Chapter Fourteen: Zuo Canglang

When Mu You let out that curse, the condemned prisoners on the floor all snickered with schadenfreude, and even those from other floors turned their curious gaze toward the dangerous convict of the thirteenth floor. To their surprise, it was an underage child.

Seeing Mu You’s uneasy, nervous demeanor, almost everyone wore an expression of mockery; some even scoffed in disdain, thinking that with a physique like his, they could crush three of him with one slap—why was he chosen as a dangerous convict, and not themselves?

Helpless, Mu You moved mechanically to the frontmost position under the scrutiny of the crowd. The youngest in that row was at least in their twenties, and from the side, Mu You was visibly shorter by more than a head.

Just as Mu You was about to step into place, a leg darted swiftly from the crowd and hooked at his ankle. At first, Mu You thought someone was playing a malicious prank, trying to embarrass him, so he nimbly dodged. But the other party refused to let him off, persistently blocking his path.

A flicker of irritation flashed in Mu You’s eyes—this was brought upon oneself.

In a split second, Mu You lifted his leg high, not to step forward, but to stomp down viciously.

“Ah!” The sound of bones shattering rang out. A fair-skinned youth fell to his knees, exposing Mu You who stood unmoved, his foot planted squarely on the youth’s now misshapen ankle.

The crowd fell silent; the glances cast at Mu You instantly grew colder.

“Ah, sorry, sorry,” Mu You feigned panic, unwilling to provoke the masses. He helped the youth up, but deliberately let go halfway, sending the youth sprawling painfully to the ground once more.

“My goodness, you’re so slippery, buddy—I couldn’t hold on. By the way, how did a grown man like you end up so well-nourished?” Mu You raised his brows, feigning innocence, his voice loud and laced with innuendo.

The remark was met with a chorus of wicked laughter.

Shame and anger flushed the youth’s face, but pain in his ankle rendered him unable to move. Any attempt at resistance brought him agony.

A burly death row inmate, chest muscles bulging, strode up to Mu You as if they were old friends. He threw an arm around Mu You, but as he joked, his arm began to tighten, pressing down, muscle rippling with menace. He expected to see the boy’s face contorted in pain, begging for mercy.

“Listen, kid, I’ll tell you straight—the ‘dangerous convict’ is the boss of a floor. It was supposed to belong to our leader, but he was just sent for a second round of reformation, and you—a fledgling—have replaced him. Also, stay away from our Dongguan madam, or else—”

With a sudden burst of strength, the muscular man kept smiling outwardly, waiting eagerly for Mu You’s agony.

Yet—

“Or else what?” Mu You looked up, wide, clear eyes meeting the convict’s, asking with an innocent, almost naive tone.

The smile froze on the convict’s face.

“You just said, I’m also… a dangerous convict.”

Mu You smiled faintly; his tense body suddenly stilled, then expanded. Despite the convict’s increasing force, Mu You countered it, pushing back with equal strength.

They stood shoulder to shoulder, locked in a gaze, the pose almost intimate. After a moment, sweat began to bead on the convict’s brow.

The crowd let out derisive laughter, seeing the burly man unable to subdue a child.

“Damn brat!” The muscular man, humiliated, swung a fist at Mu You’s face.

Mu You had been waiting for a chance to assert his dominance—he wouldn’t let it slip by. He raised his own fist and met the blow head-on.

This punch carried ninety percent of Mu You’s strength; to establish authority, one must leave no roots behind!

The sound of bones shattering echoed again. The muscular convict gazed in disbelief as his own arm dropped limply, pain surging through him, while Mu You remained unruffled.

It seemed ordinary convicts posed no threat to him. Mu You finally allowed himself a confident smile.

Convicts from other floors quickly abandoned their amusement, their expressions turning cautious. Such a young age, yet convicted of a capital crime and designated as a dangerous convict—he clearly possessed some skill.

As for the other dangerous convicts, Mu You knew this display was far from enough to earn their respect.

He Jing was elated; fortunately, she had tried to ingratiate herself earlier. Judging by his robust, youthful demeanor, perhaps he could be useful in the future.

