123. The Prison of Suffering

The cold floor, carrying a faint stench of rot and mold, rushed into her nostrils, mingled with the nauseating smell of blood.

"What kind of hellhole is this?" Lingyu rubbed her bruised nose and scrambled to her feet.

Her gaze met a dim, oppressive scene: dirty mud floors, wet and rotting straw, grey-black walls, and rows upon rows of iron bars. There was no natural light; only the flickering, sickly yellow glow of torches from a distant wall illuminated the space.

It appeared to be a prison—a series of pigeonhole-like cells, each housing a person with a wretched, unrecognizable face. Outside the cells, a guard in red robes could be vaguely seen, snoring away while slumped over a table covered in a chaotic mess of cups and plates.

"Hey kid, what are you staring at?" a voice suddenly called out from the next cell.

Lingyu turned her head and saw a prisoner in the adjacent cell speaking to her.

"Huh, it’s a girl," the prisoner, whose face was obscured by greasy, matted hair, said in surprise. Judging by his voice, he wasn't old—at most, middle-aged.

Lingyu looked around once more, then leaned closer. "Mister, where is this?"

"You don't know?" The man seemed even more astonished. "How on earth did you get thrown in here if you don't even know where you are?"

Lingyu blinked, a thought crossing her mind. "How did I get here, anyway?"

The man looked at her as if she were insane. He scrutinized her up and down for a long time before saying, "You little brat, did you knock your brains out when you fell?"

"Never mind whether I knocked my brains out or not, Mister, just tell me where this is!"

"I told you, it’s a prison." The man looked at her with pity. "You were dragged in here. You don't look very old, and you don't look like someone without money. How did you end up in this state?"

"No money? What does money have to do with this?" Lingyu was bewildered.

"If you had money to perform acts of merit, why would you ever be thrown in here?" The man sneered with disdain, clearly convinced that the girl had suffered permanent brain damage.

Acts of merit? Lingyu pondered silently. What were acts of merit? Paying monks or Taoists to chant scriptures was considered an act of merit. The idea that having money for such things would keep one out of jail seemed incredibly bizarre.

"Mister, what about you? How did you get in here?"

"Me?" The man let out a dry chuckle. He brushed aside the straw-like hair on his head, caught a flea, and popped it into his mouth with a sickening crunch. It made Lingyu’s skin crawl.

"I didn't have money to donate, and I gave the priest a beating. That’s why they locked me up."

"The priest?" Lingyu was completely lost. She asked again, "What exactly is this place?"

Before the man could answer, a thin, gaunt young man in the next cell over, wearing a square cloth cap, spoke up weakly: "This is the Bitter Prison of the Blood-Robed Sect." After answering, he eyed the man from the first cell sideways. "You have the guts to beat a priest—you must be a master of martial arts."

"The Blood-Robed Sect?"

The young man glanced at Lingyu. "Sister, life here is hard. Don't think too much; it’s not good for you." His tone was incredibly calm, clearly resigned to the fact that she was mentally unstable.

Lingyu felt like crying, but since she couldn't explain anything, she had to keep playing the fool. "Big Brother, were you thrown in here because you had no money too?"

The young man replied with a wooden expression, his gaunt, fleshless cheeks making him look rather ghastly. "If I’d known, I would’ve joined the Blood-Robed Sect to become a priest instead of wasting my time studying."

"Bah!" came an angry voice from the cell opposite. "They call themselves priests? They swindle people out of their money and defile their wives and daughters! They don't cultivate any merit! They'll face divine retribution sooner or later!"

Lingyu followed the sound and saw a thin, middle-aged man sitting cross-legged in the opposite cell. His hair was disheveled, but he wore a makeshift Taoist bun, and his posture was the standard "five hearts toward the sky." He was clearly a real Taoist.

"Keep your voice down," the martial artist hissed, holding up a finger. "If they hear you, we're done for!"

"Hmph!" The Taoist let out a cold snort but said nothing more.

A martial artist, a scholar, and a Taoist—this Blood-Robed Sect was truly formidable. Even in the world she came from, none of these three types of people were to be trifled with. Martial artists were fierce and combative, ready to draw their blades at a moment's notice and kill without a second thought. Scholars, despite their refined appearance, wielded immense power; their pens were like blades and their tongues like swords, capable of killing without shedding a drop of blood. Taoists were well-connected, could communicate with spirits, and possessed notoriously eccentric tempers.

And yet, all three types were being tortured to the brink of death by this Blood-Robed Sect? Looking at their wretched, subhuman states, she felt a chill.

"Fellow Daoist, why were you brought here?"

The Taoist in the opposite cell slowly looked up. "Fellow Daoist? Could it be..."

"Are you a Taoist too?" The martial artist tilted his head to look at Lingyu. "Oh, wait, a Taoist nun."

Lingyu bowed to them with her hands clasped. "I practice the Tao, but I am not ordained." At the Xuanyuan Temple, she had only received her certificate of practice; she hadn't taken the full vows, so she wasn't technically ordained. As for the Taibai Sect, the very concept of "ordained" didn't even exist in the Cangming Realm.

"All those who follow the Tao are one family." The Taoist broke into a wide smile. He examined Lingyu’s clothes—clean, neat white robes that, while not formal ritual attire, featured the Bagua and auspicious cloud patterns embroidered on the cuffs.

"Your clothes are so clean. Kid, you wouldn't happen to be a member of the Blood-Robed Sect who offended someone and got thrown in here for a few days, would you?" the martial artist asked, a flicker of suspicion in his eyes.

