Cultivation Through Unorthodox Means

The Prison as a Forbidden Zone

Not long after finishing the cremation of the corpses, Ren Qing, who had finally found some free time, was summoned to the Public Tribunal Hall.

It wasn’t because their late-night corpse-moving had been exposed—rather, the county magistrate had ordered all bailiffs in the western district to assemble. The entire western precinct was in an uproar.

From what Ren Qing gathered, such a large-scale mobilization had something to do with the supernatural.

The meeting hall inside the Public Tribunal Hall was small, packed with wooden chairs occupied by the firemen and bailiffs in charge of various blocks in Sanxiang City.

Most of them were over thirty, with many already graying—Ren Qing, not even twenty, stood out starkly.

The room was eerily silent. Ren Qing sat near the door, taking the opportunity to observe each person.

Before long, a clerk with a grim expression entered.

This clerk, surnamed Zhao, oversaw the bailiffs in the western district of the yamen. With his shrewd appearance, he looked more like a merchant than an official.

"Let’s keep this brief. You all must have heard something about the situation in the eastern district prison, right?"

Ren Qing glanced around. The other bailiffs’ expressions darkened, while he remained utterly confused.

Clerk Zhao continued, "It’s now a forbidden zone. Once the Constables finish their work, you’ll be responsible for cleaning it out. Each block must provide five men—pick the sharpest ones."

The bailiffs all agreed, though reluctantly. While they themselves wouldn’t be at risk, losing too many subordinates would undermine their authority.

Ren Qing sighed inwardly. The four from Tan Block were definitely going to be drafted.

Still, his curiosity was piqued. Why was the prison such a big deal for the yamen? And what exactly was this "forbidden zone"?

Could it involve ghosts and deities…?

"Once inside the prison, make sure not to expose any skin. Clean everything thoroughly—leave not a single trace behind."

Clerk Zhao launched into a lengthy list of precautions. The bailiffs listened intently, some even jotting down notes.

The atmosphere grew increasingly oppressive.

Ren Qing could clearly see the fear in their eyes.

Logically speaking, these men had collectively handled at least a thousand corpses. Why were they so unsettled?

"Go and prepare. Make sure those assigned have their affairs in order."

With that, Clerk Zhao waved them off and left the meeting hall.

The moment he was gone, the bailiffs erupted into loud arguments, some nearly coming to blows—their anxiety was palpable.

Ren Qing approached a middle-aged fireman sitting in a corner. "Excuse me, what exactly happened in the prison?"

The fireman blinked, then nodded in understanding. "Ah, no wonder you don’t know. You’re from Tan Block..."

"That prison is in the eastern district of the yamen. They say the prisoners all killed each other—corpses everywhere. But two groups of bailiffs have already gone in. The eastern district is short-handed, so now it’s our turn."

Ren Qing pressed further, "Then what’s a 'forbidden zone'?"

"Anywhere with mass unexplained deaths is a forbidden zone."

Having said that, the fireman hurried off, as did the others.

Ren Qing mulled over Clerk Zhao’s words. Were those seemingly absurd rules actually warnings?

Upon returning to the Firemen’s Hall, he immediately relayed the situation to Li Mian and the others.

The Li brothers exchanged uneasy glances. Li Mian swallowed hard and said, "I’ve heard the old-timers in the yamen say that forbidden zones are a death sentence..."

Xiao Wu stumbled back in fright, though after the past few days of grueling work, his nerves had toughened—at least he didn’t collapse outright.

Ren Qing rubbed his temples. "Since we can’t avoid it, we might as well prepare thoroughly to minimize risks."

"Right. We’ll follow your lead."

Li Mian and the others had already grown to trust Ren Qing, and their panic gradually subsided.

After eating their fill, they covered every inch of their skin as instructed, even donning two layers of thick clothing.

For extra caution, they also carried short knives.

Only their eyes remained uncovered.

Ren Qing prepared some pig eyes wrapped in oiled paper and, just to be safe, swallowed a few beforehand, ensuring a steady flow of warmth through his body.

As they waited anxiously, the sun began to dip below the horizon.

Somewhere in the yamen, a gong sounded.

The four of them stepped out of the courtyard. Ren Qing gave one last reminder: "Stick close to me. If I don’t touch something, none of you should either."

"Understood."

No more words were exchanged as they followed the gong’s direction to an open area in the western district.

A group of over a hundred bailiffs stood ready.

Ren Qing noted that his attire wasn’t the most extreme—many had gone so far as to wear makeshift armor for protection.

Once assembled, Clerk Zhao seemed on the verge of saying something but ultimately remained silent, turning to lead them toward the eastern district.

Along the way, constables paused to watch, their expressions unreadable.

By the time they reached the prison, the moon hung high in the sky.

The prison appeared small from the outside, but in reality, it extended three levels underground, capable of holding over a thousand prisoners.

The path to the prison was cordoned off by guards, with a few Constables in light armor and bamboo hats standing beneath a nearby tree.

Ren Qing’s gaze lingered on one of them.

He had encountered this Constable days earlier while cleaning bloodstains—back then, the man had been holding what looked like an old piece of human skin.

At the time, Ren Qing had assumed it was related to some martial technique. Now, he wondered if it had been part of containing whatever horror lurked in the prison.

Clerk Zhao raised his voice. "Listen up! First, retrieve the bailiffs’ corpses from the second level. Then deal with the rest."

Ren Qing silently reviewed the instructions before following the crowd into the prison.

Beyond the iron gate, the air was thick with dampness. Even through two layers of cloth, the stench of rot and blood was overwhelming.

The ground level, where the jailers rested, showed only traces of dragged corpses—nothing else seemed amiss.

But the first underground level was a different story.

The walls were coated in a thick layer of congealed blood, strewn with fragments of flesh—a scene straight from hell.

The empty cells bore deep claw marks on their wooden bars, a testament to the prisoners’ agonized deaths.

The bailiffs began scattering lime to cleanse the area, while the firemen descended further.

Ren Qing noticed Xiao Wu growing tense, his breathing ragged.

A reassuring pat on the head steadied the younger man.

Upon reaching the second underground level, Ren Qing saw that most of the corpses had already been removed by previous firemen.

Still, they scoured every corner to ensure nothing was missed.

At the stairway leading further down, they found the bodies of the firemen who had come before them.

Their twisted corpses, clothes in tatters, wore expressions of sheer terror.

Ren Qing guessed they had fled from the third level—whatever they had encountered must have been unspeakable.

As they worked to move the bodies, something the size of a palm darted past the stairwell and vanished.