The scene before Wu Yinquan was utterly unfamiliar to him.
He even took a few steps back, carefully rechecking the location of this cell before finally confirming he hadn't gone to the wrong place. This was indeed the dreaded "Cell Block D Private Room" in the Great Prison, not some model cell designed to fool the officials.
Wu Yinquan suspected that the man inside might have been beaten to death, and these scoundrels were deliberately making it look like he was sleeping to avoid responsibility.
Just as he was about to leave and summon the other prison guards—he really didn't dare go in alone to retrieve the prisoner—he turned his head and saw Guard Old Ding approaching with something in his hands.
Getting closer, he saw it was a food tray with a roast chicken, two steamed buns, and even a jug of wine!
"Well, Old Ding!" Wu Yinquan reached out to grab a chicken leg: "Who is this, so generously provided? You've skimmed quite a bit of oil, haven't you?"
"Generously" meant "comfortable" outside, but in prison it meant "willing to spend money."
"Skimming oil" was also prison slang, meaning accepting bribes.
Old Ding sidestepped to avoid Wu Yinquan's hand, holding the tray and smiling apologetically: "Boss, I'm getting some food for Mr. Qin."
Wu Yinquan's hand, halfway extended, froze for a moment, feeling somewhat displeased.
He considered himself quite fair to his prison guards, allowing them to privately skim oil, unlike other small prison bosses who only looked out for themselves. Now that he'd seen this, sharing some was a very reasonable request.
But this Old Ding seemed so oblivious!
"Can't even have a chicken leg?" he asked with a grim face.
The cell was too dark for Old Ding to notice Wu Yinquan's expression, and he just smiled apologetically: "Mr. Qin is a clean person; if you touched it, he might not eat it. This meal wasn't paid for by me—it was pooled together by the people in the private room. The money wasn't enough for wine, so I added a bit. I'll treat you to a meal later."
Wu Yinquan was now even more surprised, forgetting to be angry.
The "private room" was full of tough guys, each thick-skinned and tight-fisted—even if you cut them, they wouldn't cough up half a knife's worth of money, which was why they were all stuffed into "Cell Block D."
Getting them to pool money for food and wine was like squeezing oil from a stone.
"Which Mr. Qin?" he couldn't help asking.
"I only found out this morning. The prisoner brought in yesterday is none other Director Qin of the Zeren Medical Clinic in the west of the city! The son who inherited Old Mr. Qin's legacy."
"Old Mr. Qin's son?" Wu Yinquan's eyes widened.
Old Mr. Qin was a figure known to everyone in Yue City. Not only because of his exceptional medical skills that saved lives, but also because of his benevolent heart as a healer.
Benevolence didn't mean he treated patients for free—in fact, Old Mr. Qin's fees were exorbitantly high, unaffordable for ordinary families.
But his Zeren Medical Clinic treated a large number of poor people who couldn't afford medical care every year.
Whenever disaster struck somewhere in Yue City, or when fierce beasts attacked, the Zeren Medical Clinic was always the first to donate.
Not to mention orphan relief, providing porridge and medicine to beggars, and similar deeds.
The high fees Old Mr. Qin charged were all used for these purposes.
Many of his disciples and apprentices were homeless orphans. He not only supported them but also taught them skills so they could become self-sufficient.
In short, in Yue City, while some might not have seen Old Mr. Qin personally, no one hadn't heard of him.
Wu Yinquan was no exception.
"Yes!" Old Ding was somewhat excited: "My father's survival to this day is all thanks to Old Mr. Qin!"
Seeing this old fox's rare moment of excitement, Wu Yinquan suddenly understood why Cell Block D was now so harmonious.
He unconsciously stepped aside, letting Old Ding pass.
Old Ding handed the food tray through the small window into the cell, cursing vulgarly: "Hold it steady! You rotten bunch!"
The people inside didn't mind at all, taking the tray with chuckles: "Smells so good!"
"Damn, when was the last time we had chicken?"
"Quick, quick, let me smell it too!"
A group of rude scoundrels walked to where Qin Nianmin was sleeping soundly, their voices softening: "Mr. Qin? Mr. Qin? Time to eat."
Qin Nianmin got up and sat on the edge of the bed. Wu Yinquan saw a bruise around his eye, indicating he had suffered when first brought to the cell.
The man beside him placed the tray in his hands: "Eat, Mr. Qin."
The room was filled with the sound of swallowing saliva.
Wu Yinquan couldn't help but wonder, what level of virtue and respect could make a group of prisoners—definitely not good people—treat someone with such genuine care?
Qin Nianmin was already in his fifties. Though his hair showed a touch of frost, his face didn't show his age thanks to proper care.
But at this moment, he looked haggard and didn't touch the roast chicken. He only tore the steamed bun into strips and ate it piece by piece.
The way he ate didn't resemble nourishment—it was more like mechanically forcing himself to do something.
"If you don't want to eat, why eat?" Wu Yinquan asked from outside the cell.
Qin Nianmin didn't even look to see who was speaking, nor did he turn his head, simply saying: "I want to live."
"Old Mr. Qin's son shouldn't be breaking the law," Wu Yinquan couldn't help asking: "What exactly did you do to end up here? The person who handed you over was speaking incoherently, I couldn't understand."
This time, Qin Nianmin turned to look at him for a while, his gaze full of sorrow: "You're not too bad, I don't want to harm you."
Wu Yinquan wisely shut his mouth.
In the Great Prison for so many years, he understood too well that it was best not to know things one shouldn't.
Qin Nianmin clearly carried such matters. That was why, despite having such a respected father, he still ended up here.
Thinking of this, Wu Yinquan asked: "Do you need me to pass a message to Old Mr. Qin?"
In his view, Old Mr. Qin's son certainly deserved the trip.
But as soon as he said this—even in a place like prison, Qin Nianmin, who possessed an otherworldly air—suddenly set down the food tray and burst into tears.
A man in his fifties crying like a child.
...
Wu Yinquan left the Great Prison in a daze, following Old Ding westward through the city.
Old Mr. Qin was ninety years old, quite long-lived indeed.
Birth, aging, sickness, death—these are the natural cycles of life. His passing, Yue City's people should have been mentally prepared for long ago.
But when the day actually arrived, it was still so hard to accept!
The reason Wu Yinquan was dazed was that while he knew he wasn't exactly a good person, he also knew that pure good people like Old Mr. Qin were rare in the past and would only become rarer in the future!
Even bad people don't want to live in a world full of only bad people.
When Wu Yinquan and Old Ding reached the vicinity of the Zeren Medical Clinic in the west of the city, they stopped.
The entire long street was lined with wreath after wreath, the ground covered with white mourning flowers. But there were few people in sight.
Given Old Mr. Qin's status today, the street outside should have been bustling with activity—why were there only mourning flowers lining the street?
It looked rather eerie.
Wu Yinquan, full of confusion, walked with Old Ding along the long street until they reached the front of the Zeren Medical Clinic.
They saw the main door tightly closed, with a banner hanging at the entrance—
【Inside: Contagious disease, condolences not accepted.】
Just this one line, nothing else.
Accompanying it was the empty long street, ten miles of white mourning.
Le Wen