At his words, the gazes of the scholar and the Taoist also shifted.

"Of course not," Lingyu quickly said. "I've never even heard of this Blood-Robed Sect."

"Then how were you caught?" the Taoist asked.

"Uh..."

"This girl has a broken brain," the scholar remarked. "She doesn't even know where she is."

"Could it be like me—arrested because I wouldn't join the Blood-Robed Sect?" the Taoist said indignantly. "The Blood-Robed Sect is too tyrannical! They won't allow any other Taoists in the world to exist!"

Lingyu joined in the indignation. "That must be it! I was just walking down the road when I was snatched up for no reason. They probably thought I looked like someone from the Taoist fold. Do they not even spare lay practitioners?"

Her anger resonated with them. The Taoist sighed, "Why else would it be called the Blood-Robed Sect? The number of people who have died in this Bitter Prison is enough to dye everyone's robes blood-red."

"Is it really that cruel?"

"Killing is nothing," the scholar sneered. "Who in this prison hasn't been tortured to the point where they wish they were dead?"

The martial artist hushed them again, pointing toward the guards. "Look, kid. Once they wake up, there's no telling who will be next."

Lingyu peered through the bars and vaguely made out torture implements stained with dried blood hanging on the wall. "Do they just beat people for fun?"

"Don't be afraid, sister," the scholar said, tilting his chin forward. "A few high-profile prisoners were brought in a few days ago, so they don't have time to bother with us right now."

"So, they *do* beat us?"

The three of them fell into a heavy silence.

The door to the Bitter Prison clattered open, and several red-robed men carried in a large bucket. "Time to eat! Grub's up!"

Bowls of food were rudely tossed in front of each cell. The stench of sour, rotting gruel wafted over from a distance.

Lingyu covered her nose. "Is this even edible?"

"Can't eat it? Then don't!" The red-robed guard snatched the bowl away without a second thought.

Lingyu didn't mind, but the martial artist, the scholar, and the Taoist stared at the bowl as if their eyes were about to pop out of their sockets.

The martial artist swallowed hard and said, "Kid, if you aren't going to eat it, give it to me. It’s such a waste to just let it be taken away."

Lingyu took a peek. It was a large bowl, but it contained very little food—just a sour, watery mess with a few wilted leaves floating on top. She deeply doubted if it could even be considered food, yet the three men devoured it like starving ghosts, slurping it down in seconds.

Once they finished, they patted their bellies, still looking hungry.

"You only eat this?"

The three nodded.

"One meal a day?"

They nodded again.

"..." No wonder they were all so thin; they probably didn't have the strength to escape even if they wanted to.

Lingyu watched them for a moment, then tentatively asked, "So... have you ever thought about escaping?"

The hand-patting stopped instantly. Three pairs of eyes fixed on her. Lingyu felt a chill—could these three actually be informants?

A moment later, all three leaned as close to the bars as possible.

"Kid, be careful what you say," the martial artist whispered, gesturing to the guards. "If they hear you, your life is forfeit."

"You think we don't *want* to escape?" the scholar said. "Don't let the two guards fool you; this place is surrounded like an iron barrel. Besides, we don't have the keys..."

"Little fellow Daoist, do you have a way?" the Taoist asked, clinging to the bars.

"Uh..." Lingyu tried to probe her surroundings, only to find her spiritual energy was extremely weak. It seemed the bars were suppressing her, and her spiritual sense was limited to a very small radius. Was the purpose of her retaining her memories in this life to break out of prison?

Regardless, staying trapped in this dump was not an option.

She reached into her Qiankun bag and pulled out the Kanli Sword. Thankfully, the bag was still functional.

When the three men saw this, their eyes widened.

"Fellow Daoist, you are a true master!" The Taoist gave her a thumbs-up, omitting the "little" from before.

"Are we going to dig our way out?" the martial artist asked, leaning in.

"Can we?"

"We can!" The scholar’s eyes lit up. He took the lead and quietly lifted the hem of his robe.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Lingyu glared. Seeing things she shouldn't would give her styes.

The scholar shushed her and unfolded his inner garment. "This is a map I drew. If we dig according to this, we can definitely get out."

Lingyu leaned in, and a foul odor hit her. Naturally—he hadn't bathed in months, and combined with the stench of the prison, it was unavoidable.

On the foul-smelling fabric, a map was drawn in a greyish-black substance, with clear lines and distinct terrain markings. Lingyu suspected the "ink" was just the dirt and grime from the scholar's own skin.

Regardless, the map clearly marked the terrain around the Bitter Prison. Digging along this path really was a viable escape route.

The scholar grabbed the map back through the bars. "Sister, you won't leave us behind, will you?"

"..." Of course not. At worst, she could just break through the walls of all three cells; that wouldn't be difficult.

A skeletal smile spread across the scholar’s gaunt face. He scraped a patch of floor with his fingernails, carefully tracing a line. "Digging this way will definitely work."

At least it wasn't grime, Lingyu thought with relief.

She gripped the Kanli Sword and studied the angle, but paused. Being stared at by three pairs of unblinking eyes was a strange feeling.

She rummaged through her Qiankun bag for a while until she found three small throwing knives. Where did these come from? After thinking for a long time, she finally remembered: a long, long time ago, when she was still at the Baishui Temple and experienced her first conflict between cultivators, Xuan Chenzi had died under these very blades.

She threw one to them. "Let’s dig together. It’ll be faster."