Era of Magic and Martial Arts-Chapter 227 - 211: How Wonderful

The lights in the prison were always a glaring white, illuminating every corner so that not a speck of dust could be seen, as if this were the brightest place in the world, where the lights would never go out, and darkness would never take root.

Screams of agony echoed through the corridor at intervals, sounding even more piercing than the day before, leaving Feng Mu feeling uneasy.

"Can you bring the money by tomorrow? I'll give you one last chance. Gather your thoughts and answer me again."

"No money, you should know what it means to have no money in the Second Prison, right?"

The electric baton crackled loudly as it swung hard, like the dice of destiny, landing randomly on the heads of prisoners.

Bones cracked, blood splattered, and the rich smell of blood turned the entire prison into a slaughterhouse.

Some of the livestock were beaten severely and lay wailing on the ground; some were beaten to death, their bodies taken away to be incinerated.

Others kneeled with their limbs on the ground, begging for mercy as they were fiercely stripped of every bit of fat, leaving them emaciated, wishing for death rather than life.

In just a single day, countless electric batons inside the prison were broken, and two unfortunate prison guards had their hands and half of their arms blown off by exploding batons.

This incident somewhat lessened the cacophony of screams in the corridors, and the frequency of the guards swinging their batons notably decreased, giving many prisoners a moment to catch their breath.

Meanwhile, at noon, the prison's logistical security office received numerous requests for baton replacements.

Feng Mu patrolled the corridor, watching the wailing guards missing an arm who were carried out on stretchers, his face showing a façade of compassion, sending them sympathetic glances.

Wang Cong walked out slowly from the captain's office, then strolled to Feng Mu's side, his gaze also solemnly following the stretcher, as his hand instinctively squeezed the baton he held.

"You're back. How did the talk with the warden go?" Feng Mu asked warmly.

Wang Cong, mimicking Feng Mu, forced an earnest smile onto his face. "It went quite smoothly!"

The two exchanged smiles, seeming like two 'kindred spirits' who emerged unstained from the filth, their entire presence exuding an aura distinct from this blood-soaked corridor.

"Feng Mu?"

"Yes, what's up?"

"Thanks, it was you who helped me find Bright in the Second Prison."

"No need to thank me, we're just helping each other out."

They nodded in mutual appreciation, averting each other's gazes, once more looking around at the bodies being dragged out of the cells, their eyes both flickering with a deepness and coldness they had yet to discern in one another.

"It's really good. Why have I never noticed how beautiful this prison is? But it doesn't matter. In the future, I shall be the one to make it even better," Wang Cong murmured to himself.

"It's so good—alluring aroma everywhere. Once the transformation is complete, I'll serve it all up on the table, savoring it bit by bit," Feng Mu was full of anticipation within.

"Can you cover my shift for a bit? I'm going back to the room to handle some things on the computer, manage the money in my account," Wang Cong said to Feng Mu, his voice now filled with confidence and purpose.

In Feng Mu's dark pupils, there seemed to be a hint of a red line in the iris. He glanced lightly at the baton at Wang Cong's waist, smiling as he replied, "Of course."

Wang Cong turned around and headed back to the duty room, carefully locking the door behind him once inside.

He was the one who did night shifts the most in Zone A and had become the most familiar person with this duty room.

With little effort, Wang Cong found two thermos flasks neatly aligned within the storage locker.

They lay silently in the corner of the locker: one emitting a faint warmth, the other cold to the touch.

He cautiously retrieved the two thermos flasks, gently unscrewing the lids. One of the flasks was completely empty, washed and clean, while the other was brimming full, the aroma of food wafting forth enticingly.

Wang Cong merely took a light sniff, and the scent seemed to zap through his senses like an electric current, stirring a restlessness deep within him, causing his tongue to involuntarily salivate.

"This meal smells delicious, there must be some rare herbs or seasonings in it, probably not cheap."

Wang Cong rubbed his dry eye sockets lightly, a strange irritability spreading throughout his mind. He screwed the lid back on the lunchbox forcefully, placing it back into the locker intact.

He walked over to the desk, sitting down wearily, his gaze fixed blankly on a string of numbers on the computer screen representing his bank account.

After a while, Wang Cong took a deep breath and dialed a familiar number, soon receiving the voice of an elderly woman from the other end of the line.

"Hello, Mom, I'm doing alright, just a bit tired." Wang Cong tried his best to make his voice sound calm, although the irritability within his mind continued to spread.

After some brief exchanges of concern, the voice on the phone seemed to sense something and asked proactively, "Son, is something wrong?"

Wang Cong remained silent for a moment, then asked, "Mom, how much money do we have left at home?"

The elderly woman's voice came through the line:

"Last year we spent a lot to pull some strings to get you a job in the prison, and our savings took a big hit. Your dad is still in the hospital, unconscious, and his medical expenses each month are like a bottomless pit. There's not much money left at home."

The voice paused for a moment before continuing, "What's wrong, does the prison need more money?"

Wang Cong was quiet for a moment before saying, "The leadership has changed in the prison, and so have the policies. There's a good opportunity now, and I might be able to climb up, but it might require a lot of money."

His mother on the other end of the line did not press for more details, but hoarsely replied, "Okay, a good opportunity is a good thing, don't worry, I'll go to the bank in a while and take out all the money at home to send to you."

Wang Cong's throat felt dry, and he hoarsely asked, "And what about Dad..."

There was a silence on the other end of the line for about half a minute, during which only heavy breathing could be heard before the voice resumed calmly and casually, "Pull out the tubes."

Wang Cong's mouth opened, and his heart felt like it had been struck hard.

The voice on the other end continued:

"Our family doesn't have enough money to keep your father alive, it's our destiny, and it's also his. It's okay, son. If your dad was aware, knowing that pulling out those tubes could buy you a chance to climb up, he'd rise and pull them out himself."

To reassure him, his mother added:

"Besides, your dad's just an E-class citizen, and the remaining hospitalization time saved over the years is running out. Pulling it out sooner is better than having a nurse nag about it later."

Wang Cong's heart felt blocked, and his throat was dry—as if he had lost his voice—unable to utter a single word.

His mother's voice sounded again, old and hoarse:

"It's okay, son. Your dad wouldn't blame you, and neither do I. It's our own lack of ability, having lived a lifetime only to be low-class citizens, unable to help you. But your parents won't hold you back either."

"Son, just keep climbing, don't worry about anything. As long as you can change your destiny, I'll be happy, and your dad would rest in peace too even if he died."

Wang Cong gripped the phone tightly, tears silently streaming down his eyes, as if they were bleeding.

The voice on the other end calmly laughed, "Alright, that's enough of that. I'll go see your dad one last time at the hospital in a while. You do well at the prison if the money's not enough, just tell me. Even if it means selling everything, even the house, we'll make sure to gather it for you."

Wang Cong gritted his teeth, his voice hoarse and suppressed as he replied, "Dad, don't worry. I'll definitely make a name for myself at the prison. I'll climb step by step to the top, and then, I'll apply for the eligibility to buy the most expensive grave for Dad in the cemetery."

A hoarse laugh, pleased and comforting: "Good, my son has always been the most filial since he was young. I believe in you. I'll wait for that day, then bury both your dad and me together. Just thinking about it is blissful."