Chapter One: Are You Out of Your Mind?

Chapter One: Are You Out of Your Mind?

Birdsong, mountain streams, moss, fallen leaves, high walls, iron fences, lush green lawns—this is no idyllic campus; this is Hate Mountain Prison.

In a tall building overlooking the entire exercise yard of the prison, Tang Zhong sat upright at his desk, writing.

Calligraphy with a brush.

"The sea is wide enough for fish to leap, the sky high enough for birds to fly."

His strokes were elegant, the ink vivid. The characters exuded lively energy and a graceful spirit.

To possess such refined calligraphy at a young age was certainly a point of pride.

Tang Zhong was not stingy with his self-praise.

"This is excellent. Unprecedentedly excellent."

"If the Sage of Calligraphy were reborn and saw these characters, he might weep."

"Sky high for birds to fly? Why not sky dark for birds to fly?—Ancients really were scoundrels."

Bang—

The door crashed open. A middle-aged prison guard in a gray uniform stood panting in the doorway, shouting, "Second Boss—quickly. Cell Seven has exploded!"

"Exploded?" Tang Zhong looked up. "Where’s the Head Boss?"

"Not in the duty room," the guard said urgently.

An "explosion" meant a serious fight had broken out in the cell—if not handled, bloodshed or even fatalities could occur.

Once, a death-row inmate under immense psychological pressure "exploded," strangling four cellmates in one night.

Tang Zhong’s delicate brows furrowed. He tossed the brush back into the ink box and stood, striding quickly outside. Seeing the Second Boss willing to act, the guard finally relaxed his tense expression.

They hurried down a shadowy corridor, passed through iron gates, and stopped before one marked "Cell Seven."

Even before entering, loud shouting and commotion could be heard from inside.

"Second Boss, I’ll open the door," the guard said.

"Wait," Tang Zhong held up a hand. "Let’s listen to what they’re saying."

"—Want to teach me? You lot aren’t qualified. Tiger Li’s been in and out of prison seven times already. This time, he came in for three murders—once inside, never planned to leave. Want to fight me? Look in the mirror before you try."

A strange voice—likely a new inmate, known as a "fresh arrival" in prison slang.

"Fresh arrivals have to follow fresh arrival rules. We’re here on the institution’s behalf to teach you—"

"Bah. Rules, my foot." The voice grew more arrogant. "You just want to give Tiger Li a lesson, show your dominance, so you can lord it over me later. Well, Tiger Li doesn’t play by your rules."

"You—"

"What about you? Squad Leader, didn’t I beat you enough just now? Should I loosen your bones some more? Listen up, you bastards—from today, I’m the Squad Leader of Cell Seven. Follow me, you eat; don’t, you eat shit."

Click—

The brass lock opened. Tang Zhong pushed the iron door and walked in.

"What happened?" Tang Zhong asked with a smile.

Seeing Tang Zhong enter, the dozen bald, gray-uniformed inmates in the room brightened. Aside from four or five injured men lying on the floor, the rest greeted him.

"Second Boss—Second Boss is here."

"Second Boss, this new arrival is tough. We tried to teach him the rules, he refused and started fighting—"

"Second Boss, he broke my arm. You have to stand up for me."

—

Tang Zhong turned to the scar-faced man sitting casually on the lower bunk and asked, "You’re Tiger Li?"

"That’s me. Who the hell are you?" Tiger Li looked Tang Zhong up and down, full of disdain.

A pale, tender-faced kid—what threat could he possibly pose?

But seeing the guard behind Tang Zhong watching him gleefully, Tiger Li sensed something was amiss.

"I’m not 'the hell.' I’m Tang Zhong." Tang Zhong remained affable, patiently explaining, "Every prison has its rules. The guards are understaffed, so old inmates teach the new arrivals the rules they must follow—"

"Get lost." Tiger Li, seeing Tang Zhong’s smile, grew even more insolent. "I said already, this is my eighth stint in prison—what rules need you to teach me?"

"Every prison has its own rules. Hate Mountain Prison has Hate Mountain rules," Tang Zhong said. "Two separate things."

"My fists are big—what I say is the rule." Tiger Li snarled, pointing at the groaning inmates on the floor. "They didn’t listen. They’re the example."

Tang Zhong couldn’t help but laugh. "Did you notice what they called me just now?"

"Who cares?" Tiger Li jumped off the bed, his huge hand pointed at Tang Zhong, cursing, "Kid, get out of my way or I’ll slap you dead."

"They call me Second Boss," Tang Zhong sighed lightly. Muscles over brains—this must be what people mean. "Which means, except for Head Boss, everyone here answers to me."

Tiger Li laughed wildly, his muscles twitching, growling low, "Kid, you really don’t know what’s good for you. Listen, I already have three lives on my hands—I don’t care if I add another—"

Tang Zhong understood: this was a low-IQ, aggressive type. There was only one way to deal with such a person—order from the menu.

"Pick a dish," Tang Zhong said, hands in his pockets, chin raised. "Sweet-and-sour pork knuckle, chili-fried fish—which do you prefer?"

