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The prison never saw daylight all year round, only the passageway was lit by oil lamps.

It was dim and oppressive, hard to differentiate between day and night.

Prisoners who had just arrived would mark the walls to record the days, but as time dragged on either too long or the walls were filled with marks, they lost the will to count the days.

After all, too few lived to walk out of the prison!

The prisoner sitting in meditation was someone Zhou Yi remembered, his surname was Su, and he was said to have once been a literary giant from Jiangnan.

Because he wrote poetry that defied the current regime, he drew the attention of the Jinyiwei for investigation and, for some unknown reason, was found guilty of torturing a servant to death and was duly thrown into the prison.

His family sent silver, and he could drink an extra spoonful of thin porridge with each meal!

Perhaps one day, if he outlived the current ruler and a new sovereign ascended the throne to grant amnesty, he would be released.

“No wonder he’s in such good spirits!”

After distributing the thin porridge, Zhou Yi walked out along the prison cells.

The noise came from near to far.

Initially it was loud and incessant, then it turned into shouts and calls of various sizes, clearly from gambling.

Since Fengyang Country was founded three hundred years ago, the dynasty’s common illnesses were no fewer, such as the Emperor demanding birthday tributes, or the corruption of officials and the laxness of military readiness.

The discipline in the prison was no longer as strict as it was during the time of the Great Ancestor, otherwise Zhou Yi, sick as he was, wouldn’t have been able to get in.

Although officially there were over a thousand jailers, the majority were ghosts drawing salaries without actually appearing, and the few colonels who did show up for duty spent all day drinking and gambling for pleasure.

Zhou Yi compared the current state of affairs in Fengyang Country with what was described in the history books—it was likely that the dynasty was on the verge of being replaced.

“Little Yi, finished delivering the meals? Come and play a few rounds!” The voice of the subordinate official Zhang Zhou woke Zhou Yi from his contemplations.

Zhang Zhou was continuously blowing on the palm of his hand as if he could make the dominoes’ numbers larger.

Zhang Zhou was a prison subordinate, a minor official of no particular standing, and happened to be Zhou Yi’s immediate superior, who had a good relationship with the late Father Zhou.

Zhou Yi shook his head, firstly because he was naturally cautious and not fond of gambling, and secondly because he had no silver coins.

The former owner of the body spent all his family’s silver daily on medicine to nourish his body, only to find it was in vain and allowed the soul from Blue Star to take over the body.

Standing behind Zhang Zhou for a while, he observed a game similar to Pai Gow, with Colonel Niu acting as the banker.

Tedious, dull!

Zhou Yi calmed his thoughts, contemplating how to cultivate in the future.

Even with the Longevity Dao Fruit, he could not give up the pursuit of immortality; one day he might encounter demons from the evil path abducting people, or immortals whose battles obliterate a city.

Natural disasters and man-made calamities could not be avoided by mere caution.

Longevity was the Dao Fruit, but cultivation was the Dao Protection Art!

“The memories of the former self never heard of the methods of immortality, not even the existence of immortals, only that martial arts were divided into Inner Qi and body refining. The specifics still required a visit to the martial arts schools for more information.”

Cultivation was for the sake of longevity—Zhou Yi already had the Dao Fruit, but would not forsake the essential for the trivial, seeking immortal life through risky wanderings.

So for now, he could only choose the martial path!

“Should I first earn a large sum of money to improve my living conditions? If I can’t manage to produce soap and cement, I could still work on saltpeter and develop greenhouses with controlled temperatures…”

“Or I could plagiarize some poetry and songs; once I have a reputation, the money will follow…”

“If all else fails…”

“Let it be for now. Currently in Divine Capital, I have a house and the prison provides food, so let’s not complicate things over a bit of silver.”

Zhou Yi had no trust in the commercial environment of ancient times. In a society utterly dominated by officials, possessing a large sum of silver without any connections or backing was nothing but waiting to be slaughtered like pigs and sheep.

At this moment.

An outside clerk came in and whispered something in Colonel Niu’s ear.

The colonel was a prison official of Ninth Grade, leading ten subordinate officials, each of whom managed ten jailers.

Niu Su, by law, could command a hundred men. However, with so many drawing empty salaries these days, he had only about twenty or thirty jailers under his command, and they often did not all turn up.

“Brothers, we’ve got work to do.”

Niu Su threw the dominoes on the table and said, “Lord Lei ordered that the thief who was imprisoned a few days ago must be interrogated and confess today, lest the execution be delayed.”

Lord Lei, named Lei Hu, held the office of jailer, and aside from the guards stationed outside, he could be said to be the highest-ranking official within the prison.

“I’ll do it, I’ll do it!”

