Prison No. 4

At that moment, Huo Xuan was being transported to prison, no longer escorted by police but by four heavily armed guards. His hands were cuffed to the vehicle's ceiling, his feet shackled—escape was impossible.

The journey was long. Midway, one of the guards—a narrow-eyed man—muttered, "Sending him straight to Prison No. 4 without due process? He must've pissed off someone powerful."

A long-faced guard immediately glared at him. "Shut your mouth!"

The narrow-eyed man fell silent. The long-faced guard was clearly the leader, his authority unquestioned.

Huo Xuan sighed. "Brothers, it's true I made enemies. Once I enter that prison, I doubt I'll walk out alive."

The long-faced guard gave him a cold look but said nothing.

Huo Xuan continued, "Before we arrive, I'd like to make one call to my family. Could you lend me your phone?"

"Denied," the long-faced guard snapped. "You've lost your rights. No calls allowed—those are the rules."

"Rules?" Huo Xuan scoffed. "By the real rules, I shouldn't be heading straight to prison without a trial. And these so-called 'crimes' were fabricated. Since when is that the rule of law?"

The long-faced guard remained silent, unwilling to engage further.

Huo Xuan pressed on, "If you help me, I can reward each of you with one million yuan."

A muscle twitched near the long-faced guard's eye. He exchanged glances with the other three. After a long pause, he said, "You talk big, kid. Four million just like that? How do we know you'll deliver?"

Huo Xuan smiled. Money talks.

"Lend me your phone. The person on the other end will transfer the funds directly to your accounts. At this point, I've got no reason to lie—it would only make things worse for me."

The long-faced guard made his decision. Pulling out his phone, he warned, "Give me the number. I'll dial. Try anything tricky, and you'll regret it."

Huo Xuan said, "I'm in no position to try anything." He then recited a phone number—Zhang Wu's.

When the call connected, the long-faced guard held the phone to Huo Xuan's ear. "Fifth Brother, it's Huo Xuan."

Zhang Wu's voice came through the receiver: "Brother, what's up?"

Huo Xuan chuckled dryly. "Ran into some trouble. I'm being taken to Prison No. 4—no idea what kind of hellhole that is."

Zhang Wu was startled. "Who'd you piss off? I've heard of Prison No. 4—it's for the most dangerous criminals. Some of the country's biggest kingpins are rotting there with no hope of release. Someone must really want you dead to send you there."

Huo Xuan replied, "Two people are behind this: one is Zeng Yong, formerly from the Ministry of Public Security's Police Supervision Bureau. The other, I don't know. I taught Zeng Yong a lesson once and dealt with a guy named Yang Hao around him. Didn't expect his revenge to be this extreme."

"Don't worry. With the boss around, no one can touch you," Zhang Wu said with absolute confidence.

Huo Xuan added, "One more thing. Transfer one million each to four accounts immediately. I'll pay you back later."

Without another question, Zhang Wu agreed.

After hanging up, Huo Xuan had the four guards text their account details to Zhang Wu. Within five minutes, each received a bank notification: one million deposited.

Suddenly richer by a million, the four guards felt like they were dreaming. Their attitude toward Huo Xuan softened instantly. The long-faced guard thawed noticeably. "Brother, thanks. With this money, life's about to get a whole lot easier."

The others beamed. A million meant ten fewer years of grinding—they couldn't look at Huo Xuan without grinning.

Huo Xuan said mildly, "No need for thanks. Mutual benefit." Then, casually: "How much do you all know about Prison No. 4?"

At the mention of the prison, fear flickered across their faces. The long-faced guard said, "Brother, Prison No. 4 isn't much to look at—just 100 acres, holding no more than 200 inmates. But every single one is a vicious, high-risk criminal."

Huo Xuan raised an eyebrow. "Oh? That terrifying?"

"Terrifying doesn't even begin to describe those men—they're demons walking this earth!" The narrow-eyed guard shuddered. "Every year, about twenty new inmates get sent in, yet the prison population never exceeds 136. Not one more, not one less."

"So the newcomers all die?" Huo Xuan's eyes narrowed.