"Sweet-and-sour pork knuckle" meant a brutal elbow to the kidneys—if done right, a man couldn’t straighten up, and might urinate blood. "Chili-fried fish" was worse: soaking wires or cords in water, then whipping the body until the skin peeled like fish scales.

There were also "egg-stuffed pancakes," "mountain-to-cow strikes," and other "dish" names—methods designed to leave no visible marks.

Tiger Li laughed, cursing, "Pick your mother—"

Before he finished, his mouth snapped shut.

Tang Zhong’s fist had already struck his face.

Crack—

A sharp sound, blood spat out, along with several yellow teeth.

"You won’t pick, so I’ll pick for you. Since you’re new, let’s start with a sweet-and-sour kneecap."

As he spoke, Tang Zhong’s knee drove viciously into Tiger Li’s kidney area.

Bang—

Bang—

Bang—

Once, twice, three times—

Fast as lightning, fierce as thunder.

In a flash, the mountain-like Tiger Li was spitting blood and collapsed.

From start to finish, his much-vaunted "big fists" never landed a blow.

"Stop—please, stop—" Tiger Li curled up, hands over his head, crying for mercy.

Tang Zhong withdrew, took a towel handed to him, and wiped his hands.

"Now, can we start the lesson?" Tang Zhong asked.

"Yes. Yes." Tiger Li wailed, tears streaming.

"I’ll leave him to you," Tang Zhong said.

"Thank you, Second Boss."

"Second Boss, take care."

"Second Boss, come back and check on us—who the hell kicked me?"

Tang Zhong smiled, told the guard to lock the iron door.

"Second Boss, sorry for troubling you again," the guard said gratefully.

Tang Zhong waved it off. "I’m used to it."

He really was.

Tang Zhong grew up in the prison. Since he was old enough to understand, his father had been the warden of Hate Mountain Prison—the so-called "Head Boss."

Tang Zhong suffered from ADHD as a child, never idle. His father, busy with work, let him roam freely in the prison.

His special status made him the "Little Prince" of the prison. Guards cherished him, inmates tried to please him. His quick wit and curiosity led him to learn all sorts of strange skills. Everyone enjoyed teaching him their tricks.

Over time, as he grew older, his knowledge and authority increased. People liked to rely on him to solve problems. When the warden was away, he handled affairs. Thus, he became Hate Mountain’s "Second Boss."

Returning to his room, Tang Zhong found the door open. The elusive "Head Boss" and a strange woman waited inside. Hearing his footsteps, they both looked over.

Before the Head Boss could speak, the stunning woman asked excitedly, "Is this Tang Zhong?"

She had short, fiery red hair, a clean, sharp look. Her phoenix eyes were narrow and bright, seductive. Her full lips, painted a deep red, bloomed like a passionate rose, begging to be bitten.

She wore a silver business suit, perfectly accentuating her voluptuous figure—ample chest, slim waist, rounded hips. Oversized black-rimmed glasses added an intellectual charm.

Her gaze sparkled, her expression animated, as if she’d found a long-lost son.

"Yes," Head Boss answered gruffly. His thick beard covered his mouth, making his voice sound like a bug inside.

"He looks just like him," she exclaimed. "Wonderful. He’s the one I was looking for."

"You two talk. I won’t get involved," Head Boss said, glancing at his son, then turned to leave.

"Hey—" Tang Zhong called out. The bearded man hadn’t introduced the woman.

Her phoenix eyes roved Tang Zhong’s face and body, like a hungry she-wolf eyeing her prey.

After a while, she extended her hand with a gentle smile. "Let’s get acquainted—Bai Su. 'Bai' as in free, 'Su' as in vegetarian."

"Tang Zhong." He took her warm, slightly sweaty hand. "Tang as in the Tang Dynasty, Zhong as in weight—not repetition. But it seems you already know my name."

She burst out laughing. "Is that how you introduce yourself?"

"You’ve seen it," Tang Zhong said.

Bai Su giggled, then grew serious, looking at him with seductive lips and an alluring voice. "Do you like Leslie Cheung?"

"I do," Tang Zhong replied. He loved Leslie Cheung’s films, especially the "A Better Tomorrow" series.

"Do you like Chow Yun-fat?"

"I do." In Tang Zhong’s eyes, Chow Yun-fat’s "Shanghai Bund" was an unrivaled classic.

"Do you like Andy Lau?"

"I do too." A talented actor and singer, the tireless, ageless king.

"Do you—want to become a superstar like them?"

Tang Zhong stared at her in bewilderment.

"Drive luxury cars, live in mansions, your photos on magazines, idolized by countless fans, admired worldwide, pursued by young girls—"

"Are you out of your mind?" Tang Zhong looked at her sympathetically.

Such a beautiful woman—how could her mind be so broken?

(P.S.: Some say writing about male friendships is harder than romance. So, in Old Liu’s new book, the protagonist will not only conquer women, but also men—so wicked.

A new beginning! A new journey!

Dear friends, Imperial Guard Legion, let us once again fight for honor!

Bookmark! Red votes! Not one less!)