Chapter Two: The Scheme Unfolds

After a brief observation, Liuchou made a preliminary assessment of his surroundings. The cell was underground, three of its sides built from massive stones. When he struck them with his hand, the sound was muffled and suppressed, as if the gaps were filled with earth and other materials. This suggested the cell had been hollowed out from the ground itself; escape through those three sides was utterly impossible. The fourth wall was made of sturdy steel bars, unshakeable and inscribed with talismans. Any disturbance would trigger thunder and fire from the runes. At present, Liuchou's hands were empty, rendering him powerless.

Looking around, he saw that although there were other cells, most were unoccupied; at least in the adjacent ones, there were no monsters. Listening closely, he could hear the presence of other demons only every few cells, a total of about twenty, each isolated and with no interaction.

The strength of these demons varied. Most were of the fourth or fifth rank, small fry unworthy of Liuchou’s attention. Only three drew his notice. After detecting them, he listened even more carefully.

The first was of the seventh rank, with slow, deep breaths and a lumbering heaviness when it moved, obviously of great size and abundant demonic power. Even if Liuchou had his iron staff, at best he could only fight this one to a draw; victory would be difficult. The second was of the sixth rank and made almost no sound at all; Liuchou had nearly missed it at first. This one’s form was light and motionless for long stretches, likely a transformed insect or mosquito. The third was a sixth-rank dog demon, quite mad compared to the others, frequently howling, smashing itself against the stone walls and iron bars, or gnawing wildly, blood streaming from its mouth—completely mindless.

Liuchou committed the locations of these three demons to memory, intending to use them as stepping stones for escape if the opportunity arose.

While immersed in thought, footsteps finally echoed down the passage outside his cell. Looking up, Liuchou saw two men approaching from afar, dragging two wooden buckets. At each demon’s cell, they would scoop out two or three ladles of food and dump it through the bars, letting it scatter on the ground, then move on.

Soon, they reached Liuchou’s cell and did the same. Liuchou looked closely and saw it was half-cooked wheat porridge. The two jailers said nothing more, dumping the food and leaving, treating the prisoners like livestock.

Wheat, also known as spring wheat, had been introduced to the Great Zhou just over a hundred years ago. Its greatest advantage was that it could be sown in autumn and harvested in summer, hence also called “dormant wheat,” and it gradually became one of the five staple grains.

Unfortunately, though, while wheat was counted among the five grains, methods of grinding it into flour or fermenting and steaming it had not yet been invented. It was simply boiled whole, making the resulting porridge hard to chew and swallow, and difficult to digest once eaten. Thus, it was the main food of savages, slaves, and prisoners, and its cultivation area was far less than the other four grains. To eat wheat porridge was a mark of destitution in the eyes of the people of the time, a testament to its lowly status.

Yet, even such coarse fare, once dumped into the cells, immediately stirred the imprisoned demons to restlessness. Many of the previously silent cells came to life with the sound of gulping and swallowing.

“So, the food supplied in these cells is just this. They keep us demons half-starved to make imprisonment easier.”

This was another conclusion Liuchou drew.

Though he thought this, Liuchou still gathered the scattered wheat porridge into a pile and began stuffing it into his mouth, chewing slowly despite the grit and sand, the crunching noise echoing as he swallowed.

After the jailers left, the only sound in the prison was chewing. Gradually, the noise died down, until only the continuous, unhurried crunching from Liuchou’s cell remained—relentless and unending.

Liuchou cared little for the quality of his food. During his time hiding on Mount Mei, what he ate was even worse than this porridge: rotting scraps, squirming worms, grubs he dug up, fruit pits left undigested by other monsters—anything to fill his belly and keep him alive, no matter the taste or source. In this way, Liuchou’s relationship to food had long since severed any connection with the sensibilities of modern men.

If so, what harm was there in eating wheat porridge?

Amidst the sounds of chewing, a voice like thunder suddenly rang out, reverberating through the silent, empty prison—a booming laugh:

“Hey, newcomer, you’re not bad!”

The speaker was the seventh-rank demon. Liuchou paused in his chewing and replied, “How so?”

“Just thrown in here, yet you can swallow this foul stuff without hesitation. Your path to transformation must have been rough, full of hardship.” Though seventh-ranked, the demon spoke candidly. “I am Moyun. May I ask your name?”

“Liuchou.” Moyun clearly had enough status for Liuchou to befriend. Since conversation had begun, he decided to ask about his uncertainties. “I just woke up, my mind still muddled. I don’t know where I am. Brother Moyun, could you enlighten me?”

Moyun had not spoken to Liuchou merely because he could stomach the porridge—he valued Liuchou’s strength. He had been imprisoned here for years, constantly plotting escape, and making connections with new demons had become routine. The other demons understood this game and ignored him.

