Hong Kong film: Rise of Prison Break

"Okay!" Chung Chu-hsiung replied, turning around and opening the small external communication port on the cell door.

Outside the door, two prison guards were dozing off against the wall.

The younger one had a glistening drop of drool hanging from the corner of his mouth.

Seeing the two guys sleeping so soundly, and recalling the warden's reprimand, a nameless anger surged within him!

"Hey! You two!" Chung Chu-hsiung shouted in a low voice.

"Ah! Brother Xiong!" The young prison guard snapped out of his daze, hurriedly wiped the drool from his mouth, and stood at attention.

"Go to the kitchen, get some roast chicken and roast goose, and some wine! Be quick!" Chung Chu-hung ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"Yes, Brother Xiong!" The young prison guard's face showed no displeasure, but rather a look of joy.

Running errands for your boss is a cushy job. Not only can you get away from this gloomy place and breathe some fresh air, but you can also sneak into the kitchen, a place full of greasy food, and maybe even get some good food yourself.

He quickly opened the outer iron gate and ran out.

Less than twenty minutes later, Chung Chu-hsiung came back in carrying a rather large plastic box.

As soon as the lid of the box was lifted, the rich aroma of roasted meat mixed with the scent of wine immediately filled the cold, gloomy prison cell.

Zhang Wenjie leaped off the iron bed with a somersault, took two steps to the box, opened it, grabbed a shiny, plump roast chicken, tore off a large piece of meat, and began to chew it heartily.

He ate with incredible ferocity, tearing and swallowing with a primal, rough quality that contrasted sharply with his handsome, delicate, and even slightly frail face.

Zhong Chuxiong, who was standing next to him, couldn't help but wonder: How long has Brother Jie been starving? Didn't he get any food in the police station's detention room? The way he's eating... looks like he's fleeing famine.

"Glug glug..." Zhang Wenjie grabbed another bottle of strong liquor, tilted his head back and gulped down half of it, then let out a long, satisfied burp.

He casually tossed the cleanly gnawed chicken leg bone back into the box, wiped his mouth, and exclaimed, "Awesome! It's been ages since I've eaten and drunk this heartily!"

Only after experiencing the pain of aging, such as loose teeth and difficulty chewing, can one understand how simple and precious it is to be able to eat meat and drink alcohol to one's heart's content.

"Practice more when you have time; diligence can make up for lack of talent." Zhang Wenjie patted Zhong Chuxiong on the shoulder and earnestly reminded him again of that nonexistent set of stick techniques.

After luring the satisfied and "martial arts-obsessed" Zhong Chuxiong away, the cell door closed again, the sound of the lock clicking crisply.

Zhang Wenjie stretched out a big yawn, his bones cracking softly.

He grabbed the thin, stiff wooden mat on the iron bed, waved it a couple of times to make a slight breeze, then lay down on it, put his hands behind his head, and closed his eyes.

Soon, even snoring filled the solitary cell, as if all the storms outside had nothing to do with him.

Stanley Prison is very large.

The main building is a gray three-story building, like a silent giant beast lying in the mountain valley.

The building contains 80 individual cells, each no more than seven square meters in size, with cold concrete walls, a small window with iron bars, an iron bed fixed to the floor, and a stainless steel toilet.

All sharp objects that could be used as weapons are strictly prohibited in order to prevent prisoners from harming themselves or others.

Those who can live here are prisoners who are deemed "highly dangerous" or "seriously violated regulations".

Commonly known as "water room" or "black room".

The environment may seem "quieter" than the noisy warehouse, but the isolation, silence, and idleness are bearable for three days. However, as time goes on, loneliness will rise like cold seawater, eroding one's reason.

Humans are social animals, and absolute isolation is a form of torture.

In addition to these 80 individual cells, more prisoners in Stanley live in six large cells.

Each cabin can accommodate anywhere from dozens to hundreds of people. The bunk beds are densely packed together, and the air is stuffy, filled with the smells of sweat, body odor, and the pungent odor of disinfectant.

The prison authorities periodically adjust the personnel in each cell, ostensibly to "prevent the formation of cliques and factions."

But this is basically just empty talk.

Stanley today is mostly home to ruthless gangsters who have committed crimes in the underworld, mixed with a few economic criminals or unlucky old men.

The club's imprint had long since been there, carried by its members.

Warehouse No. 1.

When the exercise time ended, the prisoners, like sheep returning to their pens, were herded back into their crowded cells by the guards.

As soon as the skinny "Chatterbox" entered, he couldn't contain his excitement. He habitually reached under his armpit to scratch an itch, and then started shouting in his slightly high-pitched voice.

"Hey! Explosive scoop from the underworld! Fresh, hot, and juicy gossip!"

His voice was like a stone thrown into a stagnant pool, immediately attracting the attention of many of his fellow inmates who were either lying or sitting idly in the cell.

Prison life is extremely monotonous, and any new topic is a rare treat.

"Hey, you chatterbox, what kind of juicy gossip could you possibly find in a place like this?" A one-eyed man nicknamed "One-Eyed Guy" had just come out of the toilet, picking his nose with his pinky finger and scoffing. "Did you see two female rats fighting over a male rat? That would be some serious juicy gossip!"

His deliberately exaggerated tone caused the people around him to laugh.

"The police assault case! The one that made the headlines a couple of days ago! That criminal was brought to Stanley this evening!" Chui Shui Da raised his voice, looking excited.

"Wait!" A prisoner who was carefully rolling a cheap cigarette by the bedside suddenly looked up. "Chatterbox, you said that bastard has been arrested?"

There's not much entertainment in Stanley; gambling is the eternal theme.

The police assault case has caused a huge uproar, and some people in Stanley have already started betting on how long it will take for the perpetrator to be caught.

The shortest duration is three days, and the longest is seven days.

Many people bought "more than seven days" passes, since someone who dared to assault a police officer and escape must have some skill to hide for a few more days.

Now that people hear they've been brought in in less than two days, there's a chorus of groans.

"Damn it! I've lost everything!"

"Which loser opened this betting odds? We've lost terribly this time!"

Before Zhang Wenjie even appeared in a regular prison cell, he had already inexplicably landed on the hated list of many gamblers.

Of course, while some are sad, others are happy.

"Lord, please protect my account! May I become rich!!"

A man nicknamed "Chaozhou Can" with eight silver-plated dentures excitedly slapped his thigh, the dentures gleaming in the dim light.

"I've bet big that he'll be caught within three days! Haha, tomorrow's cigarettes are on me! One for each of us!"

He looked around triumphantly, as if he had already won the whole world.

"Hey, you chatterbox, stop keeping us in suspense, what's next? Just coming in isn't much of a juicy story!"

Those with a quick mind should immediately ask follow-up questions.

If someone can say something like that in such a tone, there's definitely more to it than meets the eye.