He had just been sent to the isolation island prison reserved for the most dangerous criminals. In a prison full of violent offenders, the weak little thief, Yan Chuan, appeared even more pitiable.
“I’m leaving…” The Eastern beauty apparently didn’t know how to respond to him, so she could only say softly, “The guard is waiting for me…”
“You can come to me for help,” Navi concluded as he escorted Yan Chuan to the door. He politely said goodbye, but leaned in close to whisper, “I’m always here.”
The Eastern beauty responded with a slight flutter of her eyelashes and pressed her lips tightly together.
He followed the stocky guard as they walked away; his blue and white striped prison uniform was ill-fitting, and one could catch a glimpse of his slender waist from behind.
The doctor’s smile remained unchanged.
The guard led Yan Chuan into the cell.
The prison accommodations were far from ideal; they were all multiple-occupancy rooms designed to prevent the energetic and restless prisoners from contemplating escape. Each cell was made of incredibly sturdy metal panels, seamlessly assembled, impenetrable by human effort.
At the entrance of the cell stood steel plates, with pairs of eyes glaring through the gaps, looking quite terrifying.
Prisoners could leave their cells only during designated times; for the rest of the time, they had to stay in the cramped quarters.
The guards flanked Yan Chuan as they walked down the narrow corridor.
Suddenly, he felt a tug at the hem of his clothing; he looked down to see a pair of hands emerging from between the bars, gripping his shirt.
These hands were dry, dark, and had especially prominent knuckles, covered in fine scars that didn’t look like they belonged to a human. Continuing upwards, he could see a pair of hollow eyes.
Yan Chuan’s breath caught in his throat.
His clothing was held firm, and he was too afraid to shake it off, so he froze in place.
“Get back!” The stocky guard noticed the situation and struck the door with his baton, shouting, “Get your dirty hands off him!”
The person yelped in pain, retracting their hand inside the cell.
The guard snorted coldly.
Yan Chuan smoothed down his shirt, just about to thank the guard when the guard shot a glance at him.
“Hmph,” the guard put away his baton and scrutinized Yan Chuan’s face. “Don’t think that just because you have a pretty face, you’ll get any special treatment.”
Yan Chuan paused.
The guard was clearly used to newcomers, familiar with all sorts of reactions; he simply scoffed, “New arrival, who knows how long you’ll last—get in!”
The cell doors swung open with a clang, and Yan Chuan was shoved inside by someone behind him, the door slamming shut with a lock.
Yan Chuan stumbled.
From somewhere, strange sounds echoed, this time a combination of muffled cries mixed with hoarse curses. Additionally, the sound of the guard frantically banging on the walls added to the clamor.
“Shut your dirty mouths!” the guard tried to maintain order, but that only excited the prisoners more.
Yan Chuan fell to the ground.
The floor of the cell was also solid concrete, hard as rock. Fortunately, this time he was wearing a prison uniform, which offered some minimal protection to prevent scrapes on his knees.
However, he still hit the ground, feeling a slight pain in his knee, and the tip of his nose turned red involuntarily.
His knee hurt, and his head throbbed a bit as well.
How did he end up being tossed around like this?!
Yan Chuan didn’t know if it was because the medication hadn’t taken effect or for some other reason; in short, he was feeling a bit dizzy.
He braced himself and got up, squatting on the ground, rubbing at his painful joints.
While doing these things, Yan Chuan hadn’t even paid attention to which cell the guard had thrown him into, nor did he observe who else was there, consumed with his own discomfort.
Yan Chuan let his eyelids droop, his thick, dark lashes casting a small shadow on his snow-white cheeks. The tip of his nose was flushed, and there seemed to be a hint of redness around his eyes.
Why was he so unlucky?
In the cell, the other inmates looked on as the guard opened the door and tossed in an exceptionally slender and beautiful Eastern beauty. The beauty stumbled, crouching on the ground and gently touching his injuries.
Not a single gaze was cast in his direction.
Other prisoners were left to contemplate:…
Can a bump on the ground cause such serious injuries? The recently beaten inmate thought.
Until someone couldn’t resist approaching, reaching out with a long arm and lifting the crouching Eastern beauty—throwing him onto their own bunk.
Upon seeing who lifted him, the other prisoners instinctively averted their gazes.
“Hey,” Yan Chuan was suddenly tossed onto a soft bed, hearing a somewhat familiar voice next to him that held a hint of disdain: “What happened to your leg?”
What happened to his leg… What else could it be? He simply lost his balance when being thrown in.
Hearing this question, which felt more like a provocation, Yan Chuan felt even more speechless.
Did everyone in this script like to handle others this way? Or did he just appear easy to lift?
Yan Chuan frowned, catching sight of the familiar voice’s owner.
With flamboyant red hair, green eyes, a handsome, untamed look, a teasing smile gracing his lips… it was the young man who had helped him earlier in the room.
Yan Chuan stayed silent, unsure of what to say and unwilling to engage with him.
He just felt embarrassed for passing out during the physical examination right as he entered the script.
The comments still hadn’t figured out how to react to him.
Yan Chuan imagined the situation, which only made his head ache more.
“I’m fine…” Yan Chuan’s voice was muffled and soft, “It’s nothing.”
Still crying on the ground and claiming it’s nothing?
The young man raised his eyebrows, looking rather intrigued.
He appraised the slender beauty before him, confirming that he was indeed delicate, weak, and couldn’t endure any pain.
Outside the prison, such delicateness could be considered inconsequential. But inside, it meant being vulnerable and helpless, with no power to defend oneself.
The young man seemed to ponder this, and after a moment suddenly broke into a smile: “Hey, have you followed a doctor or any guard here?”
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