He did not hide what he knew. “This is the Nine Strike Guard’s prison in Zhengyi City, built specifically for holding us demons. There are three levels; we are on the top...” Moyun explained everything in detail. Liuchou then realized he was in the Nine Strike Prison. Master Fulu had once mentioned the Nine Strike Guard—an institution created to deal with immortals, ghosts, demons, devils, and cultivators, not ordinary people. Unfortunately, the subject of prisons had been glossed over in those hurried conversations.

Perhaps Master Fulu was not well acquainted with such places and simply skipped those details.

Moyun, growing animated, raised his voice as he went on:

“...This prison is underground. Beyond the cells is a long corridor and another iron gate, guarded day and night by four wardens. Any disturbance and they sound the alarm. Back when I broke down the door and escaped, I was caught as soon as the alarm sounded—no sooner had I reached the surface than I was shot by crossbows, my body paralyzed, and captured again. Those arrows must have been poisoned...”

“There’s another gate outside and an alarm?” At first, Liuchou hadn’t given it much thought, but now he understood why Moyun was so familiar with the prison layout—he had tried to escape before. Liuchou’s interest grew. “So the alarm serves to alert the surface guards?”

“More or less. The gate is also a line of defense, mainly against demons who might use enchantments to bewitch the guards. If anyone coming to deliver food seems suspicious, the gate stays locked and they’re trapped inside. Most important is the passageway up top—long and narrow, with three heavy crossbows waiting. There’s no way to dodge them.”

Liuchou grunted in acknowledgment, thinking that the outer gate was indeed crucial. Without Moyun’s warning about the alarm, even if he managed to break through, he would be unable to handle what lay beyond and would be recaptured.

Suddenly, a thought struck Liuchou and he interrupted Moyun, startled. “Brother Moyun, you said there are three levels. Are the lower two also holding demons?” If even a seventh-rank demon was on the top level, did that mean the lower levels held ninth- or tenth-ranked monsters, or even great demon lords? If a city prison like this could hold such beings, what horrors might be locked away in the high-security dungeons of the Nine Strike Guard itself?

But Moyun’s answer was not as Liuchou feared, which brought him some relief.

“I’ve never been to the lower two levels. When I tried to escape, I was only focused on getting out, not going deeper. But I’ve heard the lower levels hold cultivators, though I don’t know the details...”

Seeing Moyun could not elaborate, Liuchou was a little disappointed. Just then, a cold, detached voice cut in:

“There are dozens of cultivators on the second level—nothing special, just heretics and outcasts according to the human authorities. The third level isn’t a prison, but a seal.”

This was the quiet sixth-rank demon speaking. Moyun exclaimed in surprise, “Husi, how do you know this? Why have you never mentioned it before?”

Husi’s tone remained icy, utterly devoid of mortal warmth. “You never asked. Why should I bring it up? If I hadn’t heard you spouting nonsense, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

Moyun chuckled sheepishly. Liuchou seized the chance to ask, “Brother Hu, my respects! May I ask, what is sealed on the third level?”

Husi thought for a moment, then replied, “I don’t know exactly. It’s too far to sense. The seal is old—I guess it’s been there for many years…”

Thus, Liuchou, Moyun, and Husi conversed at length in their cells, discussing every detail of the prison. The fourth- and fifth-rank demons listened quietly, none daring to interrupt, save for the occasional mad howling or crashing from the crazed dog demon, which the others ignored.

Though their conversation seemed aimless, all of Liuchou’s questions probed the prison’s layout. Husi and Moyun seemed to understand his intentions and answered everything. Both had been imprisoned here for years, had tried every method to escape, and now pinned their hopes on Liuchou, wishing that if he truly found a way out, he might bring them along.

After gathering all the information he could, Liuchou excused himself and returned to his corner, pondering escape plans in his mind.

The other two did not disturb him. Occasionally, a lesser demon would try to curry favor, only to be scolded and silenced, leaving Liuchou to his thoughts.

Over the next three days, Liuchou experimented with the bars. First he tried brute force, which triggered the thunder and fire, wounding him slightly. Then he attempted some demon magic, but the runes held firm. He concluded that only with a powerful weapon, such as an enchanted staff or blade, could the bars be broken. Ordinary tools were useless, and the noise would certainly alert the guards—far too risky.

As for the runes, they were triggered by a demon’s touch, as Liuchou confirmed after questioning the others. Any demon who touched the bars would bring down thunder and fire, but using a stick or some other object avoided this effect.

Therefore, the only way out was to find a method that neither made noise nor involved touching the bars—then escape would be possible.

Most demons, and most humans, would find this exceedingly difficult. But Liuchou was not a man of this era. The memories he carried included countless prison escapes from films, television, and web novels—strange and ingenious methods beyond counting. It didn’t take him long to find the simplest, most convenient solution.

He had delayed two days to observe the routines of the two jailers, timing their movements until he was sure of their schedule and could perfect his plan.

This sort of scheming brought back memories of his previous life: plan carefully, then strike—kill and rob when the time comes!