Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Strange Prisoner (Part One)

For three days in a row, Zhao Li did little besides eat and stay holed up in his small room, studying the nameless martial art manual. At first glance, the technique seemed straightforward, but as Zhao Li delved deeper, he realized it was far more complex than it initially appeared. The grappling techniques were easy enough—just a matter of practice and skill—but the internal cultivation method was another story entirely. A single lapse in concentration could lead to disastrous consequences. While he’d never run into such dangers practicing the basic body-strengthening exercises or combat forms, that was only because those techniques had been heavily simplified for mass instruction, sacrificing many of their original qualities for the sake of accessibility.

It was much like the world of finance: the greater the risk, the greater the potential reward—but high risk didn’t always guarantee high returns. Advanced internal cultivation was no different. Though Zhao Li had never studied such high-level techniques before, he understood the principle well enough.

Thus, Zhao Li approached these new teachings with utmost caution, spending the initial days carefully deciphering their deeper meanings. He never doubted their feasibility, for every time he thought of the old warden’s weathered face, any trace of skepticism vanished. Sometimes, he even wondered if the manual truly came from the hands of a notorious convict as the warden claimed—or perhaps it was the warden himself who had practiced it in secret.

After three days, Zhao Li had pored over every detail, convinced he had left no stone unturned and no flaw unnoticed. Yet, just as he was preparing to begin his training, he was forced to confront a new problem—his three-day leave had ended, and it was time to return to duty.

It was Jiang Hao who came to fetch him. It seemed that all new recruits spent their first days on internal patrols, and Jiang Hao had yet to move beyond such assignments himself. Zhao Li, of course, had no choice but to follow suit and take up his post dutifully.

Thanks to his meditative practice, Zhao Li’s bruises had faded significantly over the past three days—most of the swelling was gone, and although there were still a few patches of discoloration on his face, his original skin tone was beginning to show through. The basic body-strengthening technique was effective at healing, though not fast enough to erase all traces of injury overnight.

Sporting two conspicuous purple circles around his eyes and an exaggeratedly stern expression, Zhao Li cut a rather comical figure among the hardened convicts. Yet he seemed not to notice, following Jiang Hao in silence as they paced their rounds side by side.

Even Jiang Hao couldn’t help but crack a sly smile whenever he caught sight of Zhao Li’s battered face, doing his best to stifle his amusement. The convicts were even bolder, barely restraining themselves from bursting out in laughter right in his face.

Zhao Li had thought that after his run-in with the burly Sanders, these men would show him a measure of respect. But it seemed nothing had changed—they laughed and joked as before, unaffected by his display of force.

Were it not for the old warden’s words, Zhao Li would have lost his temper again and challenged someone to a fight. But now, understanding the true nature of the problem, he was less inclined to act rashly. A newcomer could never win the respect of these men through a few brawls alone.

Still, fights were perhaps inevitable; otherwise, there would be no way to keep these energetic men in check. Zhao Li hadn’t been on the job long and had never seen Jiang Hao in action, so he had no idea what level his companion had reached. Since the warden’s reprimand, Zhao Li had begun to pay close attention to those around him. Jiang Hao, able to joke and blend in with the convicts, was probably not as simple as he appeared.

Sanders looked no better than Zhao Li—perhaps even worse. The bruises on his face had yet to fade, and his arms were still covered in the marks left by Zhao Li’s police baton. When Zhao Li approached, Sanders no longer wore the same hostile expression. Instead, he pointed at the bruises on Zhao Li’s face, then at his own, flashed a challenging grin, nodded, and said nothing.

Zhao Li knew that while Sanders had verbally conceded during their last encounter, it was likely only because he’d had no choice under Zhao Li’s relentless assault. If Sanders had truly wanted to kill him, Zhao Li doubted he’d stand a chance. This was a silent show of defiance—a reminder that, though Sanders bore more wounds, it was only because he had chosen to hold back.

Looking at his adversary now, Zhao Li no longer felt the animosity he once had. He understood it had merely been a reflection of his own foul mood, though he was not about to admit fault. In response to Sanders’ renewed provocation, Zhao Li simply smiled, exaggeratedly hefted his baton and returned it to his side, a silent reminder that, with weapons, Sanders was no match for him. Sanders immediately responded in kind, miming a pistol with his hand and cocking it at Zhao Li—a clear message: if it came down to guns, Zhao Li’s head would have been blown off long ago.

This time, Zhao Li paid special attention to the legless man. He appeared to be in his sixties or seventies, still robust despite his years. Zhao Li wondered what misfortune had cost him his legs and landed him in this place. He was aware that bullying was common among inmates here, but the man seemed to be left alone, perhaps because the others saw no sport in tormenting a cripple.

Seeing him sitting alone in his cell, Zhao Li exchanged a glance with Jiang Hao, went in, and wheeled the man out into the sunlight. “Such a fine day—you should enjoy it,” Zhao Li said, positioning the wheelchair in a sunny corner before resuming his patrol.

Jiang Hao merely watched, neither helping nor hindering. When Zhao Li was done, they continued their rounds together.

When they passed the women’s block, Zhao Li made a special point to thank one inmate again. He had learned her name was Ban Yunchan—a refined and gentle name, though he had no idea what crime had brought her here. Despite the repeated warnings from both the warden and Jiang Hao that every criminal here was dangerous, Zhao Li remembered only the gentleness with which Ban Yunchan had pressed a towel to his forehead. The rest he had conveniently forgotten.

A full circuit of the prison took little time—it was so small that even moving at a snail’s pace, it took less than twenty minutes. But the patrol was far from over; Zhao Li and Jiang Hao were assigned as the roaming watch and would continue their rounds until the next shift arrived.

From the second round onward, Jiang Hao began quietly introducing each inmate to Zhao Li, his voice low enough not to attract unwanted attention. It seemed to be a tradition—no one minded, and no one acknowledged being discussed when it was their turn.