Chapter 27: A Visit to the Prison

“Grandma, did my dad often get into fights when he was little?” Wen Xiaocheng asked in a soft voice.

How could a mother not miss her son? The mention of this made Grandma’s nose tingle with sadness. “Your father was more obedient than you when he was young, always honest and well-behaved. It was only during those years of political upheaval, when even principals and professors were dragged out, that all the students joined in—not your father, though. He never laid a finger on them! He was compassionate, and because of that, he almost got in trouble.”

“My dad was such a compassionate man, hardly ever fought with anyone his whole life. So why did he end up grabbing a knife and killing someone?”

This rhetorical question silenced the old lady completely.

“In truth, it’s precisely because he never fought, never raised a hand against anyone, that when he finally did, he couldn’t control himself. And just because he always gave in, others thought he was easy to bully, and that’s why they bullied us. Constantly backing down isn’t the answer. Grandma, to be honest, the one who hit me was Zhang Peiyue. Do you know who he is? The man my dad killed was his uncle. He’s bullied me at school more than once. Before, I always did as you told me—endured and endured! But they just pushed further. So this time, I fought back and gave him a beating! Grandma, you always tell me that even though we’re poor, we must have dignity and strength! But is it true strength to let others bully us every day without resisting? I don’t want to hold back until I can’t anymore, and then, like my dad, lash out in rage and kill. Instead of letting resentment fester, it’s better to resolve things sooner!”

Her reasoning was so sound that Grandma was left speechless.

This was the highest art of lying—replacing lies with the truth. Hiding a sliver of deception among ninety-nine parts truth, and even if discovered, it’s easily overlooked. In fact, the wounds this time were caused by a boy named “Matchstick,” and Xiaocheng had brought that beating upon himself. Now, with a clever twist, the blame was pinned on Zhang Peiyue—there was evidence, and it was close enough to the truth that it could hardly be called a lie. The incident with Zhang Peiyue couldn’t be hidden forever. In just over a month, the final exams would come, and then the parent-teacher meeting. Sooner or later, Grandma would hear of it. Rather than waiting passively, it was better to seize the initiative now.

And so, the matter of the wounds was glossed over. Grandma waved her hand, “Xiaocheng, go to bed. Try not to get into fights again in the future.”

From “never get into fights” to “try not to get into fights.”

Back in his little room, lying in bed, Xiaocheng found himself unable to sleep. His father, who had never fought, that day with reddened eyes wielded a hatchet, standing before his elderly mother and young child—was he wrong? Yet the stench of blood that filled the courtyard, the painful convulsions of the dying man… Ding Sina’s father still limped to this day, known as Lame Ding; Qiu Hui’s father’s right hand was always slow and weak, unable to lift anything heavy. Only Lü Qi’s father fared a little better, with no lasting injury, but that strike to his back was said to have cut to the bone, leaving him unable to turn over in bed for more than a month.

If the dead or injured had been his own father, it would be a blood feud—any means of revenge would be justified. But it was his own father who had hacked down others, leaving death and wounds behind. Now that they targeted him, how was this debt to be settled?

Some things can’t be settled by simply striking down your enemy. Above all schemes and cunning, there is something called justice.

The sins of the father fall to the son. Tomorrow, he would visit the prison and ask his father how this debt should be repaid.

…

Prisons are never built in city centers. The Second People’s Prison of Xiangyang City was no exception, standing in a desolate area at the edge of Hongxing County, accessible by a single road. To visit, Xiaocheng had to take a bus to the county, walk three stops, then catch a minibus to Liujia Kiln—the only route that passed the prison.

Today, Xiaocheng chose not to take the bus but instead rode the battered Forever bicycle from their courtyard. He never dared ride it to school—other students’ bikes were safe, but his would disappear in a blink if left in the school’s rack. Early in the morning, the suburban road was empty; he pedaled with such force that the old bike seemed to fly, covering the usual hour-long journey in less than forty minutes.