The rest of the front-row convicts, seeing their companion severely injured, glared at Mu You with fury, but none dared step forward.

Was it possible? All murderers, yet so timid? Could it be that he was too imposing and had intimidated them?

Just as Mu You was about to return to his place, he turned and collided with a soft, snowy expanse.

A collective gasp sounded behind him.

Mu You’s mind blanked for a moment; the delicate scent of a maiden lingering at his nose made him instantly realize what had happened. His face flushed, and he hurriedly retreated, only to find his bangs caught on a bra strap. Embarrassed and unable to free himself, he hesitated to use his hands—after all, it was the most sensitive area. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he saw the owner of the ample curves was in uniform—a guard.

Gritting his teeth, Mu You yanked his hair free, enduring the pain as he stepped back several paces, shooting murderous glances at those who had feigned concern earlier.

Seeing them watch him with a “let’s see if you survive this” look, Mu You cursed his own carelessness. Clearly, anyone who could survive here was no ordinary person.

Stiffly, Mu You turned and forced himself to look up at the woman with whom he had just experienced such intimate contact.

There was no doubt—she was beautiful. Her beauty carried an elegance and grandeur: fair skin, long legs, a voluptuous, sculpted figure tightly encased in emerald uniform, making Mu You’s heart ache for her. Her earlobes gleamed with mysterious green light under the sun. She appeared to be just over twenty, and her black gloves reflected a silvery sheen.

All that was missing was a whip, Mu You thought reflexively.

At that moment, the woman’s face was frosted with coldness, unreadable, as she strode toward Mu You in twelve-centimeter leather boots.

The entire venue fell silent. The sound of her heels striking the floor beat upon Mu You’s heart like a drum. He was as if facing a formidable enemy, shutting out all other sounds, his fists slowly tightening and sweating.

As she approached, Mu You finally noticed her earrings.

On her left ear, a formidable gray wolf was carved, majestic and fierce, its head turned to bite the officer’s earlobe, the detail exquisitely lifelike. Even more astonishing, at the wolf’s tail coiled a jade-green serpent, its mouth open wide in aggression toward Mu You.

On her right ear, the earring depicted a scene of lust: a man with a skull reliquary atop his head, eyes streaked with blood, his head buried in a girl’s crevice, the reliquary tightly wrapped around her neck. The girl gazed skyward, serene, her feet transformed into a pair of emerald vipers, their cruel gaze looking down upon the man like a ghostly Buddha.

Mu You was awed by the craftsmanship and the profound symbolism at a single glance.

The fiery officer stopped before Mu You, noticing his gaze fixed on her earrings. A hint of surprise flickered in her appraising eyes, but she drew the military blade at her waist and slowly raised it overhead.

Behind them, the sound of people retreating was audible. Mu You forced himself to remain still, suppressing his anxiety.

Don’t move—perhaps he wouldn’t die. Move, and it meant rebellion. Condemned prisoners had no rights; death was certain.

He was wagering—on his value in Mo Han’s eyes, on his intuition, on his life.

This woman would not kill him, even with a blade drawn.

The scorching sunlight, reflected off the glass, raised the temperature rapidly, yet the blade pointing skyward gleamed with icy menace. The officer locked her gaze on Mu You, who looked back calmly, though sweat soaked the back of his prison uniform, visible to all.

The officer was surprised by Mu You’s composure, then sneered faintly. The blade flashed from above, swift as lightning, slicing diagonally, then slowly sheathing.

After this, she strode past Mu You.

Mu You didn’t move. A gust of wind blew, and his bangs were sliced cleanly, scattered among the convicts behind him.

Warm liquid trickled down his face, stinging. He tasted it—it was blood. His face had been slashed diagonally, but the wound was shallow.

He felt a bit dazed; it seemed he had won his gamble.

As Mu You quickly returned to his place, the crowd’s gaze shifted to respect—even the dangerous convicts at the head of each row now regarded him with curiosity.

The fiery officer swept her cold gaze over everyone. Seeing no one dared meet her eyes, she crossed her arms, accentuating her proud curves, and introduced herself in a voice as clear and pure as ice:

“I am Zuo Canglang, Chief Warden of the Left Wing of Death Row Paradise.”