Liang meant that in Confinement Island Prison, everything is based on strength. The guards do not care about the internal disputes among prisoners and even prefer to watch the infighting, shifting the conflicts to the prisoners themselves. This not only wears down the energy of these endless troublemakers but also alleviates the difficulty of management.
It is evident from the differential treatment towards the prisoners—higher-ranking inmates do not need to work, while weaker inmates like him are burdened with the majority of the chores. As a newcomer targeted from the start, he must either find a powerful ally or resign himself to being oppressed.
Of course, even if he does not seek an ally and appears compliant while working honestly, those people will still come after him. After all, being here without the ability to protect oneself is akin to being a lamb to the slaughter—a small, innocent lamb.
“Thank you for your reminder,” Yan Chuan said, pursing his lips. He first thanked Liang and then added, “I will consider what you said.”
Liang observed that Yan Chuan seemed to have other intentions, frowned slightly, and didn’t press further as he helped him push the cart out.
When Yan Chuan went out to deliver clothes, he took a different route, opting for a corridor that would not lead him past the hall. He did not encounter Hesse again, the man with green eyes, who resembled a beast in both looks and temperament.
The discrimination of the F-class prisoners was also evident in the prison cafeteria’s meals.
At lunchtime, the sharp whistle sounded. Yan Chuan trailed behind a group of lifeless prisoners, holding a tray, waiting for someone to serve him food. The meals were, unsurprisingly, not very good.
He saw a staff member in an apron serving a large bowl of thick borscht, a bit of rice, and a hard piece of bread. Not only were the portions small, but the presentation was also quite unappetizing.
The borscht was likely pre-made and already lukewarm, with some unknown seasonings that gave it a peculiar smell. The rice was sticky, likely due to too much water during cooking.
And the bread, which looked like the only edible item, appeared to be whole wheat—it was so hard that Yan Chuan could hear the crisp sound of it colliding with the metal tray when the chef dropped it in.
Yan Chuan: …
Was his biggest difficulty in this setting his third script?
The chef served the same dish to all prisoners with an “F” badge.
Yan Chuan turned away, catching a glimpse of an A-class prisoner having a complete pan-seared steak on his plate. The bread was also soft white bread, seemingly sweetened with honey, giving off a delicious aroma.
Yan Chuan: …
He could not look anymore; if he did, he truly wouldn’t be able to swallow the hard bread.
[“Poor baby, why are you eating this?”]
[“Crying, where did all my donated points go! Are you just eating dry food?”]
[“Ahhh, it makes me so mad! My wife is gnawing on hard bread while you’re feasting! Expel him!”]
[“Donation points *200, wife eat something good!”]
Fortunately, the cafeteria provided hot water. Yan Chuan asked for a cup, poured it over the hard bread, and let it soften a bit before eating. The taste was still odd, but at least it was chewable.
He didn’t touch the borscht, praying that the cook wouldn’t get fanciful and dump all sorts of spices into the soup next time. The rice was passable, sticky though it was. Yan Chuan also added some hot water to it, turning it into a bowl of porridge, albeit one without any salt.
Even so, after eating half of the bread, Yan Chuan found he could not continue. The whole wheat bread was already hard to eat; now soaking it made it sticky and unpalatable.
At that moment, Yan Chuan wished desperately that he had been assigned to work in the kitchen. At least he could scrounge some soft bread. Struggling to poke at the hard bread on his tray, he pursed his lips.
Suddenly, a sweet aroma wafted into his nostrils. Looking up, an imagined soft piece of bread appeared in his line of sight.
Above it, a slightly darker-skinned hand reached out.
“Want some?” The green-eyed young man smiled at Yan Chuan, waving the soft bread in front of him.
The person holding the bread was undoubtedly Hesse. He had come over from his spot, bringing his share of bread.
The distance between the two was still considerable, and Hesse’s sudden movement caught the attention of the guards nearby. They frowned, hands hovering over their belts, ready to intervene should Hesse cause any trouble.
From their troubled expressions, it seemed Hesse had already caused considerable hassle since his arrival.
Yet the rebellious newcomer simply approached the dark-haired, dark-eyed Eastern beauty and asked if he wanted some bread.
In an instant, all eyes gathered at that corner table.
Yan Chuan felt a prickly sensation on his back.
At lunchtime, nearly everyone was present—several hundred prisoners gathering at Confinement Island Prison, along with watchful guards. All their eyes were now focused on him and Hesse—the curious, the entertained, the wary… people of all emotions were observing their interaction.
And the catalyst of it all was Hesse.
“Hmm?” Yan Chuan took a while to respond, and Hesse raised his voice slightly, expressing confusion, “Not hungry?”
He glanced critically at the half-eaten bread, arching an eyebrow, “Eating so little? Are you a kitten?”
Yan Chuan felt insulted both on behalf of himself and his half-eaten hard bread.
Hesse even waved his own piece of bread in front of him on purpose.
A surge of unutterable emotion arose, and Yan Chuan felt a spark of annoyance. Pouting, he turned his face away slightly and said, “Not hungry.”
Immediately, he walked back towards the serving area with his tray, stubbornly taking his half a piece of bread with him.
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