With time to spare, he wasn’t in a hurry to catch the next ride. He found a small diner, ordered some cumin lamb and braised pork—both to go. The prison had a humane policy: for well-behaved inmates, families could share a meal during visits, and leftovers could be taken back to the cell. With only two visits a month to savor, any meat was a treat—no need to be picky. Staple foods weren’t bought at the diner; too expensive. There was a market across the street, where four steamed buns cost just two yuan. At the deli, he picked out a pork knuckle, had it sliced by the shopkeeper—this would be father and son’s lunch. The money for the food came from his private stash; this was a son treating his father to a meal.

There was a store inside the prison, but prices were outrageous—a roast chicken that cost twenty outside went for fifty inside! Daily necessities—soap, toothpaste, towels—were at least double the outside price. Each prisoner had a private account where family could deposit money. Even if the account was empty, inmates wouldn’t starve, though life would be tough. Supposedly, there was a rule not to exceed five hundred a month, but the prison, eager for revenue, rarely enforced it. Before leaving, Grandma had pressed two hundred yuan into Xiaocheng’s hand to deposit—no mother fails to care for her son.

Perhaps only his own mother was the exception.

He didn’t lock his bicycle, fearing theft, so he parked it by the police station. Carrying the food containers, he boarded the minibus to Liujia Kiln. The jostling ride sloshed the braised pork sauce all over the plastic bag. At last, he arrived at the Second People’s Prison of Xiangyang City.

At the entrance, he registered, filled out a visitation form, showed his household registration and ID, confirmed his identity, and had his belongings inspected. Any books he brought were checked by the guards before being passed on. Finally, he left his documents in exchange for a visitor’s pass, and was led with several other families into the visiting room.

Prison rules dictated that for regular inmates, visits happened across glass, just like on television, with a guard present and the prisoner’s hands kept at their sides to prevent passing notes. But for well-behaved prisoners, conditions were more relaxed—they could meet in the dining hall, share a meal, and talk more freely. Officially, a guard had to be present, but in practice, only two guards stood at the entrance, unable to overhear conversations in the large hall. Wen Xinwu’s crime was classified as a crime of passion with mitigating circumstances, so after a year he was moved to the “lenient” category and had already had his sentence reduced once for good behavior. He was one of the few educated men in the fourth cell block, and his crime was considered, among the inmates, to be “honorable,” so he was not bullied; in fact, he got along well with the others in his cell.

Sometimes Wen Xiaocheng came alone to visit, sometimes with Grandma. When he came alone, the visits felt perfunctory—the iron bars changed the relationship between father and son. The father no longer commanded authority; the son still carried some resentment. Usually, Xiaocheng wore a grim expression, while Wen Xinwu tried his best to make conversation. Yet, even so, the hour-long visit would end with Xiaocheng getting up to leave before time was up.

After waiting nearly twenty minutes, Wen Xinwu, dressed in prison garb, finally appeared at the door, escorted by a guard. For the first time ever, Wen Xiaocheng gave his father a smile. Wen Xinwu was stunned, then his eyes grew red.

For the first time in five years, his son had smiled at him.

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Regarding prisons, every region is a little different. Most visits are still through glass, with guards listening in; if anything inappropriate is said, the visit is immediately ended. Prisoners must keep their hands at their sides to prevent passing notes to family. Sometimes, when female inmates see their toddlers calling out for a hug, it’s heart-wrenching. Still, most of the time, the guards make an exception, allowing prisoners to reach through the slot to touch their child’s hand. In recent years, prison management has become more humane. I hope the visitation methods described here become increasingly common.

One more thing: nowadays, campus violence is taboo in web novels, out of fear that scenes of fighting might encourage bad behavior. Though my story touches on these issues, it always aims to show readers the right way to deal with them. When facing school bullying, passively accepting it is never the answer. First, tell your parents—they are the people you can trust most. Teachers are often powerless; even if they scold the bullies, it solves nothing. Second, don’t just stand there—look for any chance to escape, or suddenly fight back against one to break free, or cry out for help, but never just endure it! The psychological harm can be worse than the physical. And third, be open and make friends.