be heard giving orders, sometimes shouting "Over here, over here," sometimes "Move away, move away," his voice filled with smugness and excitement. Deep within the prison, an occasional groan could be heard, much weaker than before, as if something was pressing down on them, or as if they knew that the prison had changed hands.

Starting tonight, this prison will undergo a complete transformation.