Zhang Zhou’s eyes were slightly reddened, and with the flickering lamp light, he looked almost like a demon.

“Today’s luck is bloody awful, I’ve lost everything. I must take it out on this crook!”

Amidst the conversation,

a group of more than a dozen people rushed toward the interrogation room.

Zhou Yi hesitated for a moment before following them.

The thief was in cell no. 12; upon opening the prison door, they saw a man hanging upside down, his face covered with bloodstains, making his features indistinguishable.

Zhou Yi trailed behind the crowd, perhaps desensitized by memories of similar sights, the miserable state of the man evoked no nausea or urge to vomit.

Zhang Zhou splashed water on the man’s face to wake him, not bothering with questions, he began whipping him ruthlessly.

Crack, crack, crack!

With each sound, a new bloody welt appeared on the man’s body.

The whip was soaked in saltwater, and as it struck the wounds, the man cried out in pain.

Only then did Zhou Yi see clearly: the man’s mouth was devoid of teeth and half of his tongue had been cut off. How could he possibly confess to anything?

Colonel Niu sat leisurely in the Taishi Chair, sipping tea and speaking softly with the clerk responsible for the records.

Surrounding the spectacle, the dozen or so onlookers reacted differently; some appeared gratified, others indifferent, and some even placed bets on how many more rounds the prisoner could endure.

After a long while,

Zhang Zhou, growing tired from whipping, picked up a red-hot iron and pressed it randomly against the man’s body.

Sizzle, sizzle, sizzle!

A stench of burning flesh filled the air as the prisoner’s breath grew faint, reduced to mere instinctual groans.

Colonel Niu stopped Zhang Zhou from continuing the torture: “Don’t kill him!”

The clerk, having completed the record of the interrogation, lifted the man’s hand and without using cinnabar, left a clear bloody handprint on the confession document.

Ironclad evidence, an undeniable confession!

Zhou Yi quietly asked a jailer next to him, “Uncle Ye, what crime has this man committed? He doesn’t look like a government official.”

“This thief was a vagabond of the jianghu, known as the Flying Rainbow Swordsman or something.”

“Half a year ago, a drought in Yuzhou caused many to starve to death. This fellow led a group to storm the granary, killing more than a dozen grain merchants, and even beheaded the county magistrate.”

Old Ye explained, “The Jinyiwei have been tracking him for half a year, and finally caught him. He is sentenced to be beheaded for rebellion!”

A hero of the greenwood!

That was the first thought that came to Zhou Yi’s mind. In times of drought in ancient times, the least that could happen was bodies scattered everywhere, and at worst there would be cannibalism.

The man had opened the granary to release grain, saving countless lives!

Colonel Niu glanced at the confession, nodded slightly and said, “A rebel of the White Lotus Sect, causing disturbances and plotting rebellion. Remember to feed him well. He will be executed in a month, but make sure he stays alive until then.”

Zhang Zhou assured him, “Rest assured, Sir, little Zhou will handle it carefully.”

“Sir, should we feed him something better?”

Zhou Yi bowed in acknowledgment. Seeing the man’s pitiful state, having been tormented to no longer resembling a human, it seemed unlikely he would survive a month on thin porridge alone.

Colonel Niu waved his hand dismissively, “No need for the trouble. This thief has tempered his internal organs; he’s a top-notch expert in the jianghu. He won’t die so easily.”

Indeed.

Later that evening, when Zhou Yi came with a bucket of rice, the man had regained some vitality, his eyes wide and fierce.

Despite his face being marked with black and purple burns and his body with bloody lash marks, he seemed not frail but rather infused with an air of ferocity.

Zhou Yi didn’t dare get too close, scooping up a spoonful of the thin gruel to pour into the man’s mouth, but the man kept his mouth shut tight and struggled, accidentally causing some to spill into his nostrils.

“Cough, cough, cough!” The man choked and coughed uncontrollably.

“Hero, I am just a lowly government official, please don’t make it hard for me.”

“State… dog… thug!”

With half of his tongue cut off, the man’s speech was muffled and unclear.

Zhou Yi set down the bucket, looked outside, and saw that the cells to the left and right were empty, with all the jailers off playing cards.

He returned to the man’s side, bowed with clasped hands in respect.

“Hero, you risked your own life to provide relief to the victims of famine. I hold the greatest respect for you. Now that you’re imprisoned, you shouldn’t give up on yourself. Even if you end up on the execution ground, you should have the strength to curse the Imperial Court!”

After hearing this, the man was silent for a long time before slowly opening his mouth.

Zhou Yi cleaned the rice grains and blood from the man’s face, then carefully and gingerly poured the rice to avoid it going into his nostrils again.