The guard nodded grimly. "But that's not the worst of it. Every year, three to five prison staff vanish without a trace—no bodies, no clues."

Huo Xuan frowned. "Even the guards disappear? Where could they possibly go?"

The guard's voice dropped to a tremulous whisper: "Rumors say... the missing were eaten alive by the inmates."

Huo Xuan shook his head in disbelief. No matter how dangerous prisoners might be, they couldn't possibly overpower state authority. Such tales were surely exaggerations.

Thirty minutes later, their vehicle climbed into mountainous terrain, passing through six successive layers of towering iron gates before finally stopping. Three heavily armed prison officers emerged from a side door for the handover.

The long-faced guard produced documents. One officer scanned them and frowned: "This intake violates procedure. We can't accept him."

"We're following orders," the guard countered. "Take it up with higher authorities."

The prison official eyed Huo Xuan warily before making a call. A voice on the line declared: "This felon poses extreme danger. The Ministry insists on temporary containment at Facility Four pending trial. Regular detention centers can't handle him."

After hanging up, the officer said coldly, "We'll hold him—for no more than one month. Retrieve him by then."

"Of course," the voice on the phone hurriedly agreed. "We won't burden your facility."

As the prison gates clanged shut behind him, the long-faced guard offered hollow encouragement: "Good luck, brother. Hope you make it out." The words rang false even to his own ears—no one left Prison No. 4 alive, not even temporary detainees.

Huo Xuan responded with a faint, knowing smile.

After the escorts departed, three prison guards led Huo Xuan through a narrow iron gate into a sparse processing room. There, officials made him sign documents, fingerprint records, and undergo photographic documentation.

Following this, he was taken to another chamber for an invasive full-body search, ensuring no contraband was concealed. Stripped and issued prison garb, he then endured fingerprint archiving and iris scanning.

The ordeal continued with medical evaluations, physical endurance tests, and psychological assessments. By the time formalities concluded, midnight had long passed. Yet rest remained denied—he was marched into a metallic holding cell barely twenty square meters in size.

The dim space held six hulking guards, their predatory gazes fixed on Huo Xuan like wolves eyeing prey.

Amidst this hostility, Huo Xuan actually chuckled. Raising his shackled hands in mock greeting, he said, "Gentlemen, go easy on me."

One guard snorted and stepped forward, swinging a wrist-thick rubber baton at his face with enough force to shatter teeth.

Huo Xuan shifted slightly. His leg irons clanked as he slid half a meter back, still smiling. "A word of advice—whoever lays a finger on me will reap tenfold retribution. You know I don't belong here."

The guard, enraged by his missed strike, bellowed, "I'll beat the shit out of you today or walk backward forever!" He swung again wildly.

Huo Xuan's shackled feet blurred. In one motion, he sidestepped and drove an elbow into the guard's solar plexus. A sickening thud echoed as the man crumpled, face blanched, sweat bursting from his forehead.

The remaining five guards closed in, their eyes glinting with malice.

Unfazed, Huo Xuan settled into a combat stance—one that martial arts masters would recognize as bearing traces of Xingyi Quan's San Ti Shi, yet distinctly different upon closer inspection. This was in fact the foundational posture of Shaolin's most guarded discipline: Xin Yi Ba's Jue Tou Ba (Pickaxe Stance).

Xin Yi Ba comprises one mother stance (Jue Tou Ba) and twelve derivative forms. Even the renowned Xingyi Quan evolved from its fusion with Yue Family Fist and spear techniques.

Guarded as Shaolin's most lethal monastic art, Xin Yi Ba is rarely taught even to disciples due to its devastating potency. Hua Buyi once remarked that mastering beyond the sixth variation was rarer than phoenix feathers.

This very art numbered among the thirty-six secret manuals Hua Buyi had acquired. Huo Xuan had prioritized its study—and now demonstrated unsettling proficiency.

As the guards advanced, his shackles seemed weightless. A barely perceptible shift sent one man flying backward, chest caved as if struck by an invisible ram. The others grasped at air, their attacks finding only shadows.