Chapter Ten: The Office of Officials

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They walked along the crimson walls of the Outer Ward, turned through several long alleyways, and finally entered a narrow lane. The house within the alley was the wardens’ quarters.

“Hancheng, do you really have to go back now? Why don’t we head to the Prison Superintendent’s Office to see those three officials instead?” Tang Changhong looked at Qu Hancheng, who was holding a bundle of clothes.

“I can’t just leave that fellow stark naked in his cell, can I? It’s not winter yet, but the early autumn chill is already in the air. It wouldn’t do to let him freeze,” Qu Hancheng replied with a shrug.

“Hancheng… do you really not know, or are you just pretending?” Tang Changhong glanced warily around the empty wardens’ quarters, took a deep breath, and looked at Qu Hancheng with grave seriousness.

“Know what? That you snuck away from your post last night?” Qu Hancheng said, half in jest.

“I did leave for… important reasons last night, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Don’t you feel this world is not what we thought it was?” Tang Changhong’s voice grew heavy, and he leaned in, his left hand hidden behind his back, his eyes darting to the empty room as if someone might be watching from the shadows.

“Of course I know… it’s different. But what can we do about it? You and I are just ordinary people—or to be precise, ordinary grade-C wardens. Whatever is different about this place, what does it have to do with us? We’re just… nobodies,” Qu Hancheng sighed softly.

Every time he stood watch at night, the prison rang with chilling, ghostly cries, and during the day, the Outer Ward echoed with inhuman, deafening roars. Whenever he helped carry out the bodies of prisoners to be buried at the Stone Bamboo Mound, even with the white shroud covering them, he could sense clearly that what lay on the stretcher… might not be human.

Qu Hancheng was careless, yes, but no fool. All these things made it clear that nothing in this prison was ordinary.

But sometimes it was better to live like a fool than to understand too much.

“Are we really going to go back and live out our entire lives in Beiyou Prefecture, muddling along as nobodies?” Tang Changhong suddenly asked.

“Changhong, I never realized you had so many thoughts. I always took you for a timid sort. Life isn’t long—one blink and it’s over,” Qu Hancheng tilted his head, studying Tang Changhong’s unusually earnest face, then shook his head and smiled.

“I truly don’t want to go back and pretend I know nothing, drifting through life as before. I’ve seen too much…” Tang Changhong said softly.

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“What have you seen? All you do is deliver meals and make rounds with me, and take your turn on night duty. I haven’t seen anything. Besides, we both came here by some twist of fate. We’ll leave eventually; this place doesn’t belong to us. I ended up here because of gambling debts and had to sign away my freedom. What about you—why did you come here?” Qu Hancheng asked.

He had asked Tang Changhong this question before, but every time, Changhong avoided it. Just as Qu Hancheng thought today would be no different, Tang Changhong suddenly spoke.

“Murder,” he said abruptly, his breath heavy, his cheeks flushed with blood.

“We only have two more years before we can leave,” Qu Hancheng murmured, shivering at the words. He looked at the face he’d known for three years—ordinarily timid and meek—now a stranger.

“Murder. I didn’t want to kill him. He forced me to!” Tang Changhong’s left hand, previously hidden, now revealed a gleaming dagger. With a sharp ‘thud,’ he stabbed it deep into the wooden tabletop, more than an inch in.

This pure white dagger was not a weapon a warden should possess.

“Changhong, calm down. Put that weapon away before another warden sees it, or you’ll be called before the Superintendent. I don’t want to be on night duty alone,” Qu Hancheng forced a smile, watching Tang Changhong’s agitation.

He reached out to retrieve the dagger, but before his hand got close—still four inches away—he felt a sharp, inexplicable pain, as if countless needles were piercing his palm.

“Don’t touch it. It’s not for you,” Tang Changhong snapped, snatching the dagger away. To Qu Hancheng’s astonishment, as soon as the dagger entered Tang Changhong’s palm, a flash of white light appeared, and it vanished.

Silence.

“I’ll deliver these clothes now,” Qu Hancheng finally broke the silence, quickly leaving the wardens’ quarters, bundle in hand.

Sunlight streamed through the half-open door, falling just short of Tang Changhong’s feet.

Standing in the shadow, Tang Changhong looked down at his tightly clenched left hand and slowly opened it. A white dagger-shaped mark appeared on his palm.

“Did you do what you were told?” came a sharp, deliberately lowered voice from outside. A long shadow, stretched by the sunlight, crept into Tang Changhong’s field of vision.

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“It’s done,” Tang Changhong replied respectfully, hands clasped before him, head still bowed.

“Good. Keep that little toy with you,” the shadow faded from view.

For a long moment, Tang Changhong did not move. Then he lifted his head, walked to the doorway, and gazed at the sky—blue as the ocean, warm sunlight pouring over every corner of the island, and over him as he stood in the threshold.

He felt no warmth.

His gaze fell to the imposing Temple of the Prison God before him, its roof curving upward, a qilin statue perched at the corner, its sharp horn pointing skyward.

A sea-scented breeze swept by, making the wind chimes beneath the eaves ring softly, as if reluctant to leave.

“Is that little warden still alive? Looks like we’ll have to change the terms of our wager,” came a mocking voice from not far away. Three or four tall figures appeared around the corner, growing clearer as they approached the wardens’ quarters.

Their uniforms were similar to Tang Changhong’s: red caps, white collars, black robes, long boots, with the character for “Prison” emblazoned on the chest. The only difference was the character on their sleeves.

B.

And on the sleeve of the one in front, embroidered in white, was the character A.

“I bet he’ll last another month here!” said the A-grade warden in a booming voice.

This A-grade warden was massive and strong, large enough to fill the doorway alone. The top of the door barely reached his neck, forcing him to stoop as he entered.

Tang Changhong, who had been standing by the door, quickly retreated to the far table to avoid blocking their path.

“Big brother, a month? You’re giving him too much credit. I say he’ll be lucky to last half that!” said the burly B-grade warden to the left of the leader, a full head taller than Tang Changhong, though not as towering as the A-grade.

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